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pedrito-friskito · 2 years

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twelve months with the devil - chapter one: october

summary: you meet matt murdock for the first time at tony’s halloween party and well, things happen.

warnings: - smut from the start, cuz if matt murdock says do it I say okay - no warnings for this chapter, some might pop up along the way, read them pls - I got nothing else have a good day

a/n: I’ve been sitting on this for so long - reworked it cuz I’m so tired of using “y/n” lmao it’s in my bucky fic (which will be posted here soon!) but I’m probably gonna phase it out there too.

(series masterlist) (main masterlist) (ao3)

You don’t even like parties. Honestly. You don’t. If you had your way, you’d still be curled up in your room in the residence, a book in your hand or Netflix on the television. You wouldn’t be standing in the freaking banquet hall hidden in the bowels of the Avengers Tower with a watered-down drink in your hand if Tony hadn’t all but dragged you out by your ear. Pepper had been little help in your quest to convince him to let you off the hook, so here you are.

Drink, a headband with ears, an almost ridiculous pink nose, and whiskers painted on your cheeks. You’d forgone the tail. Happy freaking Halloween.

You haven’t been at the Tower long, Pepper having swooped in to retrieve you the moment you’d called. That was nearly six months ago now, and you’re still reeling from how much things have changed in so short a time. Never mind that you sleep in a room across the hall from where Captain America sometimes lays his head, and the slinky black dress you’re wearing was borrowed from the Widow herself, Natasha Romanov, who keeps texting you to have a drink with her the next time she comes down from the Compound.

Tony is accommodating and kind, not peering too deeply into your past — you suspect at Pepper’s behest — but he’s protective in a way that doesn’t feel overbearing, and fits the father-shaped space in your life that’s been there longer than you care to remember. Daddy issues for the win!

There aren’t any Avengers in attendance this evening, to your disappointment. Nat had promised a sexy nurse’s outfit she was convinced would put Steve’s jaw on the floor and you were dying to see the outcome. But alas, your newfound gal-pal and the Star Spangled Man were busy with business on the other side of the world, chasing leads on something way over your head (and pay-grade).

Pepper had been quick to find you a position at Stark Industries, fitting you in as her personal assistant of all things. It was nice, to spend more time with your older sister, to learn how her days went, what she did for the company specifically, and sure, the responsibilities she bestowed upon you were a little daunting at first, but according to her, you were doing great, and that was enough.

Nevada feels a million miles away, even though you know it’s far less than that, but you’re grateful all the same. For the roof over your head, for the new life you’re building. For all of it. Even the watered-down drink and the face-paint.

But then he walks through the door, and you’re convinced the whole world just did a somersault.

He’s…familiar, in a way that he shouldn’t be, because you know for a fact you’ve never seen this man before in your life. But there’s something in the curve of his stubbly jaw, the easy smile on his full lips when Tony spots him from behind you and brushes past with a shouted, “Mr. Murdock!”

He’s handsome, devilishly so, dark hair pushed over his head in a way you can only describe as artful, a charcoal grey suit with a black tie just loose enough at his neck, and red-tinted sunglasses on his face, the lenses nearly opaque and obscuring his eyes almost completely. Broad shoulders, a build you can tell is muscled under the suit, nearly half a foot taller than you.

It takes a minute for you to realize, you brain putting the pieces together when you see him move his cane from one hand to the other to shake Tony’s. He’s Matt Murdock. The lawyer.

Shortly after you’d arrived at the Tower, Tony had been dragged to court by an environmental activist group that was hell-bent on suing him for damages caused by an old Stark weapons warehouse that had been shut down. The case didn’t hold water, as Pepper had put it, but the activist group had done far too much research, digging up things that had been long buried, and Tony needed good representation to shut it down. Enter Matt Murdock.

Tony had always been willing to pay for the damage and impact the warehouse had caused, but Mr. Murdock had managed to find a loophole in the agreement the group had presented to Stark Industries. Tony’s payment was cut in half, the damage was cleaned up — by the activist group themselves, no less — and that was that.

Pepper had told you the story, speaking very highly of the Mr. Murdock and his partner, Mr. Nelson. She’d mentioned that Mr. Murdock was blind, but that it sometimes nearly impossible to tell.

She hadn’t mentioned that he was gorgeous.

Tony pulls him into a conversation instantly, and you polish off the rest of your drink, weaving your way through the throngs of costumed attendees in search of the bar, and hopefully something stronger. You find an empty stool to set up shop in, order a double, and lean your chin in your hand.

You’re not alone for long, however, distracted in your seat, your first look at the handsome lawyer burned into your brain quick as anything. There’s a quiet tap behind you, and warm fingers grazing your arm. The touch is light, but you flinch anyway, turning on the stool to see Mr. Murdock himself standing there, grinning, gesturing to the stool beside you with his cane. “Is this seat taken?”

“No,” you say quickly, “all yours.”

You stare into your lap as he slides onto the stool, resting the cane between his knees and raising a hand to the bartender. “Buy you a drink?” he asks, and it takes you a long moment to realize he’s talking to you.

“I suppose,” you reply, trying your best to be coy. The bartender looks at you, quirks a brow. “Another double.”

“Make it two,” Mr. Murdock says. “Parties not your thing?”

You breathe out a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes,” he says, and you laugh again. He sticks out his hand then, leaning towards you. “Matt Murdock.”

You take his hand, feeling your heart leap in your chest at the feeling of his warm palm against yours, fingers tight around yours for a fleeting moment before they’re gone. “I’m—”

He finishes for you, enunciating your name perfectly. “Pepper’s little sister. Tony mentioned you, said I should introduce myself.”

“Oh, did he,” you say, nodding to the bartender as he slides your drink in front of you. “I mean, I’ve only heard stories until now. The fantastic lawyer who got Tony Stark out from under his latest lawsuit. It’s nice to put a face to the name, Mr. Murdock.”

“Call me Matt,” he replies, taking a sip of his own drink. “I like the ears, by the way.”

Raising a brow, you lift a hand, touching the cat ears on your head. “How did you…?”

He chuckles. “Tony told me to look for the girl in the cat costume, seemed to slip out before he realized, well…” He shrugs a shoulder. “He pointed me towards the bar, just glad I picked the right stool.”

You nod slowly, lowering your hand back to your drink before realizing he can’t see you nodding your head. “Lucky you.”

His head tilts to the side slightly. You can’t see his eyes through the glasses, but you can feel some kind of phantom gaze on you, and it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. “Lucky me.” He finishes his drink, raises his hand to the bartender for another. “How are you liking the city?” he asks. “Pepper mentioned you were new to New York.”

“So far, so good,” you say, your finger dancing around the rim of your glass. “It’s a far cry from where I was before, but in a good way.”

“And where were you before?”

The question throws you off and you fall silent, picking up your drink and draining the rest of it in one gulp. It burns like hell on the way down, setting your throat aflame and making you wince.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Matt says, and his hand lands on your wrist when you set the glass down again. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“That’s a long story. And one requiring a lot more alcohol.”

He lifts a shoulder. “I’ve been told I’m a very good listener. And the bartender just stepped away and left that bottle of whiskey unattended.”

Sure enough, you glance back towards the bar and the bartender that had poured your drinks is nowhere in sight, the bottle of Johnnie Walker on the counter yours for the taking.

Without another thought, you reach out and swipe the bottle, tuck it under your arm, and slip from the stool. “Come with me?” you ask Matt, who only nods, sliding off of his own stool. The cane is collapsible, apparently, and he tucks it into his jacket. Then he takes your proffered arm, his warm fingers resting in the crook of your elbow.

“Lead the way.”

You manage to get him through the crowd with little distraction — most of the people in attendance don’t know who you are and Matt isn’t well known in the Stark world either, it would seem — and slip out a side door towards the main lobby. You’re mostly concerned with getting out without Tony noticing, but thankfully he’s too busy showing off his new nanotech Iron Man suit on the dance floor, making it change colours in time with the music. You stifle a laugh as you lead Matt through the door, shaking your head.

The elevator ride is almost awkward, but the fresher air and less stifled atmosphere makes you realize just how tipsy you actually are. You’d had a few drinks with Tony before the party, and had polished off the two doubles at the bar in a matter of minutes.

“You okay?” Matt asks as you lean against the wall of the elevator. He doesn’t look at you as he says it, and you kick yourself internally for even noticing. He can’t even see you, you think, biting at the inside of your cheek, of course he’s not looking at you.

“Yeah,” you mumble, pushing a hand through your hair, slipping the ears off your head in the process. “You were right, parties are really not my thing.”

“And sneaking out of parties with strange men you just met is?”

You balk a little, letting out a nervous laugh. “I guess so. And you’re not strange, for the record. Not to me.”

“But we did just meet.”

“Fair,” you nod, turning your head, watching the elevator buttons light up as you climb. “Let’s just say I was feeling…adventurous? Or blame it on liquid courage. Your pick.”

“I like adventurous,” he says, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Although I guess I’m the adventurous one, letting you lead a blind man wherever your heart desires.”

“Away from all those people,” you reply, reaching for his arm as the doors slide open, “that’s what my heart desires.”

He huffs a laugh, follows you out of the elevator and onto the residence floor. It’s quiet, blessedly quiet, and you toss your cat ears onto the kitchen counter as you pass through, leading him down the hallway, past your own room, towards the staircase that leads to the roof.

Matt makes a pleased noise when you open the door and are greeted by a cool wind, stepping out onto the concrete and holding your hand towards him, the whiskey still tucked under one arm. “Careful,” you say softly, looking down at his feet as he steps over the threshold. Once he’s clear, you let the door shut again. “Sorry,” you continue, the alcohol in your system prompting you further, “you must hear that a lot.”

Before he can say anything, you take his hand and lead him around to the small alcove you’ve claimed as your own on the roof. Tony let you drag an old couch up from one of the lobbies and you’d tucked it against the wall beside the door.

You almost go to sit, but Matt opens his mouth and you freeze, “I do, but it’s much nicer coming from a pretty girl with the nicest voice I’ve heard in a long time. And I hear a lot of voices.” Matt pauses, shrugging out of his suit jacket and moving to stand behind you before draping it over your shoulders. You hadn’t even realized you were cold. “I-I don’t mean hearing voices like hearing voices, I just meant, you know—”

“You called me pretty,” you say, looking over your shoulder at him. His head is tilted slightly, his mouth a few inches from your neck, and as you watch, his tongue darts out, licking his lips before disappearing, leaving them glistening and oh, so inviting.

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice suddenly much lower, huskier, gravelly. His hands settle on your upper arms, gripping them through the fabric of his jacket. You’re shivering almost instantly, the cool night air attacking any scrap of bare skin it can reach. “You are.”

“How do you know?” you whisper, the question seeming to hang in the air for a moment. “You can’t see me. You don’t know me.”

“I don’t,” he answers, and slowly, you turn beneath his hands until you’re facing him. “But I’d like to. Tell me something little, something you haven’t told anyone lately. What’s your favourite flower?”

“Roses,” you say instantly, your eyes stuck on his mouth. “White ones, specifically. It’s cliche, I know, but I’ve always loved them.”

“Roses,” he repeats with a chuckle. “I’ll remember that.”

“Your turn.”

His lips part gently, like he’s surprised in your returned question, and his teeth clamp lightly down before he answers. “My favourite flower?”

You’re not used to this, to feeling an instant connection with someone like you’ve been struck by lightning. Every nerve in your body feels electric, your fingers twitching as you reach out and run his tie between your knuckles. The fabric is soft and silky, the silver tie clip towards the end stopping your motion. “Yeah.”

“Lavender,” he says quickly, inhaling sharply when you tug lightly on his tie. “The smell is…”

You lean down, tilting your body sideways so you can set the bottle of whiskey on the ground. As you do, he lifts his hands to his face, removing the glasses, revealing the most beautiful pair of brown eyes you’ve ever seen. Rimmed in darker shades, streaks of grey across his irises. They don’t focus on you — of course they don’t, you chastise yourself internally — but they drop slightly as he reaches forward to tuck them in a pocket inside the jacket draped around your body. His knuckles graze your ribs as he does, and it makes your heart pick up in your chest once more.

You’re not expecting the way his hand moves to flatten against your rib cage, or the way the other lifts to your face, catching your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Matt tilts your head up and to the side, exposing your throat, and leans in, inhaling deeply as he does, moving so close you can feel the ghost of his mouth against your pulse, but you’re not sure if his skin ever actually touches yours.

“Your pulse is racing,” he whispers, thumb making a quick swipe over your bottom lip. “Is this okay?”

The wind howls around you, the coolness sweeping across your skin, contrasting sharply with the heat building within you. You still feel electric, sparks climbing through your system, making you feel bold and different in a way you haven’t felt before.

“More than okay,” you breathe out, “but I’ll have you know I don’t usually make out with strange men on rooftops thirty minutes after meeting them for the first time.”

He grins, lifting his head so his face is level with yours, and you’re staring at his mouth as he speaks. “I thought you said I wasn’t strange.”

“You’re not,” you say. Your head is a mess, alcohol and emotion and that strange electricity that’s making your brain almost fuzzy. “I don’t know who you are, Matt Murdock, and you don’t know who I am, not yet, but I’d very much like you to kiss me.”

That earns you a low chuckle, the hand on your side flexing against the fabric of your dress. “Say please.”

“Please.”

For a split second, you’re convinced he’s looking right at you, his eyes moving in a way that mimics the same path that your eyes are making across his face. His stupidly, devilishly handsome face. You want to question him suddenly, but you’re interrupted, the hand that had been holding your chin moving to cup the side of your face, and then his mouth is on yours.

He tastes like whiskey and cinnamon and something else you can’t put your finger on, and heaven above, his mouth is soft. You can’t help the almost strangled moan that rumbles its way up your throat, getting caught on your lips as Matt catches your lower one between his teeth, tugging ever so slightly. His hand moves from your ribs to the small of your back beneath his jacket and he pulls your body against his, every inch of him pressed against every inch of you, and it’s nothing you’ve ever felt before.

Your hands are trapped between your bodies, and you let them snake up to his shoulders, feeling toned muscles flex beneath your palms. One slips up the back of his neck, twisting in the short hairs at his nape, and he groans into your mouth, pressing harder against your lower back, and you cant your hips against his, drawing another groan from him, feeling it vibrate in his chest against yours.

It’s heaven. He’s heaven. And instantly, you’re addicted to him.

Matt pulls away from your mouth only to move down along your jaw and throat, the hand on your face sliding into your hair and tugging slightly. You tilt your head back, baring your throat to him, inhaling sharply when his mouth closes around your pulse, sucking at your skin.

“Where have you been hiding?” he mumbles against you, and you slot a leg between his so you can turn him slightly, pushing him back with just enough force that he catches your meaning, lowering himself onto the couch behind him. The wind howls, and you can barely hear yourself think over the noise, the replay of his raspy question in your mind, the feeling of his jacket sliding from your shoulders as he leans forward slightly, hands hooking behind your bare knees and pulling you forward until you’re straddling his lap.

You roll your hips against his the moment you’re comfortable, his arms now draped around your waist, your hands reaching for his tie. There’s a pool of heat between your thighs, only encouraged by the way you can feel the hardness between his own legs, bulging against the fabric of his pants. You let one hand drag across him, hooking two fingers in his belt, and he groans, his head tipping back against the couch.

You use it to your advantage, leaning in and kissing the spot where his stubble ends and smooth skin begins. His pulse jumps against your tongue and he gasps out words, “You want…this?” His hands move up your thighs as he asks, bunching your dress a little higher. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you should be shivering, but you feel so hot and bothered it doesn’t even seem to register with the rest of your body.

Without missing a beat, your hand moves to his belt, undoing it in one fell swoop, finding his lips with your own once more. You yank the hem of his shirt from his pants, letting your hand slide beneath the fabric and up his torso, your fingers tracing ridges of muscle and…scars.

You pull back, your hand stopped over a particularly long, ridged line on his right side. “Wait, Matt, what—”

He cuts you off with another kiss, fingers hooked in the front of your dress and pulling you back down to him. Your chest nearly spills from your neckline in the process, and you suck in a breath at the way his palm squeezes the curve of your breast. His hips rise against yours now, chasing your body with his own, and he asks again against your mouth, “Do you want…ah…this?”

You know what he’s asking, and your mind is a haze of the curve of his mouth, the taste of his tongue, and the pleasure you can already feel building at your core. You settle deeper into his laps, snapping your hips against his and drawing a deep moan from him. “Say please,” you whisper, grinning like the devil at him.

His jaw drops slightly, breath seeming to get caught on his tongue for a moment before he says, almost reverently, “Please.”

It’s something in the way his breath hitches against halfway through your name, something in the way the letters form on his tongue, that has you scrabbling for his waist, unzipping his pants quickly. There’s a brief moment, a whispered realization that neither of you has a condom, your quiet assurance that you’re on the pill, and that you’re clean, and his confirmation of the same.

Then he shoves his pants down to his knees, expertly pulls your panties to the side, and you sink down onto his cock, teeth nearly breaking the skin of your lower lip as you do.

The wind stays silent as it happens, and you’re glad. If you could bottle noise, it would be the broken moan he lets out as your body envelops him, stretching around every inch of him. It’s satisfying in the best way, the slight burn pleasurable beyond belief, and he buries his face in your chest when you start to move, rocking into him again and again. Both your hands slide into his hair, tugging at his roots as he yanks the neckline of your dress down and plants his mouth in the space between your breasts, tonguing and kissing at your skin.

“Matt,” you groan out, one hand grabbing at the back of the couch when his hands find your hips and he pulls you down hard into his lap, hitting that spot within you that sends a shock of lightning across your closed eyelids. He’s everywhere, everything you feel and see and taste and hear and smell.

The lightning starts to climb through your limbs, sparking when he pulls you down again, mouth climbing up your throat, seeking out your lips once more. You groan, feeling the coil in the very core of you starting to tighten, wrapping through every part of you before—

An all too familiar voice calls your name, the noise screeching through your ears, and you freeze. Matt does the same beneath you, lips falling away from yours, and you look over your shoulder, feeling your heart sink into your toes.

Tony stands less than six feet from the two of you, shock on his face, Iron Man suit still cycling through the colour wheel. Your first instinct is to laugh, but the embarrassment wins out.

“Fuck! Tony, turn around!” you shout, reaching back to pull your dress back down over your ass, feeling yourself go bright red. Matt is starting to laugh underneath you, the noise making his shoulders shake.

Thankfully, Tony does turn, covering his face with his hands as he does, and the two of your disentangle yourself — reluctantly — from each other. Matt tucks himself back into his pants, not bothering to tuck his shirt in, and retrieves his jacket from where it had fallen to the ground. You readjust your dress, sliding one foot back into the heel that had slipped off.

Matt pulls his glasses out once more, along with his cane and a small piece of paper, which he hands to you. “Call me,” he says simply, leaning in to kiss your cheek, his mouth lingering against your skin. Then he’s gone, stepping away from you and towards the door that leads to the stairs. “Good to see you, Tony.”

“Mr. Murdock,” Tony replies, and then waits for the door to shut. “Can I turn around now?”

You heave a sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Sure.”

He does — comically slowly and carefully so — and just stares at you, about to open his mouth and say something, but before he can, you lift a hand, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t.”

He just barks a laugh, shaking his head. “Didn’t think you’d have a thing for lawyers.”

“Tony, I said don’t.”

It’s not until after you’ve said a firm goodnight to Tony and slipped away into your own room before you even look at the card tucked between your knuckles. It’s thick card, words stamped in deep red ink.

Nelson & Murdock

Attorneys at Law

Beneath that, what you assume to be Braille letters giving the same information, and then at the bottom of the card is his name, Matthew Murdock and his phone number.

“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself, setting the card on your bedside table, sinking onto your mattress. “I’m in trouble.”

#twelve months with the devil #murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock smut #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil smut #my fics

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 2 years

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Meeting and Dating Sebastian Valmont

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(Are these a little toxic? Yes. Will I apologize for that? No. It kind of comes with the territory; though I’m sure you’re all aware of that.)

- The worst part about falling in love with Sebastian was knowing him. You knew all his twisted little games, his sins, his thought processes. You knew exactly the type of person he was and how incapable he was of ever returning your affections. But more than anything, you knew that the universe had to be cruel if it allowed you to know all of this and still love him just as much as before.

- Love wasn’t blind, it was ignorant. It was devoid of self preservation and it haunted you since the moment you saw him. Katheryn should have been a warning: you’d seen her dark side often enough to know exactly the type of people they were. And yet, it did nothing to stop you from caring for him; in a sick way it made you want him even more.

- You craved his approval, craved the time spent by the step siblings sides. You relished in how a part of their lives you’d become, how closely you began to resemble the only version of a friend that the two of them were capable of. You felt like the only person in the world who had such an intimate look into the upper east side evil which inhabited their home

- And a part of you felt lucky. Fortunate to have learned about his cruel streak before the two of you met on the street: before he could get any idea in his head to pursue you and shatter your heart into a million pieces. At least you were aware of his games: could see his insincerity whenever it was at work; couldn’t convince yourself of a false reality as he spun his web of lies.

- This way you didn’t take anything too seriously. A defense mechanism: you learned to enjoy what you could and did your best to ignore the ache of longing. Ignored the warmth of being expected in his home, the uncharacteristic familiarity and politeness, the burn of his touch and the racing of your heart as he teased and flirted.

- At times you would forget how expendable you were; how it wasn’t real and that your entire relationship with either of them was undoubtedly little more than an advantageous façade. That was when the pain kicked in: a pain you tried your best to repress, knowing that it would get you nowhere; the sort of pain a child had when they wished for something they knew they’d never get.

- Sebastian was always preoccupied with bigger and better things than you; even though you were arguably a worthy conquest: what with your looks and the soft ban that Katheryn had placed on you the moment you were accepted into their lives. You were too useful to fuck and throw away, so he did his best to deny himself your earthly pleasures. But that didn’t stop him from enjoying your company in other ways....

- He enjoyed testing your waters: liked seeing what he could accomplish with you; what you could give him and what he could make you do. He knew about your feelings; he was too experienced with women to not know, but he wasn’t particularly interested in them; at least not at first. He merely liked having a person who he could manipulate and bend to his every whim; even though he could have made any other girl just as pliable as you with a smile and some artful flirtation.

- That's not to say that he didn’t actually enjoy having you around: he had to admit that he did like your company; even if it was initially rather reliant on how much you did for him. He liked to tease you and see you grow flustered, to use you as a pillow or maid, squeeze attention and affection out of you like a sponge.

- He liked being able to convince you to help him with things, to have a place to drop by and crash at; though you were admittedly embarrassed by them seeing your comparably humble abode the first few times him and Katheryn dropped by. He liked seeing the way you did what he asked and sought out his approval; you were sort of like a … like a pet.

- If he asked you to date someone, you’d do it. If he asked you to break up with them, you’d do it. If you got asked out, he’d tell you that he didn’t think they were good for you; as though he was actually concerned, and wouldn’t you know it, they’d be gone by the end of the week.

- That’s why he considered you getting a boyfriend to be entirely harmless; harmless until it began affecting his own life....

- No longer were you free to him: free to touch as he pleased or willing to drop whatever you were doing when he called. You didn’t seek out his praise or give him affection anymore; didn’t look after him in a way that used to occasionally annoy him.

- You’d subtly cut him off and his repressed mommy issues had begun to shine through. It didn’t help that you having a boyfriend was probably Katheryn's fault and that she enjoyed egging on his annoyance; rubbing it in whenever he grew frustrated by your sudden absence in their lives.

- What bothered him most; however, was that your absence …hurt. No longer were you that useful piece of furniture that was always there when he needed it yet never spared a further thought. You were suddenly a living, breathing person: one he missed and craved and wanted back....

- Sebastian Valmont was not jealous. He’d decided long ago that he was incapable of that emotion and refused to believe that he was suddenly feeling it. What would he have to be jealous of? He had everything a person could ever ask for.

- So what if he showed up at your apartment and found your boyfriend already there, or if it was that guys head in your lap rather than his, or if he visited you at your work and found your attention on that asshole rather than his own sudden appearance. Did you expect him to be jealous over you doing favors for that Neanderthal? Favors that used to be his …that should have been his....

- What really got to him was that you weren’t even trying. He could have probably let it go and ignored it if it was a conscious decision of yours designed to get his attention. But it wasn’t. You were completely unaware and that made it entirely worse.

- But the worst part of this entire ordeal was seeing you “disobey” him: seeing the reluctance on your face as he tried his usual tactics of getting you to break up with someone and seeing you rebel against him for the first time ever. He realized then that you were actually developing feelings for the boy: feelings that were his, that belonged to him; the ones he’d grown so comfortable with you having over the time he knew you ...as though they’d always be there....

- The realization was enough to make him walk away: leaving your apartment without another word as you sat there frustrated yet unable to stop yourself from feeling as though you’d done something wrong. You stewed in those feelings until you couldn’t take it anymore, hopping into a taxi and arriving at his place; quietly asking him to elaborate.

- Much to your surprise, he apologized for what he said: apologized for meddling in things he had no business involving himself in and for upsetting you; waiting for you to soften in his grasp before laying it on thick. He told you that it’s just because he’s worried about you, that he misses you and that he never sees you anymore; that everything feels so different between you.

- …‘You guess you have been neglecting him a bit....’ You admit to yourself and before you know it, you’re agreeing to make more time for him; him and Katheryn are your exact words but he chooses to ignore that last bit.

- And so you do. You let him steal you away for hours at a time; let him give you a taste of what it’s like to date him while he relishes in your boyfriends annoyance.

- He loves to see it, loves to arrive back at your place and find him waiting: to goad him into clenching his jaw and later hear you admit that he was mad; all with the cutest little guilty smile he’d ever seen. It felt like revenge, revenge that, to him, was well deserved.

- Sebastian's kissed you before; perhaps even felt you up a bit, but it never really meant anything. It was brought on by curiosity and/or the urge to kiss something. And though he liked the feeling; and the sight of you shyly excusing yourself afterwards, it was only ever a bit of fun.

- But this time …this time it’s fireworks. There’s this undeniable feeling of love swelling in his chest and a sort of relief: relief that; deep down, you’re still his, that you’re letting him kiss you and that you’re kissing him back.

- Technically you’re cheating on your boyfriend, but the thought hardly even crosses his mind; mainly because, to him, you were never meant to be with him. You were always supposed to be his and you never stopped being his; even when you were trying your hardest to be someone else’s.

- He forces himself not to chase after your lips as you finally pull away, forces himself to be good and let you figure things out. He apologizes and you say it’s okay, staying quiet as you ponder what’s going on. He changes the subject and watches as you slowly revert back to normal....

- Why haven’t you broken up with him yet? If he has to see you show up to another luncheon with that bastards hand around your shoulder, he’s going to break something. This is ridiculous, this is agony. Why does he care so much? He doesn’t understand and he doesn’t want to either because a part of him already knows.

- Okay, so what? You want a confession? Fine, he’ll give you a confession! He’ll show up to your house and recite the most thorough and earnest speech you’ve ever heard; saying everything you’ve wanted to hear for years in a matter of minutes. Its enough to have you blinking back tears as you admit that you don’t know what to say. He answers that you don’t have to say anything, holding your face in his hands as he kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you....

- Seems like one of you is gonna have to make a phone call in the morning....

- Sebastian; more than anything else, is good at reading a room. He knows exactly when and where he’s allowed to touch you; both in terms of geographical location and the location of his hands on your body, and he knows when he’s capable of getting away with things. He can have your parents convinced that he’s the perfect gentleman all while holding you next to him by a handful of your ass.

- But, as much as he likes to touch you, he tends to be pretty hot and cold when it comes to affection; and that’s just something you’re going to have to get used to. One minute he’ll be just out of reach, the next he’ll have his tongue in your mouth, and the next he’ll refuse to let go of your hand; expect the unexpected since it’s the only form of predictability you’ll get out of him.

- Depending on the circumstance, he’s either very purposeful with his touches or very absentminded. He definitely has a habit of stroking and caressing his hands across your bare skin but it’s a good idea to try and deduce whether he’s doing it just to touch you or if he’s trying to get something out of you. It’ll save you a lot of trouble in the long run.

- Handholding. Sometimes, he’ll just grab you and drag you along; barely giving an explanation as to where he’s leading you or time to stop and question him. He just expects you to blindly follow him, and since you’re usually in unfamiliar territory; i.e. some fancy area of town or an entirely different country, you rarely “oppose him”.

- If your shoulders are exposed, he’s going to kiss them. If they aren’t, he’ll settle for your cheek.

- No matter what type of kiss he’s trying to give you, there’s always at least a touch of passion behind them. Deep and heated, slow and loving; the context may change but the sheer amount emotion that he puts into them rarely does.

- Makeouts on top of makeouts on top of makeouts. He likes to kiss you until you head spins and then some.

- Sitting on his lap or on the arm of his chair; his arm wrapped around your waist and his hand resting on your hip.

- The two of you don’t really have a set position for cuddling; it changes depending on the day and where you are. Sometimes, you’ll lay on top of him while he uses your back as an armrest to read on, other times he’ll lay on top of you and slot his face into the crook of your neck, etc, etc, etc.

- He uses a surprising amount of pet names: things like baby, princess, sweet pea, angel. You’d think that he was being sarcastic but most of the time, he really isn’t. He genuinely enjoys using them even though it’ll take you a while to realize he’s actually being serious.

- Sebastian grew up in a household where money was a life line. It didn’t matter if hugs were nonexistent or if birthday parties were spent alone, so long as there was an expensive car sitting in the drive way or a flight to Paris booked for the weekend.

- It’s the reason why he showers you in so many gifts and expensive surprises. It’s what he’s used to and it’s what he thinks everyone else wants as well. He’s genuinely surprised when you insist that he doesn’t have to keep buying you things and initially assumes that you just don’t like his latest present; which makes him feel surprisingly insecure and stupid, but you insist that you love it before explaining that his company is all you want/need.

- Admittedly, part of the reason he enjoys spoiling you so much is because he feels as though it adds to the security of your relationship. He thinks that, because he’s offering you things that no one else can give you, you’ll have a much harder time finding somebody else that you’re genuinely willing to leave him for.

- But; with that being said, he also just enjoys seeing your reaction to things. Luxury has become a normality for him so it’s entertaining to watch as you get excited over the “littlest of things”; things that have long since lost their charm for him.

- Fresh flowers. You’ve constantly got dozens of bouquets scattered throughout your home and though it’s certainly beautiful, you’re starting to run out of vases and table space.

- Vacations and trips. What do you mean you’ve never been to France??

- Going to different spas and resorts. His aunt probably takes the two of you along with her when she goes and his favorite part about the whole experience is meeting back with you for lunch or dinner and seeing you completely care free and happy.

- He probably orders for you when you’re at restaurants; mainly because you’re clueless over the French words on the menu and what half of the differences in the fancy meals mean. There’s multiple types of caviar here? Isn’t all wine just sort of, well, …wine? Are you supposed to have an opinion?

- It takes him a little while but over time, he begins to learn exactly how you like to be loved. He copies your own actions and does things that he typically wouldn’t do; feeling a sense of pride whenever you get genuinely happy in response. Gifts are still pretty common but they’re mixed in with what you actually need: affection, quality time, words of affirmation or acts of service.

- He doesn’t like admitting how whipped for you he is; especially during the start of your relationship, so he’ll come up with a bunch of different excuses to “warrant” calling you when all he really wants to do is hear your voice or hear you say that you love him again. He’ll also use said excuses to try and make it seem like he wasn’t just calling to ask you for a favor.

- He acts kinda paranoid for someone who lives in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods money can buy. He always walks you out to your taxi (and pays for it), makes sure that you’ve gotten inside before driving off, and calls you after you arrive home to make sure that you’ve gotten there safe and sound. God help you if you live in an even slightly run down part of town; he’ll act like you have Ted Bundy living on one side of you and a dangerous crackhead on the other.

- It’s obvious to everyone; including yourself, that he’s head over heels in love with you, but he still hates to admit it and let people think that he’s weak. Don’t take his adamant denial that he cares about x, y, and z too seriously; he’s just embarrassed that you’ve “caught him” being soft and that you’re teasing him.

- Please try and make him laugh. He takes himself way too seriously and your ability to do so is one of the reasons he loves you so much.

- You’ve lost count of how many photos he has of you. He probably bought an entirely new camera just to capture different moments in your relationship; mainly because it felt wrong to take photos of you on one that was previously used for such devious purposes. He also didn’t need you stumbling across something you shouldn’t have while his attention was elsewhere.

- Going out for drives.

- Taking walks around the city.

- Attending lunches at his Aunts house.

- He’s good at manipulating people but he oftentimes can’t be bothered. He thinks your parents and friends are annoying and he’ll almost always complain whenever you want him to go with you to some event; like a cousins wedding or a work Christmas party.

- Picnics; usually at his aunts house. You’ve got a beautiful and secluded garden all to yourself; what more could you ask for?

- Going swimming. He may or may not convince you to turn your normal dip into a skinny dip but I digress.

- He sort of just makes plans and tells you to be there; or phrases his asking out as a definitive future plan.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Going out with you.”

- Forget Katheryn or whoever else has pissed him off this week, his real mortal enemy is your current place of employment. He doesn’t understand why you won’t just quit and let him support you and his obvious displeasure in you having a job has become a sort of inside joke between the two of you.

- Fighting the urge to read his journal every time you see it. Knowing him, you’re almost entirely certain that you won’t like what you find and that simple little fact is what helps to quell your insatiable curiosity....

- And yet, speaking of diaries: he would read yours in a heartbeat. He doesn’t have the same moral high-ground as you and he’s far too eager to see what you’ve possibly written about him to stop himself.

- He kind of likes spying on you. He likes watching what you do when you think no one’s watching and being able to drop in on you at the perfect moment.

- He’s pretty good at comforting and reassuring you even if he isn’t being 100% sincere. You can rarely tell the difference either way so it’s sort of no harm no foul, right?

- He hates any type of criticism being directed towards you; especially when it’s over something that he finds endearing. Most of the things he’s learned to love about you are things that he would’ve mocked someone else for so he’s constantly telling Katheryn or his friends to shut up when they try to make a joke.

- Sebastian is a pretty vengeful person so even though you might express that you don’t want or need retribution for something someone has done to you, he still goes ahead and gets even. He can’t stand the thought of someone getting away with hurting you or sullying your good name so apologies but he isn’t going to let it go. Believe him, he’s done worse for less.

- Gossiping with and bouncing ideas off of each other.

- As much as he enjoys having someone who’s eager to help him, he isn’t very fond of getting you involved in his schemes; unless he views them as entirely harmless. He wont bat an eye at having you deliver a message or make a purchase/call for him but he doesn’t like having to watch you flirt or allow someone to put their paws all over you.

- He’ll usually go over his plans with you in the backseat of a taxi while you’re driving over to meet someone; telling you exactly what you’re allowed to do and making sure that you completely understand what you’re trying to accomplish.

- He can get away with pretty much anything he wants to and now that you’re with him, so can you. When you’re as rich as he is, you’re pretty much immune to consequence, so; as he would so aptly put it, don’t you worry your pretty little head.

- Katheryn’s kind of annoyed by your relationship; mainly because you’re turning him soft and ruining her plans. He tries to limit your interactions with her in fear of her telling you something about him that’ll scare you off.

- Sebastian isn’t an incredibly jealous person but he does have his moments. He likes having a girlfriend that sparks envy in all of his peers but he doesn’t like people getting too friendly with you; especially if you actually seem to be liking their attention. His response usually depends on your actions and how much he already doesn’t like the other guy.

- You’re the first person he’s ever truly cared about and he’s genuinely prepared to die for you. Never before has he ever been protective of a another person but here he is; borderline acting like your father. He likes seeing you have fun and letting you dress the way you want but he draws the line at “allowing you” to do something dangerous or letting you try to handle someone who’s bothering you.

- Sebastian is arguably a pretty terrible person so you’re bound to have at least a few arguments during your time together. Sometimes you’ll debate, sometimes you’ll yell, sometimes you’ll be sarcastic, and sometimes you’ll even insult each other: it really just depends on the situation.

- But; as much as he’d probably like to, he can’t stay mad at you for very long. He accepts your apology the minute you give it; though he might exaggerate his hurt feelings to get something from you, and does his best to worm his way back into your heart whenever you’re upset with him. He doesn’t play fair but that’s just something you’re gonna have to get used to.

- He tells you that he loves you pretty often but it tends to be in response to you saying it first. That’s just the way he is.

- He’s not all that interested in a very traditional relationship but he does know that he wants to be with you for the rest of his life and that he’ll do whatever he can to make sure that that happens. He’s never really believed in marriage but the thought of you in a white dress does kind of intrigue him....

#sebastian valmont imagine #sebastian valmont imagines #sebastian valmont headcanons #sebastian valmont headcanon #cruel intentions imagine #cruel intentions imagines #cruel intentions headcanons #cruel intentions headcanon #90s movie imagine #90s movie headcanon #90s movie headcanons #90s movie imagines

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rae-gar-targaryen · 3 years

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loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was it.

No "I'm sorry, querida."

No "I hope we can stay friends."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance.

‘Cause I loved you, once…

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oliver here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But?" He pressed.

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you think of that one?”

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

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

Um, wow.

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

All you could do was nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel nodded.

“Do your worst, Vince.”

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

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

You rolled your eyes.

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

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

“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He seemed puzzled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly.

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

You spun back toward him before he could get up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

Cheeky.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. So she knew who you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was a hard no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took mercy on you nevertheless.

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

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

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

You felt EZ stiffen from your other side.

Great.

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

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

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

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

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

You really were doing great, weren’t you?

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

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

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

What the fuck.

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

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

That stung.

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

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

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

That was you, ever the professional.

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

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

“You got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

“Vince?” The text read.

You bit back a smirk before responding,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding.

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

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

“Boy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your phone dinged once more.

“See you then, mi reina.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel chuckled a little at that.

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

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

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

"Really?"

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

Angel held up one hand, defensively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coco's voice broke your train of thought,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Angelito, everything okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath was shuddering now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, querida," Angel gasped.

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

"Please… use your pretty mouth?"

You nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mmm," you nodded, "Please? Angel?"

He was only a man, after all. Who was he to refuse when you asked so prettily for him?

He gently turned you over so that your back was to him, running his hands down the slope of your back and guiding you to your knees, propping your hips up.

Positioning himself behind you, Angel resumed his grip on your throat, using it to guide your head around so that he could kiss you again while he guided himself inside of you. You moaned into the kiss at the sensation, never tired of feeling every ridge of his thick cock sliding into you like he belonged there.

Angel groaned, breaking the kiss and shaking his head, chuckling darkly, his eyes flashing as he swore,

"Never fuckin' get tired of that shit," he began to move his hips, using his other hand that was gripping your hip to guide you along his lengthy, meeting his thrusts. "Never tired of your pussy … You're so … good."

Angel's words coupled with his thrusts were driving you crazy, causing you to eagerly meet him with the momentum of your own hips, the heat in the room spliced with the distinctive noise of his skin meeting yours.

Angel, leaning over your back, crowded your every sense, the taste of him, of his kisses still lingering on your tongue. Your ears met with the harmony of your two bodies and the filthy words and sounds coming from Angel's mouth. The sight of him was as intoxicating as ever, as you looked over your shoulder at him, the shadows of the room playing across his tawny skin, glimmering in the low light with the sheen of sweat you knew was also present on yours.

“Say my name,” Angel pants into the slick skin on your back, kissing a line down your spine, his body covering yours possessively.

You were too caught up in everything Angel, failing to respond quickly enough for his liking as you gasped at every thrust.

A crack of heat flashed across your ass, Angel swatting you there once. You should be annoyed, but you couldn't lie -- you fucking loved it when he was like this. Only for you.

"A-angel," you sighed, the crescendo of your orgasm climbing, threatening to burst any second, you tightening around Angel.

"Bueno," he purred. "You close? Yeah, you fucking are," Angel snarled, taking in the way you threw your hips back desperately to meet him, squirming one hand beneath you to touch yourself. "You can have it, baby, I'll make it good. You just gotta ask pretty for me."

You deepened the arch in your back, flexing your hips back toward Angel, and gripping the bedspread before you in your fingers, face pressed flush with the sheets, your other hand still pressed to your clit.

Angel tilted your head, leaning over further and gripping your jaw, squeezing to pucker your cheeks. He kissed you, sucking your lower lip between his. He kissed you gently, a deceptive contrast to the hand gripping your face, his hips snapping into yours at a now-brutish pace. He pecked another light kiss to your lips, followed by another, gently biting your lip and dragging it lightly as he drew his face from yours.

He released your lips as you whispered another plea into his mouth.

"Come on then, baby."

Your orgasm washed over you, pinpricks of striking matches splintering across your skin, followed by a euphoric wave of white-heat, blissfully soothing every nerve it had just lit.

Angel followed, emptying himself into you with a few final thrusts, groaning at the way you tightened just so around him.

He withdrew gently, collapsing next to you as you both caught your breath.

Your lashes fanned your cheeks as you blinked hazily at the form of your love through the soft glow of the room.

"I do love you, Angel," you told him, leaning across the sheets to rub your nose back and forth against his, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, grazing your soft fingers against the lines of his forehead, easing them away into an expression of soft serenity. "Always."

---

Now, you walked out of the clubhouse, around to the side of the porch, a quiet corner away from the noise. Willing yourself to calm down as small, hot tears trickled their way, uninvited, down your cheeks.

Your thoughts were moving a million miles a second, the battle of luck you were waging with the universe saw you quickly losing.

The year you spent with Angel replaying itself in your mind. Every word, every touch, that goddamn tattoo. Remembrance, my ass. How you would hold him when he came home too high-strung and strung-out emotionally for words. How you would save the best leftovers for him when you knew he had been away and would be craving the Chinese food from the place down the block when he got back. How he felt inside of you on the coldest nights and in the most tender mornings. How he would whisper enchanting endearments into the shell of your ear as he rolled his hips into yours, your mind and body completely his. How you would wear his shirts and overly-large socks around his apartment, leaving doodles and scribbled poems on sticky notes for him to find in his moments alone. How he kissed you warmly, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like syrupy possession that you never wanted to end.

How it did end. How he had thrown out your world, crumpled it into a crushed paper ball and tossing it away with the carelessness of a child. Ending things with seemingly no spare thought for your feelings. How EZ had let slip when he saw you in town that Angel was expecting a kid, the timing of everything suddenly making a little more sense. How it made you feel, now that you knew you were wholly his, but he was never entirely yours. How you had kept to yourself in the months that followed, the cracks in your heart widening until you felt like you would drown in them.

The pulse of your feelings for him, always strong; they warm you. But it was still you they all left behind.

Your thoughts were still swirling when, off to the side, you heard the porch door open and close again, and you prayed that whomever was coming outside was going to have a smoke out front, or that they were on their way out. That they wouldn’t find you.

But of course, these things never worked out how you wanted them. You cursed any god you could think of for just how un-fucking-lucky you were sometimes.

Because, really, who other than Angel was making his way around the porch to you? Taking in your hunched form as you leaned over the railing, looking anywhere but at him.

Of fucking course.

You kept your eyes down, focused in your clasped hands as you leaned over the railing, refusing to look at him.

And now? Now he was looking at you, and it's the one time you wished he wouldn't.

One thing you wouldn't do, now that he was here, was break the silence first. He didn't want to hear what you'd had to say, so why would you grace him with your thoughts now? Petty? Sure. But you weren't the one in there with your hands on some ass while a so-called friend harassed your ex.

A few uncomfortable beats dragged on before Angel broke the silence, shattering it like glass with a verbal hammer.

"What'd he say to you?"

You remained silent.

"What the fuck did he say, Frida?" His voice angry now, demanding. The same tone he used to break your heart.

"It ain't working. Not my fuckin’ fault you can't see it."

You rolled your eyes, another shard of icy glass painfully wedging into your heart at his use of the name. Still refusing to look in his direction when you replied, softly but sharply,

"You know exactly what he said. What I'm trying to figure out is why, exactly, you care."

"I care, Frida," was all he offered.

You snorted in response. Undignified, sure. But couldn't he see this was killing you? Where was his mercy?

"I do," he insisted, the thud of his boots across the wood of the porch indicating that he was crossing to you, coming to stand a ways behind you.

"I'm not going to do this with you. He said some shit. It's over. We move on. What more could you have to say about that?"

Keep it simple, keep yourself safe. You gave him nothing to say back. And then…

"And if I told you I wanted you? I wanted you back?"

You whipped your head around to -- finally -- meet Angel's eyes, which you did for a fleeting moment before zeroing in once more on your shoes, staring resolutely at the ground. You were not going to let him see you cry again, godfuckingdamnit.

The fleeting glimpse of his face, of his eyes meeting yours once more after all this time, was enough. He looked more tired up close than he had before. Still unfair in his striking beauty, his midnight eyes still enough to pull you in, drown you in their oceanic depths. You hated it. Hated that he still had that power over you. But try as you might, you couldn't hate him.

Your silence was killing Angel with the precision of a thousand miniscule cuts. Each deeper than the last. Until he couldn’t take it any longer. He reached through the space between, for where your hand rested on the railing. You saw the gesture coming, and whipped your hand away at the last moment, cradling it to your chest like he had burned you. You faced him fully now.

You chuckled softly, wryly, and devoid of any humor before you muttered, "You don't want me, baby. Please don't lie."

“And how do you know that’s a lie?” Angel mumbled thickly, working his tongue around the words, through his own emotion.

You scuffed your toe into the hewn wood of the deck, shrugging before you responded, simply,

“If I was what you wanted, you wouldn’t have gone looking elsewhere. And you certainly wouldn't have found someone else. You wouldn’t have said what you said, ended it like you did, with everything on just your terms.” You sighed deeply, with the rattle of tears lodged into your chest before you spoke again, “You made up your mind and never even let me say a word. If you wanted anything to do with me, you could have at least given me a word.”

Angel blinked, hard. The familiar pressure of real tears building behind his eyes. You were right of course. And fuck, weren't you always? You'd always told him like it was, harsh truths that only you could cushion in your gentle, empathetic way.

"Please, querida, just let me explain what happened--"

You held up your hand, shaking your head firmly, effectively silencing Angel.

"No!" Much softer now, "No. I- I'm sorry, Angel, I don't mean to be rude. But, no." Your voice small, but clear, as you'd finally gotten your opportunity to say something back to him. "I, uh, I don't want to hear any explanation, and you really don't have to?"

You lilted the last part like it was a question, but continued on.

"You, um, you've had a lot of time to tell me something, anything, about what the fuck happened. And you didn't. You left me with nothing. Just confusion and hurt, and I've made peace with that. It's taken a while, but … I just… I don't need that from you. I gave you space, always respected your decisions and opinions, and now you won't do the same. You're still trying to take from me. Offering me an explanation now?" You scoffed. "That isn't for me, and don't fuckin’ act like it is -- it's for you. And I understand that, that's fine. I'm not angry at you for that, but I'm also not going to humor it."

You exhaled shakily, you couldn't believe you'd said all of that, that you had made it through.

Angel was speechless. It made your heart feel even sicker -- all of this silence from him for so long, and he'd offered to explain himself and you'd (gracefully) told him to fuck off. Why had you done that??

It was about time you'd stood up for yourself, that's why.

An explanation would be nice, sure. But where Angel's words, whispered affirmations and heady declarations of love, had once made your soul swell and sing… now, you knew, anything he'd had to say to you would only serve to do the opposite.

And your heart, perpetually bruised by nature of you being a hopeless romantic, just couldn't take it.

You hopped off the porch, spinning around to face Angel, finding his eyes on you still. Hadn't you wished for him to look at you? To really see you once more?

"I'm out," you tossed a thumb over your shoulder toward where you'd parked your car. "Sorry, I don't mean to abandon the old post, but uh, I'm sure you guys have someone to fill in. I'll text Aneesa to grab my stuff, don't worry about it."

Like he would, you thought.

You were mostly rambling to yourself, and not really to Angel, as you backed away, fleeing to your car.

Angel watched you go, the resonant ache in his chest that had been ever-present since tossing your stuff out, amplified when Luisa had left him, and now sure to be permanent, buried in cement beneath the weight of his every decision, and every word.

You looked good, he thought. Your hair was longer than when he'd seen you last. Your little skirt flouncing as you strode away. Your skin still glowed, full lips still twisted into that wry smile of yours that he had seen from across the room. All of that was true, but your eyes were also tired, and your smile never quite reached them.

The thought that he was responsible for dimming that sparkle made him feel sicker than he already had. The way you had brushed off Andres, despite his obnoxious insistence, and the things the cocky new patch had said to you -- may as well add those to the ever-growing pile of things stained and tainted by Angel's guilt.

And he was left alone with that guilt as you left the lot. He turned back to the party. His cool facade slipping back into place. Not ready to face the wrath of EZ and Coco, surely waiting inside to proverbially beat his ass.

What would you say if I come over? And we stand face to face now that we're older?

---

Angel shuffled into his apartment, the late hour catching up to his weary form as he ambled over to his bedside, flicking on the lamp.

Rubbing a large hand down his face, he sat on his bed in a huff of exhaustion. Your first encounter in months since he'd all-but tossed you from this very room was pricking him with a kind of nauseating nervous energy. But all he wanted to feel in that moment was you, whether he deserved it or not.

He'd still had it, didn't he? Where was it?

He pulled open the drawer of his nightstand, fishing through its contents for what he hoped was still in there.

His fingers curled over his prize -- a slip of paper adorned with your handwriting. Scrawled lines of poetry on a neon pink Post-It note, curled with age and disuse, something you had left for him while he slept in one morning.

“I was thinking of you,” you had said when he had asked you about it later, shrugging as if it were the most matter-of-fact thing in the world.

Your love for him was clean in its simplicity and forwardness, whenever he could wade his way through the mire of your shy demeanor. You had stuck the Post-It to his nightstand while he was sleeping and you made your way to work. Your words were cramped and crunched into the small paper square, but ready to greet him with the shining light of a sunny new day.

“I see your ardor through a pearlescent lense, and all is pleasantly pink and blurry with you-- Resplendent in your love's solar hope. You are so warm beneath the brush of my fingertips, and I burn. So in love with you, as I am and as I do."

Now, his eyes scanned the words for the millionth time since you had written them. He had committed it to memory by now, wishing he could hold you instead of this crumpled piece of paper, mocking him with its annoyingly bright pink hue.

But how could he? Angel was the kind of man who simmered in his emotion -- burning slowly, lowly, only to reach a pitch. He kept to himself until he couldn’t any longer -- and then it was all bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve.

He had done what he had thought was right. Cutting you out with all of the brutality and finesse of a battleaxe, to focus on Luisa and his unborn son. He thought she was what he wanted. But now, he didn’t even have them. He had nothing to show for his decisions but the lonely, sick feeling ever-present in his chest.

The you at the beginning of your relationship would have kissed each bruise in his soul, one by one, until they were better. Would have gifted him with the warmth of your time and attention until he was made whole again with the molten heat of your gracious heart. But the you now?

Angel could never, would never, cover the tattoo on his arm, though he had thought about it. Blacking it out once and for all, so the piece of you he wore on his sleeve would finally match the pitch, and emptiness inside. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was, as he’d said all that time ago, your gift to him. And he’d made you a promise that he wouldn’t.

All he wanted was to look you in the eyes so he could remember that he loved you once.

And not that he had any reason to know it, but across town, you had made it home. Your phone shoved to the bottom of your bag, lighting up with texts from Aneesa, EZ, and Coco. But the only person on your mind was Angel.

How much of what he had said was true? You weren't sure. But you were sure that you knew where you stood, still painfully alone and in love as ever, the cracks in your heart only fillable by the very person you had brushed off earlier.

And, while Angel readied himself for bed, snapping the lights off and attempting to cut through the oppressive darkness by staring at the ceiling with his own penetrative gaze, the empty side of the bed had never felt more cavernous, but more weighted. Mocking.

If Angel was being honest with himself -- something he was never too keen on being in his more sobering moments -- he didn't love you once. He still loved you.

Thinking after all this time, I just wanna meet your eyes so I can remember why... Why I loved you once.

Tagging:

@themarcusmoreno @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @steeeeeeeviebb @qveenbvtch @mxsamwilson @ifimayhaveaword @huliabitch @pettyprocrastination @phoenixhalliwell @flightlessangelwings @cinewhore @velvetmel0n @moonlight-prose @rebeccasficrecs @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @aerolanya @djvrins @jenrebloggingfics @ciriswife @justanotherblonde23 @superhoeva @witching-hour @luckyharley1903

#angel reyes fic #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x fem!reader #angel reyes x you #angel reyes x oc #angel reyes angst #angel reyes smut #angel reyes #clayton cardenas #mayans mc #mayans fx #mayans #mayans mc fic #my writing #rachel writes #holy shittttt this boy is long #it just got away from me #sorry #loved you once

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capricorn-stark · 3 years

Text

Protégé

pairing: red hood!jason todd x robin!reader, slow burn

warning: swearing

a/n: for context, this is somewhat loosely based off of Battle for the Cowl (2009) which I definitely recommend as a read!

There was something about falling that you would never, ever get tired of.

Ever.

Probably.

With the wind whistling in your ears, your hair floating up in a million directions, and your limbs seemingly weightless as the buildings and lights blurred into one endless streak of color, the rush of adrenaline that ran through your body right before your grappling hook shot out and you landed quietly on the concrete was about a million times better than any sparring session back at the cave.

You grinned as you straightened, rather proud of the fact that you had actually managed to land so smoothly without nearly paralyzing yourself. Again.The landing was something you had been working on for a while now.

You could practically hear Bruce’s voice ringing through your head after your little stunt, lamenting on and on about how you had more important things to focus on during patrols, and you let out a sigh as you ran down the backway of the nearly empty streets.

The heavy man who had been bound up with a decently made gag and one of Bruce’s fancy tech pieces (Batcuffs, maybe? Something else with Bat smacked in front of it?) grunted beside you.

“What? Not like you had someplace to be.” You grabbed the back of his rather tacky-looking spandex suit to drag him along back to where your mentor was supposed to be.

Despite your (many) disagreements and his (many) criticisms of your hand-to-hand combat skills, attitude issues, and pretty much everything else relating to you, Bruce had actually still allowed you to go off on your own tonight. It might’ve been because he wanted a few hours of nothing but beating up petty criminals by himself for stress-relief, it might’ve been because he had started trying out that whole independence thing with you a little more (even though you were still only permitted to be about five blocks or so away), it might’ve been plot-convenience - but either way, you appreciated the gesture.

It didn’t take long for you to pull your new friend over to what should’ve been your rendezvous point with Batman, letting the man drop with a dull thud and a grunt of protest against the concrete as you glanced around for the other man. You weren’t particularly concerned by the fact that the Bat himself wasn’t there yet - after all, he was the goddamn Batman. He’d show up eventually. In the meanwhile, you decided to go over the information you had gotten on the criminal with you.

Just for the sake of it. Bruce would make you go over it anyways.

“Drury Walker, thirty-two years old, found him trying to mug someone in a back alley and make an escape. Called himself…” you paused, looking down at his sorry-looking outfit for a few moments while he looked up at you with murder and vengence in his eyes. “...Killer Moth.”

“Killer Moth?” A completely new voice repeated in disbelief, causing you to immediately whirl around to face them in a fight stance, heart racing at a million miles per hour. The guy in front of you had his hands up in the air, his face concealed with some sort of red knock-off Iron Man helmet. He was gonna get copyrighted by Marvel Studios. “Shit, sorry,” he started at the sight of you, still leaning up against one of the walls. “I was supposed to make a wholeass dramatic entrance, but you said his name was Killer Moth and that-” The man made a noise that was either a sharp cough or a laugh of some kind. “-sounded so fucking lame I couldn’t help myself.”

Despite the fact that you were definitely in some sort of major trouble with this new guy, he really did have a point. Even Killer Moth himself would’ve been embarrassed by how trash his name was, if not for the fact that he looked like he was on the verge of an aneurysm - understandably so, since the new guy had produced not one, but two guns out of apparently nowhere.

“And let me guess,” he continued, pointing one of them at your head, his tone still all-too light and easy. “You must be the Bat’s brand-new Robin.”

Now this is where most people would've shut up and proceeded to be complicit with the dude holding two guns. But Batman hadn’t seen reason and made you his (sort of) partner because you were like other people. Hell no.

“Do I look like a traffic signal to you?” It had been the very first of your amendments with Bruce. You would not be fighting crime looking like a literal traffic signal or, at best, a clown from Haly’s Circus. And the tiny green shorts had to go. “Or Robin Hood?” The guy had a rather awkward pause where his gun sort of dipped. Killer Moth was looking between you with wide eyes. “Do I?”

“I guess you kinda got a point.” You huffed and he raised his gun again, getting more in-your-face as his already angry-looking helmet somehow managed to look angrier. You weren’t exactly sure how a helmet could convey so much emotion. “But you work with Batman. And I heard you went by Robin.”

Okay, so you couldn’t make him change the name, but you had agreed it would be more of an honorary thing.

“It’s complicated.”

Using such a phrase as an excuse to escape from situations you didn’t want to go into was one of the many things you had learned from Bruce in your five months of training. Somehow, that seemed to trigger the guy further.

“So you do work with Batman.”

Before he could do something actually insane, you had managed to push the gun pointed at your head away from you, using his brief second of surprise to take it out of his hands, kick him in the chest, and round back on him with it in hand.

“And what about it?”

As cool as you thought you might’ve sounded didn’t cover for the fact that you were still nerve-wracked about what was happening right then. Especially after the guy started to dramatically slow-clap like some sort of evil thespian in a high school drama.

“Not bad, Robin. Not bad.” He looked at the gun in your hands and grinned. “If you weren’t Batman’s new replacement sidekick, I might’ve believed you had the balls to use that thing.”

Now, you were an excellent fighter. You had to be, after your excessive training with the guy who had literally mastered about every martial art in existence during his (give or take) five year-long mission to find himself. Plus, some personal experience. But fighting someone like this guy? Built like a tank and padded up in a whole lot of armor and packing an assortment of knives, guns, and even a damn taser you got a first-hand taste of?

You fought hard, but about five minutes and another round of the taser later, you saw the knock-off Iron Man helmet staring down at you before the world went black.

~*~

You woke up in what you assumed was the self-dubbed Red Hood’s safehouse of sorts.

“How the hell did he rope you into this shit?” he demanded with what you could only assume was him glaring at you through the helmet. Probably some expression that made someone look all angsty and annoyed - which was fair, since he had been trying to drill you for information you straight up refused to give while bound (way too tightly) to a chair for quite some time now. Rather rude. “Let me guess. You watched your parents die.” You stared at him before shrugging.

“Nope.”

“Oh, so they just went ahead and died somehow. Untimely accident caused by some psycho bitch in a Spirit Halloween costume.”

“…nope.”

“They abandoned you as a child.”

“No, they didn’t - does divorce count?”

Red Hoodlum’s hands kept clenching and unclenching while he stood there, staring at the wall behind you in silence. From the way his chest kept rising and falling, you were tempted to believe he was practicing breathing exercises amidst his rather violent twitching.

“Divorce - what the hell is your trauma supposed to be? Why did he pick you?!”

“Hey, just because my trauma doesn’t include people dying doesn’t make it any less traumatic,” you scoffed in response, knowing you were absolutely right about that. Your middle school guidance counselor had said so (and it’s true, ladies and gentlemen, trauma comes in many forms!). “Kinda rude to assume it didn’t affect me somehow.”

He seemed rather abashed at that and you heard him clear his throat a little.

“...right, yeah. Sorry.”

“Apology accepted - can you loosen these ropes a little? It’s starting to kinda hurt.”

“Do I look ten? That’s the oldest trick in the book, I’m not gonna-”

“I’m not going to run, just loosen the ropes a little.” He still looked like he didn’t believe you. “Come on, I don’t think I can outrun your guns.” As in his literal array of guns tacked up to the wall behind him, not his gigantic biceps.

And you weren’t too worried about being held hostage by him, either. You figured you had ten minutes tops before Batman burst in through the doorway, ready to give you a lecture on why straying from the specifically designated parts of Gotham he had let you traipse around was a terribly stupid idea.

“No.” He was already walking towards the door, because apparently, he had enough of trying to interrogate you.

“Hold on, I feel like my wrists are actually about to start bleeding or something - where are you going?”

“Keep talking and I’m gonna get the duct tape.”

“Is that a threat?” Sounding more confident than you actually felt should eventually make you more confident. Eventually.

The Red Hood sucked in a breath, stopping by the doorway and turning to face you, reaching into his pockets to get what you assumed was either a gun or duct tape when you both startled from a sudden crash. The man in front of you was already whirling around with two guns positioned to shoot when you heard the familiar voice of someone else.

“Hold your fire, soldier. I’m not here for you.” A pause. “Or I wasn’t, but now I kind of am.”

Apparently, Batman was too busy to save you. Now, you got Nightwing.

And as much as you liked Nightwing, that still kinda stung.

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livingalifeofasimp · 3 years

Note

Hello! If it isn't too much, may I ask for a yan Zhongli x Reader, in which the Reader is the reincarnation, with bits of memories and personality, of Guizhong.. essentially Guizhong reborn.

Warning : This content contains Yandere themes, if you are sensitive please refrain yourself from reading it, arts belong to it's respective owner only the content is mine.

I am still alive (~‾▿‾)~

Tagging : @blueskywater-happiness

🎕 Yandere Zhongli X Reader 🎕

✥Zhongli holded Memory of dust in his hands, the stone dumbbell which contained her wisdom, and was challenged by her to unlock it. He still remember her, years passed away but the pain and memories of her still resided in his heart. Till this day he was not able to open it no matter how hard he tries, calm, kind hearted, the person he is today was made by her.

"Guizhong look at all the people here living their life the way you wanted them to be, I hope you are happy wherever you are".

Guizhong is the late Goddness of Dust, she was Morax's ally and best friend, she lost her life during Archon war with Zhongli by her side, death of a best friend, the only one close to him caused him misery even tho he is deprived of understanding emotions better, through life goes on and you learn to live without them.

✥Zhongli slipped tea through a decorated cup while waiting for a foreigner, Childe who was going to make him meet a stranger who wanted to set up a business dinner as per Liyue custom.

A sudden knock made Zhongli look up towards the sound "Yahooo Zhongli", just after Childe you walked in, you looked like someone he knew, your hair, your smile, your eyes glittering and the aura you had was quite familiar to him.

"I am Y/N thank you for giving us your time"

"Our Zhongli is such a nice sir - " Childe saw Zhongli staring at your face causing him to smirk "I know this lady is quite really pretty, I hope -" Embarrassed Zhongli intruped Childe "Let's get down with business".

✥Even you didn't knew anything about Zhongli, you still felt like you knew him from somewhere maybe you both must have crossed your paths, at the end you said what you wanted too.

"I feel like I have seen you from somewhere",

Zhongli was surprised, his eyes widen it couldn't be true right? People who go away didn't come back right? His mind must be playing game, it sure has to be it. He has seen people go and new ones coming all the people he had are replaced by new ones, not replaced exactly but it do not make any difference, no one can take their places, he don't want to be caughted in such misery but the cycle repeats itself.

"Certainly I hope so",

His calm and welcoming response made you smile, you hoped too it felt warm, it made you smile.

✥Undefined force made Zhongli meet you again and again, was it all just a coincidence or a fate leading, you would always invited him for lunch, dinner or even just for a walk, no matter how much Zhongli wanted to run away from the warmth you gave off, because one day you will be gone too just like others so there was no meaning to get close to you. You looked just like her, not the same but it still felt like you were traces of her, from which he desperately wanted to run away.

✥"Sir Zhongli, are you going somewhere?", You have seen him after such a long time maybe after one or two weeks, at some point you made Zhongli want to look out and search for you, no matter how much he pushes you away, he still find himself surrounded by your presence which make him loose control and hug you, urge you to hug him back comfort him, saying you won't go. Zhongli stopped his mind which was racing from such thoughts and invited you for star gazing.

"Miss L/N if you are free let's go to star gazing I am sure you must have seen such things but-"

"I don't mind let's go, I have been so tired of my work", you were so happy to finally make him open up to you besides its good to take breaks every now and then.

✥"Miss please take care of yourself, it would be bad if you got hurt, I hope you are taking 3 meals a day, please drink enough water and if you ever feel troubled by something don't give it any second thought just come to me I will be more than happy to help you", Zhongli looked at your shocked face, he must have lectured you enough, just when he was going to apologize for it, you burst out giggling, it felt good to have someone to worry for you, your smile made Zhongli's cheek turned red, it was so peaceful, your laughs were like her just a bit more melodic and sweet.

✥"Yes I will take care of myself, you too take care of yourself", Zhongli fake coughed and went ahead of you so that you couldn't see his face smiling like a child that hided with his one hand. "I appreciate your concern, let's meet tonight", he walked away leaving a confused you behind.

Just like a true gentleman Zhongli waited for you, only to see you looking all very pretty and perfect, infamous smile decorated his face, you grin in response before giving your hands in his.

✥"It's pretty isn't it", you looked towards the sky, stars hanging in them, small or big it looked like sparking dust, which was a very pleasing sight.

"It is", there is nothing new, Zhongli is almost tried of the same view yet it felt good to have someone by his side, for those moments he did not feel lonely.

"We humans are so fragile like a dust in this universe which is so big, when I look up, it feels like things can disappear just another second",

Zhongli flinched, as he slowly turned to look at your face, a delicate face that was looking at the stars curiously, your form shining under moonlight, you, are you really Guizhong, his hands extended to touch you, or are you just a illusion, your eyes founded it's way back to Zhongli beautiful face who flinched again at your sudden movement.

"Did I say something weird don't mind me", you laughed to lighten the atmosphere.

✥After that Zhongli's attention and focus wholeheartedly shifted towards you, he couldn't help but compare Guizhong and her reincarnation, you are a bit more carefree, cheerful and not as knowledgeable as her, he didn't blame you for it, you are just as cute as a child. No matter how hard he tried to push you away, everytime you would comeback, since you so persistent, he lost. Your liveliness made him fall for you, deep and hard to the point of no return, since you embraced him, he will hold you back just as tight to know that you are there and not disappearing at least for now.

✥Zhongli looks forward to meeting you more than he did before, fusses over a small wound more than your grandmother would. You get confused when Zhongli stares at your face quite long before apologizing, you certainly notice how attentive he has became. He smiles ever so brightly when you comes in his view, but you always fail to notice how he deadly glares at all the people and things that do not even breathe when you give them more attention than you give to him.

✥Zhongli grows to be more possessive and strict yet very loving towards you. His yandere tendency triggers when he saw you injured after coming back from the given mission, Zhongli dropped whatever he was doing and ran towards you, you got hurt his heart dropped, he didn't wanted you to disappear or get a single scratch, not when you give him such a warm and fussy feeling, he felt like a teenager in love but instead he was a obsessive God in love with you.

✥This whole incident will lead Zhongli to appeal for you to stay with him till you get well again or so you thought, he took care of everything you needed even when you don't needed them, he would feed you and do your hair, buy you everything that you desired but going out was prohibited, was it a price to pay for luxury?.

✥His paranoia will take over his mind if you said you would like to go to your own house, he does understand how homesick you must be feeling but he would feel the same if you left and it will be terrible because if you tried to escape from him or state that you hate him, his heart will break into millions pieces and might go back to how he was like before and it will be destructive to both you and all the other people, and you might be able to accept his yandere side since you have some memories and most importantly you pity him, so after throwing traumas for a week, in his eyes he thought you were afraid of being trapped in a room, slowly you realized how lonely he has been all these years without you.

✥Zhongli immediately melts when you willing touch him and comfortable him, won't it be better to heal his heart which leaks of sadness and fear of losing you, the person who is dearly valuable to him, he would clingy to you like his life depends on it or maybe it really does.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

#yandere story #yandere #yandere male #yandere male x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #tumblr #tumblrfeed #genshin impact zhongli #yandere Zhongli #yandere Zhongli x reader #female reader

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prurientpuddlejumper · 3 years

Text

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 18

<- Part 17 | Part 19 ->

Summary: Frederick returns home to some fanfare, courtesy of everyone’s favorite red-headed journalist.

Warnings: Angst, snark, Chilton being an ass, lipless kissy kiss, Chilton prioritizing his lust for attention over his insecurities (a decision that will surely never come back to bite him in the ass)

3,100 words

“This is Freddie Lounds with TattleCrime reporting from the home of Dr. Frederick Chilton. Join me as this courageous doctor sees his home for the first time after two hundred days in the hospital. Doctor Chilton, how does it feel to have survived the notorious Red Dragon?”

A hunched figure slowly moved toward the door of a mansion in a gated community outside Baltimore. His right hand gripped a cane, clicking on the walkway with each shaking step. You gripped his left elbow.

He wore a natural-looking brown wig, styled just like his original hair, and leather gloves covered his hands. Dressed in his favorite brown suit with a striped tie and gold tie-pin, he looked nearly every bit like his old self, but where lips should have been was a void of pearly teeth. Unlike his gunshot wound, there was no hiding the Dragon’s damage behind cosmetics.

His pink, scarred face turned toward the camera. “Did you tell your viewers it was your article that made me a target?”

“Cut!” a producer shouted. “Let’s cut that.”

“No,” Lounds corrected sharply. “Leave it. It makes the story more engaging.” She spoke again to Frederick. “Yes, my viewers are aware that the FBI used TattleCrime to bait the serial killer Francis Dolarhyde, best known as the Red Dragon, out of hiding, and that it resulted in your abduction. Jack Crawford and Will Graham used both of us. After all, it could just as easily have been me who was targeted. I published the article. That is why you’ve always had my deepest sympathies, Doctor Chilton.”

“Is that why you have been trying to catch my face on camera since I was admitted to intensive care? The… camaraderie we share?”

Her eyes glinted with anything but sympathy, mouth pressing into a sharp smile. “Yes. Of course. That is why you agreed to an interview with my new TattleCrime Live channel, isn’t it? You trust me to tell your miraculous survival story to my 2.5 million followers.”

Frederick’s lips could not press together, but the glint in his eyes was as green with greed as Ms. Lounds’s.

He reached out a gloved hand and turned the handle of the front door. The key was small and difficult to grip, so you had unlocked it in advance to film this shot. As it pushed open with a familiar creak of wood and brass hinges, there was a moment of silence—an all-too authentic, unrehearsed moment in which Frederick’s breath stopped, and the curated expression of haughty pride fell like a penny hitting the polished hardwood floors.

There was his house. His home. Lying like a sleeping dragon just beyond this threshold in the smoke-like darkness.

It was exactly as he left it. Art pieces with no particular meaning to him except their expense stood on white pedestals in the front entry. One was vacant, where you had shattered a vase the day he broke up with you. A cold knot pitted his stomach.

“Hold on,” Lounds called. “I want coverage from the inside of the house as he goes in. We only have one chance to get this shot—I want to see the raw emotion. Angle on his face.”

There was a confusion of movement and noise. Someone told Frederick to stand perfectly still as the small crew brought a Steadicam in through the garage door. Lights flicked on inside the house. The sleeping demon awakening. The empty pedestal cast into sharp focus.

He was not watching you on the cameras that week. If he had a nurse pull up the video feed for him, he was certain he would have seen you packing, and he could not bear that. But after you had forgiven each other, he looked. He watched you sob until your eyes were red, unable to do anything but sleep and scream for days. He saw you pick up the photograph and raise it above your head, then set it down carefully on the shelf with a wistful smile, and lash out at the nearest object. You fell to pieces on the floor with the vase shards.

It was hard to believe you could be in so much pain over losing him—that his absence could hurt you so much. It was harder to accept that these things had happened two weeks ago, and the opportunity to run to you was gone. There was no way to hold you as you cried and tell you that he didn’t mean it. There was no one to comfort the you of the past. You were alone. He hurt you, and there was no way to take it back.

The camera reappeared in the vestibule in front of him, and Lounds shouted, “Action!”

Present-you gave an encouraging smile and a subtle little squeeze to his arm. “Are you OK?” you said with your eyes, wise not to tip off the journalistic vulture he had invited to witness his homecoming.

He nodded, and stepped over the threshold.

Freddie Lounds wished Frederick owned a dog. Wounded-soldier-returning-home headlines were popular, but to go viral, there needed to be a dog. She scowled.

***

“Readers will be able to dig into their copy of The Dragon Slayer, on shelves today. For obvious health reasons, you will not be attending book signings, yet it is truly incredible that you were able to finish the book and publish while still in the hospital. What gave you the strength to keep writing even while you were in excruciating pain from this gristly and brutal attack?”

You sat on Frederick’s left side on a velvet-lined couch in the living room as Ms. Lounds led the interview. Even while firing off questions as subtle as a paint can thrown at a wall, nothing escaped her keen eyes. You sat on the left. Guarding his blind spot. Your thumb made small circles on the back of his hand in a sickeningly genuine display of affection. The engagement ring on your finger matched the one he proudly wore around his neck, and the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him was almost as good as a puppy.

But Frederick’s obtuse, self-important responses gave the camera nothing to work with.

“What can one do but carry on, as the British say? As the world’s foremost authority on his mind—the only psychiatrist to sit in a room with him and live to tell the tale—it was my duty to share my expertise.”

Lounds tried again. “Would you say your partner’s unflinching support gave you the courage to finish the book?”

He gave a high, nasal laugh. Barely choked nerves made his voice rise into a practiced cadence that sounded unpleasantly like boarding schools and country clubs. “I do not require assistance to write a bestseller. As much as it is appreciated, I have survived two other near-fatal attacks and managed just fine. Be sure to mention that in the final cut,” Frederick added as an aside. “It is part of what gives me unique insight into the way these killers work.”

“She’s looking for a soundbite, dear,” you whispered.

“Naturally.” He rolled his eyes. “Is your program going to be anything besides tacky yellow journalism?”

“I’ll throw in clickbait, too, if it’ll give me views. You want your book to sell a million copies, don’t you?” Lounds said. “Then we need something to interest the public. Something sweet... or sour.” She leaned forward, voice smooth as arsenic-laced honey. “It’s safe to say this horrific ordeal put an enormous strain on the relationship. Isn’t it true that you broke off the engagement for several weeks?”

Your back straightened like a bolt of lightning had passed through you. Bingo.

“Where did you hear that?!” Frederick’s teeth parted in affront as her attention turned to you.

“So it’s true,” Lounds purred. “What happened? Did you decide staying with a disabled writer wasn’t worth the money?”

“No! I mean...” You froze up, your face heating under the lights. Apparently, it never occurred to you before that you would be accused of staying with him for the money. That was exactly what it looked like to all the world—you, young, kind, and attractive, and he, rich, abrasive, and broken. Of course it was about the money. But if it was, you would have a response prepared and practiced to repeat on cue like a trained parrot. Gold-diggers never floundered over questions about whether they were gold-diggers.

In the end, Frederick threw himself in front of the metaphorical bullet to rescue you. “It was my fault, if you must know. It was a rash decision made under a great deal of pain, and I wish I could take it back.” His voice softened to a whisper. “Though things were mended in the end… I still wish I could take it back.”

“So the wedding is back on. It must be difficult to stay with a man when the face you fell in love with no longer exists.”

“Not at all!” Gripping his hand, you smiled dotingly. “Frederick is a brilliant doctor, an amazing psychiatrist at the forefront of his field, and you’ve seen how tenacious he is—publishing a new book while still in the hospital. He’s incredible! Of course I’m sticking with him. Nothing has changed.”

Frederick’s smile glowed as he listened to you—the first evidence she’d seen that his face could smile—and his eyes were fixated on you, glistening with wetness he self-consciously blinked away. The expression only brightened his face for a moment before self-consciousness erased it entirely, and he returned to the same dour, tightly-wound man boring her cameras. She would have to sneak a candid if she wanted to capture a tooth-rottingly sweet moment. At least you were practically as good as a golden retriever—where in the world did Frederick Chilton find you?

Lounds did feel a modicum of guilt over Frederick’s situation, but this interview wasn’t a favor. There was potential for a big story here—one that could do more to promote her channel than sell his book. She wanted the raw, visceral footage of Dr. Chilton—closeups of his face providing shock value, his fiance adding a love-story element, and finally, she expected him to fall apart on camera. The drama of it all was palpable.

Questioning his relationship rattled Frederick’s cage, but he didn’t come close to the emotional breakdown she was fishing for until she dug into the subject of his book: the man who attacked him.

“You understand the Red Dragon better than anyone else. Would you say you have a special connection with him?”

“In my book, I peel back the layers of his consciousness. Every madman has his own motivations that are quite sane within his own distorted vision of the world.” His response was rehearsed, as if he were quoting from a speech.

“Do you think he recognized something in you in particular—something that made him target you rather than Mr. Graham?”

His practiced cadence broke, but he shook it off with a chuckle. “I am not a killer, if that is what you are insinuating.”

“I’m not insinuating anything. You are obsessed with killers, Dr. Chilton. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Isn’t the pot calling the kettle black?” Frederick snapped, voice pitching upward as he glared at her.

“But you are a doctor. Not the top of your class at Harvard Medical, but middle of the pack—at Harvard? You had options. Yet you chose to study psychopaths.”

“It was the field with the most to be learned.”

“Some have speculated there are similarities between you and Francis Dolarhyde. That your survival was no accident, and the fire was his way to catalyze your own transformation in the same way he believed in his ‘Becoming.’ What did he hope you would become?”

Frederick scoffed. “Who speculates? I have no interest in conspiracy-theory forums.” His grip on your hand made you visibly wince.

“But you don’t deny it.”

“Of course I do. This is baseless.” He used his tongue to simulate the b, spat a little in the attempt, and grew frustrated at his damaged mouth. His breathing was shallow. So she pressed on.

“When you profiled the Dragon last year, you referred to him as ‘the child of a nightmare.’ There were goosebumps on my arms when I heard those words, Dr. Chilton. It was as if you were speaking from experience.”

“That is enough.”

“My research shows that your own childhood was also darkened by—”

“Excuse me a moment.”

Frederick stood. He kept his chin high. Proud. Without sweat glands in his destroyed skin, there was no nervous sheen to his brow. Instead, his teeth parted, and he panted heavily like a dog. He tore off the microphone clipped to his collar and hurried toward the kitchen. You followed.

***

The kitchen spun in white, glittering circles of tile and cutlery. Cameras were watching his every move. Every mistake. Every aberration in his speech, every deformity of his face. They were waiting to pounce upon a moment of weakness, like this one. He felt dizzy and gripped the edge of the kitchen sink. This was a mistake.

If anyone could spin a narrative—make a story go viral—it was Freddie Lounds. But who said she would spin it in his favor?

The house looked different. He tried not to let the cameras see it—how different everything felt. Everything exactly as it was, but completely foreign now, because he was different. The couch used to be comfortable. The mirrors once reflected a familiar face.

This was supposed to be about taking control of his own narrative. A piece about him seeing his home for the first time since the attack would get views—generate the kind of media buzz he had always wanted. But she was digging into his past. Putting his shame on display. The anger his pain awakened in him—what if it was the Dragon’s design? He wasn’t ready.

The room looped around and around, making lazy streaks across his vision.

He tasted salt.

His cheeks were wet.

“Do you want me to send them away?” Your voice broke through the chaos. “You don’t have to go out there again. I’ll tell them you’re tired. You need to rest.”

Your voice was an anchor in the storm. At least, it forced him to stuff the spinning, questioning, dread back down inside of himself and behave as a person. He could not fall apart in front of you. Even if you had seen him fall apart before, this was bigger. He was home now, and he was supposed to be showing the world that he would not break.

Pull yourself together and carry on. Keep your head up. Behave properly.

“No, no. I can handle it.”

Never let them see you weak.

Your hand pressed his shoulder. He flinched, and hid the involuntary movement by shrugging you off.

“I am more than capable of giving an interview. This was what we decided. It was what the publisher wanted. Audiences will eat it up.”

He sounded proud. Too proud—overcompensating. It didn’t fool you at all, but he was glad you did not ask any difficult questions. Only whether he’d like some water. He had you stand guard for cameras while he drank it, tilting his head back like a seagull so the water would go down his throat and not out his mouth.

“It’s only your first day back home. It’s OK if you need to rest. I’m still waiting to get you to myself...” you added, touching his arm, weaving yours around it when he didn’t shrug you off this time.

It was clever kindness, giving him a reason to call off the interview that spared his pride. He closed his eyes at the warmth of your touch, and tried to let himself be seduced. Unfortunately, the thought of being alone with you—that long-awaited privacy and the weight of expectations that came with it—made him more nervous than the cameras.

“I am fine, darling. Whatever godforsaken beach Lecter and Graham are sitting on, I want them to see me. I want them to choke on my success. The Dragon Slayer will be a hit, I have you by my side, and they will be back in my custody soon enough. All I need to do is get through the next hour. Show them I am not ashamed or broken. I will gain the world’s respect while they languish in obscurity.”

Your eyes glittered with admiration, while your lips quirked in a wry little smile, as if a joke were perched on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t want to spoil the moment. “You’re sexy when you’re vengeful, you know,” you smiled, tugging his arm.

“Thank you, darling.”

He let you pull him forward with your warm hands at the back of his neck. Your lips teased the flesh surrounding his mouth gently, chastely at first—a comforting presence pressing his abused face. You always started gently until he grew comfortable and bold enough to part your delicious lips with his tongue. His eyes closed as he held you close with a hand at the small of your back, relishing the moan that escaped as you opened your mouth to allow him entry—that spontaneous noise of pleasure that told him you truly wanted him. It wasn’t an act to stroke his ego. You gasped, low and needy, as his tongue slid against yours, your fingers tightening at the back of his neck. His heart fluttered every time he realized you still wanted him. After everything that had gone wrong, he still excited you. Still earned those quiet little moans and reflexive twitches that could not be faked.

And, unbeknownst to him, Freddie Lounds finally got her heartwarming candid.

Your attractive lips gratifying his bizarrely rearranged, skeletal face was just the right combination of tenderness and freak value that got clicks and shares.

Frederick had timed the publication date of The Dragon Slayer with his discharge from the hospital for a reason. He called TattleCrime and agreed to reveal his face for a reason, and it wasn’t self-confidence. Vanity made him desperate to hide away, but he was, if nothing else, a whore for the spotlight, and he knew this would rocket him to national attention.

The public needed to see all the graphic details of what Francis Dolarhyde did to him if this gambit for press attention was to pay off.

And it did.

The first day The Dragon Slayer hit shelves, it was sold out of stores, and Dr. Frederick Chilton could once again boast his bestselling novelist fame. It was everything he ever wanted… but fame always comes with a cost.

#Frederick Chilton #frederick chilton x reader #my writing

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spencersweetie · 3 years

Text

Coincidence (Spencer x GN!Reader Onseshot)

Category: Fluff

Summary: Spencer and Reader accidentally have a museum date when they run into each other.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none <3

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“Y/N!” A familiar voice called your name. You turned around and faced a familiar man whom you’d met through your friend Penelope. Spencer stood smiling at you with his hands in his pockets. He energetically waved at you.

You grinned back at him. “Hey Spencer! What a crazy coincidence, us both being here at the same time.” You had spontaneously decided to visit the National Gallery of Art since you had a free day to yourself over the weekend.

“Totally!” He responded. “I’m supposed to have the whole weekend off so I thought I’d revisit the gallery. How are you?”

“I’m alright! You’re revisiting? How many times have you been here? This is my first time seeing the gallery.” You had been to other art museums in Maryland but never the National Gallery of Art since you had recently moved to D.C. a year ago.

Spencer chuckled lightly. “This would be my ninth time coming here. I saw the gallery for the first time when I was nine years old and couldn’t keep myself away from this place.

“Wow!” You exclaimed. “I don’t blame you, I’ve only seen the sculpture garden and the first few pieces in this wing so far and everything is gorgeous; I’m in love already.”

“You know what, I’ve got the building memorized!” Spencer eagerly informed you. “If you want, I could be your personal guide and show you the best parts of each exhibit and take you on the most efficient path through the museum! I mean, you don’t have to say yes, it’s up to you.”

“Spencer, that’d be awesome, I’ll totally tag along if you’re cool with that!” You beamed at him, trying to hide your excitement. You usually went on trips like these alone so it was nice to have someone who could enjoy the same thing as you by your side.

“Great, let’s go!” Spencer turned and gestured towards the next exhibit.

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As you and Spencer explored the museum together, you noticed how abnormally comfortable you felt around him. You two had never hung out without Penelope so this was a first for you both. Even without your mutual friend, you found that Spencer was both easy to listen to and easy to talk to. He of course knew a lot about the art in the gallery and thoroughly explained each piece to you but you appreciated that he never talked to you like you were dumb or lesser than him. He regularly asked if you were okay with his infodumps as well, which you completely didn’t mind. You could tell that he undoubtedly had a passion for the arts, and you liked that he was so enthusiastic to share that with you.

While you did certainly find Spencer’s interesting facts to be intriguing, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander as you looked at him from the side. He didn’t notice your looking as he faced the painting while he talked to you, completely occupied by the piece that was on the wall in front of him. You liked the way he spoke about the art that he showed you. Spencer was very animated, clearly demonstrating his excitement about whatever he was explaining in the movement of his hands. His face was quite expressive too. His eyebrows rose and fell as he talked and his eyes squinted and widened as he conversed with you. You hadn’t noticed how pretty Spencer’s eyes were until now, how his irises were brown but with little gold specks on the inside. You liked that when he wrinkled his nose in the middle of a sentence, his scrunch reached the top of his nose bridge between his eyes. His nose was a nice nose, you thought. It enhanced his side profile and turned slightly upwards when he smiled too. And his lips. Today you noticed that his lips were quite… pink. And full. And plump. You had to catch yourself when your eyes traveled down from Spencer’s eyes to his mouth when he spoke, then hope that he didn’t notice your distraction. You just liked that way he smiled, that’s all, you told yourself. He often kept his smile as he talked and continued to smile when you spoke to him too. You liked the way his lips puckered when his smile grew bigger as he finished his sentences. It seemed like an uncontrollable habit of his-

“Y/N?” Spencer interrupted your thoughts. He looked at you with his brows slightly raised.

“Hm, yeah?” Your mind snapped back to the present moment. “I’m sorry, could you say that again?”

“Are you okay? Am I boring you? We could stop here if you want!”

“No, Spencer- it’s fine!” You jumped to explain. “You’re good, I promise! I’m not bored, I just got lost in my thoughts for a second. Um, the only da Vinci painting in the U.S. right? Is this one here?”

“Exactly!” Spencer lit up and straightened his posture. “Da Vinci painted less than 20 oil paintings throughout his career; this one was bought for $5 million and arrived in D.C. in 1969!”

“Damn!” You exclaimed. “So that makes this portrait like, the Mona Lisa of the National Gallery, huh?”

“Absolutely!” Spencer agreed with you. “The gallery has other Da Vinci pieces displayed but none that are as rare and valuable as an oil painting of his. This one, Ginerva de’ Benci, is a portrait of a daughter of a banker, most likely commissioned when she was about 16 and just engaged. You know, the juniper bush is what’s in the background. Juniper represents chastity which was one of the most significant traits of a woman in the Renaissance era. It’s kind of a subtle little pun, including the juniper plant, because in Italian the plant is called ginepro.”

“Oh! Ginepro, Ginerva! That’s so cute, I love it!” You told him. “I like how there’s like no fancy jewelry or finery on her in this portrait too. It’s different from the Renaissance portraits of the other ladies that we saw.”

“Yeah, it’s a little bit of a surprise when it comes to a portrait like this that she isn’t completely dressed up! It doesn’t reveal her family’s wealth like portraits commonly do. I love that you noticed that.” Spencer’s lips turned at the corners in appreciation of your attention to detail. “Let’s move onto the next one!”

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You and Spencer moved on through the exhibit, then through the rest of the museum. You two enjoyed each other’s company for the day and were able to see all the art in three hours. As you exited, you found yourself laughing as you and Spencer recalled the events of the day. “I still can’t believe they kept trying to pay you for a private tour even after you insisted you weren’t a museum tour guide!” You laughed into your hand which was clapped over your mouth, trying not to draw attention to you and Spencer.

“Shut up!” Spencer jokingly rolled his eyes at you. “I hate that they were gathered around me too, attracting a crowd while trying to hand me money. I don’t even wear a uniform like the other employees!” Spencer cracked up along with you, shaking as he pictured himself standing next to you, explaining to a group of strangers that he was just visiting with a friend, not working for the gallery.

You shrieked with laughter, uncontrollably gasping for air as you tried to calm yourself. “Then when they said they would call the gallery and get you fired for denying customers!” Tears were coming out of your eyes from being unable to stop laughing. “And you just went ‘Okay!’ and walked off without me!” You missed a step and tripped, grabbing Spencer’s arm as you fell into him.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You were half still dying from laughing and half freaking out from your mistake. “I didn’t mean to grab you, I know you’ve got a germ thing! I think I just got a little carried away and wasn’t careful enough to watch my step!” You frantically apologized to Spencer. “Are you okay?”

Spencer grinned at you and dusted you off on your shoulders. “Relax, Y/N. I know you’re not germy; I’m not gonna freak out if you touch me. And I’m fine, you’re the one who fell!” He reassured you. “Are you okay? Do you need a second? You’re pink in the face, I don’t know if from laughing or from tripping on the step.”

“I’m fine, I’m good! Thank you Spencer.” You replied, still hot around your face. “Let’s just get out of here before I start to laugh and embarrass myself again.” You chuckled. “Are you free for the rest of the day? We could get something to eat if you’re hungry!”

Spencer smiled at you. “Yeah, I’m free! Do you like Indian? There’s this new place that’s about 10 minutes from here-”

A loud ringing cut his sentence off. Spencer sighed and apologetically looked at you before whipping his cell phone out of his pocket. “Yeah?” He spoke into the phone.

He listened for a few seconds before speaking. “I’m in D.C. but I’ll be there as soon as possible. Thanks, Penelope.” Spencer hung up and shoved his phone back into his coat.

“Got a case?” You asked.

“Yeah. I’m so sorry, Y/N, I know we were supposed to-”

“Spence!” You stopped him. “You don’t have to apologize, we didn’t even plan on hanging out today!”

Spencer’s eyes softened; he expected you to express disappointment before anything else and was surprised that you were understanding instead. He smiled and nodded. “Okay, but we could still check out the new Indian place another time, yeah?”

You felt butterflies in your stomach emerging. “Of course. Thank you for today, Spencer. I had an amazing time.”

“Me too, Y/N. I’ll text you when we get back!”

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Thank you for reading! Feel free to comment your thoughts or send anon feedback, anything is appreciated <33

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let-them-read-fics · 3 years

Text

Yours Truly (Pt. 1)

Requested By: Some of you!

Pairing: Jisoo x Fem!Reader

AU: College

Word Count: ~ Part 1 -> 9,786 // Part 2 -> 7,433

Warnings / Misc. -- Pining, Angst, Fluff

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! I finally have a few days off, so we're back to our (semi) regularly scheduled programming with this fic! I really hope you enjoy it; lmk what you think :)

PS ~ Once again, I had to split it into two parts to appease the Tumblr Overlords.

♡ Happy Reading ♡

Part 2 -- Click Here

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

1.) A Day In Class

Where does true beauty come from?

Is it strictly based in someone's DNA, rooted entirely in the attractiveness of their features? Or is deeper than that; does it extend from their soul? The very essence of stardust and personality that makes them them? Is it in how they interact with others? How they carry themselves?

You, being the wannabe philosopher that you are, love hearing people's answers to those questions. Every response is unique in its own way, altered depending on the person asked, and you find that to be one of humanity's most wonderful qualities. Like snowflakes, we're all different; as such is our definition of beauty. It lies in the eye of the beholder, subjective in its nature, and you find that comforting. Just think: if 99% of the world's population found you unattractive, 78,000,000 would beg to differ.

Though, for one person, you're sure those rules don't apply. She's objectively beautiful, and no one even attempts to pretend otherwise.

Who, you may ask? Kim Jisoo, of course -- head of your school's student council, resident girl next door, and keeper of your heart. She's poised in every way, and refined to the point that you question if you're even deserving of knowing her. Humor and kindness radiate from her no matter where she goes, so it's really no surprise that so many people love her.

A tap on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to look at your best friend. "Yo, Y/N. What did you get for number 32?" Jeong asks from his seat in the row directly behind you, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Your history professor likely wouldn't take kindly to being interrupted during his lecture, so you choose to show him your answer instead of responding out loud.

Jeong thanks you and continues to work on the activity you finished nearly 15 minutes ago, leaving you to half-heartedly listen to your professor. You're a good student, but even you have a limit to how much monotonous speaking you can handle in one sitting. As his words drone on, you roll your neck -- intending for the action to relieve some of the tension in your aching muscles; you're in for a surprise, however, when you lock eyes with none other than Jisoo herself. She offers a warm smile and wave, and the innocent actions send swarms of butterflies to take flight in your stomach. After sitting there for a moment, dumbstruck by her beauty, you snap to and return the gesture, making her giggle quietly.

Huh. So that's what angels sound like, then.

She turns back to her work after a minute, flipping the page every so often as she follows along with the lesson. You take note of how her eyes dart across the materials laid out on her desk, how her fingers mindlessly flirt with the edge of her sleeve in contemplation when she gets to a question that stumps her.

Never have you ever found yourself in such inner turmoil before. The sight before you begs to be seen -- to be admired -- but class continues on. As much as you try to fight it, your resolve eventually crumbles; foreign concepts now falling on fully deaf ears, you allow yourself to be entranced.

2.) Out In The Square

A Few Hours Later

Throngs of people stretch out before you, everyone making their way to various parts of campus as the blazingly hot sun beats down on them. Some run like their lives depend on it -- likely having overslept or missed campus transit -- while others take their time, catching up with friends and gossiping all the while. The soft pfft of sprinklers set up across the sections of lawn around you can be heard, going off every so often, and occasionally they're followed by the shouts of some unfortunate people getting soaked.

"You're so lucky, Y/N," Jeong groans from behind you. A grimace sits on his face as he flips through the pages of his Trigonometry book, looking for the reference graphs again. "No more classes for the rest of the week and you don't have any more assignments to finish? Remind me again how to become a teacher's pet, please." You roll your eyes with an amused smile, leaning back on your elbows to talk to him.

"I'm not a teacher's pet, Jeong. I just do my work on time instead of partying every night." He picks up a leftover piece of bread from the picnic basket that sits to his right and tosses it at you in retaliation to your little remark.

"I don't care what you say, those parties are always epic. One of these days I'll convince you to come along."

You shake your head, knowing there's no way you'd willingly attend one of them. From his stories, all those "epic" nights consist of is ridiculously drunken beer pong, sweaty people doing jello shots, and regrets.

"Not in a million years, loser." You say adamantly, not letting him trick himself into believing he's capable of swaying you.

With one last muttered phrase of, "we'll see about that," he returns to his studies, and you turn your attention elsewhere.

Scattered light filters in through the leaves of the tree you're sitting under, wrapping you in a blanket of warmth as your eyes scan across the crowd again. The sight brings to mind an idea that always fascinates you: everyone you meet is busy creating their own stories, writing and rewriting new possibilities and endings for themselves with each new choice they make. You can hear snippets of their conversations -- see instances of some having their best days while others are living through their worst -- and it really puts things into perspective. Although we may appear as side characters in those books of life that others are writing for themselves, we have no idea what they're going through at any given moment. So, you believe, that makes it all the more important to leave a positive impact on them; whether it be a kind smile, holding the door, or even a simple compliment, you're determined to have your legacy be one rooted in kindness.

Speaking of kindness in human form…

There she is, you think to yourself, feeling that all too familiar pitter patter of your heart pick up. Jisoo exits Building C, where her latest lecture just ended, and rushes down the stairs with her books in her arms. She's studying to become an actress, as far as you know, and you can't help but smile at the thought; she'll make an amazing star someday.

You watch as she meets up with 3 other girls, whom you immediately recognize as Lisa, Rosé, and Jennie, and they eagerly bounce their way over to the refreshment truck that one of your school's clubs had been so considerate to hire. It's the perfect day for a cold treat, after all.

Jisoo's dark hair flows in the gentle breeze that rolls in, looking like silk as it rides the currents. She's gorgeous in every way, and you can't help but be smitten; besides, it's not like you're not alone in your pining. She practically has the entire student body wrapped around her finger.

"Y/N, don't forget to blink. You're staring pretty hard," Yuqi says, raising up onto her elbow beside Jeong. He laughs with her, but his eyes remain glued to the notebook paper he's scribbling his work onto.

Your eyes dart away following her statement, and you know you've been caught. "I thought you were asleep," you bite back, attempting to hide the blush of embarrassment that's quickly flooding to your cheeks.

"I was, but I guess my intuition as your best friend woke me up. It's my mission in life to tease you."

"So I've gathered," you sarcastically smile at each other, making stupid faces like always.

"You love me," she flips her hair over her shoulder, appearing self-assured with the smirk that tugs at her lips.

"Do I though? I don't know sometimes..." she socks you in the arm, making you chuckle.

"All jokes, babe. Don't pout," you pinch her cheek until she grins, and then she begins telling you all about the dream she just had.

----

Jisoo leads her gang over to one of the nearby tables, making sure to choose her seat strategically. A special someone caught her attention earlier, as they have from the moment she first laid eyes on them months ago, and she hasn't been able to fight the urge to admire them. She watches as they laugh along with something their friend said, tilting their head back as the cheerful noise rings out. She finds herself smiling along, imagining what it would be like to make them laugh like that; it's a uniquely wonderful sound, and she can't help but adore it.

They lean across the blanket they're sitting on and dig through a picnic basket, retrieving what seems to be a sandwich packaged up in plastic wrap. One of their friends exaggeratedly thanks them, tackling them to the ground in a messy hug with a shout of gratitude that even Jisoo can hear from across the square.

"Earth to Jisoo!" Jennie says, raising her voice slightly as she snaps her fingers in front of the unnie. The former jolts back to attention with a little jump, clearing her throat to gather her thoughts.

"You know, you could always go talk to him. I've heard he's sweet." She tells the other girl, noticing the look of longing that's befallen her features.

"Yeah, Joy has Art with him on Thursdays. I think his name's Jeong or something like that." Lisa butts in before taking another lick of her ice cream.

Despite being so smart, the girls are really oblivious sometimes; Jisoo wasn't looking at him at all. She was looking at you.

She doesn't know if now is the right time to tell them that, though. She hasn't officially come out to them, but she isn't afraid that they won't accept her -- she just wants that moment to be special, and sweating in the middle of the campus square doesn't seem like the golden opportunity that she's been hoping for.

"Just eat your treats, knuckleheads." She concludes, taking a spoonful of the shaved ice she opted for instead of ice cream. The truck had multiple types of treats, with all kinds of different toppings and flavorings lining the walls.

"Okay…" Rosé trails off before adding, "but don't say we didn't try to help when you start wishing you had said something later." Jisoo uses her spoon to lower the one that Rosie had raised accusingly at her, reassuring the girl that she'd be fine.

She knows it's a lie, though; as the 4 of them later toss their trash in the bins and make their way to the student council room, Jisoo sneaks a last wistful glance at you, wishing she would've had the courage to start a conversation.

3.) One Step Closer

Friday, 1:34 PM -- A Few Days Later

"Hey, Minji. How many do we have today?" You wave at what kids have already been dropped off, your presence making their little faces light up with joy.

Your coworker responds from across the room, tossing a couple stray toys into their labeled baskets to keep the space tidy. "10 or so, I think. The last ones should be arriving soon." You nod and take off your coat, setting your things in one of the small cubbies against the wall just beyond the entrance.

"Y/N!" A small voice shouts from behind the counter, hidden from view. You smile deeply when you realize who it is, and you quickly dart around the corner to say hello. His chubby hands cover his mouth, but they do little in hiding his adorable grin. "Seungbum! How's my little munchkin?!" He squeals and runs into your arms, giggling loudly when you pick him up and spin him around. His dark hair sways from side to side with the movement, the slight waves sticking out in random places. A few seconds later, he wraps his arms around your neck and pulls back to look at you, settling into your secure hold.

"Can we play when Jia gets here? I promised her I'd show her the new trick I learned, but I wanna show you, too."

You smile at the sweet sentiment. "Of course, buddy. As long as you eat well at snack time, we can play however much you want." You raise an eyebrow at him, showing your authority, before saying, "I saw you put your veggies in your pocket last time and skip to dessert, so it'd better not happen again." He lowers his head after realizing he had been caught, and a hint of redness flushes his cheeks in embarrassment.

"Okay Y/N-yah."

You tickle him to make sure he knows you aren't mad at him, and soon he's laughing again. "Now, go wash your hands and get settled at the table, please."

"Yes ma'am." His tiny sneakers squeak against the floor as he races off towards one of the lowered sinks that borders the kitchen wall, and you shake your head with a smile.

Not even a second later, you feel a soft tug at your pant leg, and you turn around to find the source.

A head of brilliantly auburn hair is the first thing you see, and its shade compliments the child's outfit perfectly. "Hi sweetheart. Are you new?" You squat down to the young girl's level, noting how she shyly toys with her fingers as they rest in front of her. She nods, the movement so subtle that you almost don't notice it.

"My name's Y/N, and that awesome lady over there," you lean closer to her and point towards your coworker, "...is Minji. You can stay with us today, or you can play with the others, okay?" She nods again, her mannerisms letting you know just how shy she really is. Gently taking one of her hands, you hold it and look at her with a reassuring smile, asking, "Will you tell me your name?"

"I'm Aera." She meekly says, only maintaining eye contact for a second or two.

"That's a beautiful name," you compliment, seeing progress as she lightly smiles at your words. "And I love your bow," you add, touching the delicate material that rests near her ear, nestled into her straight locks. It has cherry blossoms and butterflies on it, all vibrant and neatly colored.

"Thank you, I picked it out myself." She perks up a bit now, raising her head to look at you with a proud smile. "Wow, really?" You put on an impressed expression, wanting to boost her confidence even more. "You'll have to help me choose one the next time I go shopping, then. You're great at it." The praise makes her chuckle, and her eyes squint into soft crescents in the process.

After stealing a glance at the table where everyone else has already gathered, you realize that they're waiting on you to start. "Alright, Aera, it's time to grab a bite to eat. Do you want to sit with me, or are you ready to be with the others?" You tilt your head to the side, asking the question softly so she doesn't feel overwhelmed. Having had this job for a while, you've gotten the hang of adjusting your behavior to put them at ease.

"With you," she says, growing a little timid again at the idea of mingling with them yet. "That's perfectly fine." You reassure her, smiling one more time before standing and leading her to the room. Her hand remains clutched in yours, wiggling around slightly from the height difference as she looks around.

"Who's ready for some snacks?" Minji asks the group, laughing when they all raise their hands and get excited. Their high pitched voices carry around the room as they discuss what foods they want to trade with each other, and soon everyone is happily munching away. You rub Aera's back sweetly as she eats some cucumber sticks, swinging her feet through the air beneath the short chair you retrieved from the table for her. She looks up into your eyes with a smile, melting your heart with the cuteness of her full cheeks. You squish them before turning away, feeling your 6th sense kick in as you scan your eyes across the rest of the group.

"Seungbum…" you warn, catching the way he's mischievously eyeing the carrots laid out before him on the table. He pokes at one of them and sighs, eventually giving in as he takes a hesitant bite of it. With some more convincing, he finishes the rest of the pack and gets started on his dessert.

----

Honestly, you feel sorry for the birds outside.

They must have had hundreds of mini heart attacks upon hearing the somehow earth-shattering roar of the 10 young kids, all blasting out the side door towards the playground. Some of them automatically race towards the swings or slides, while others approach the basket of toys and sports equipment. Aera, however, hangs back, her entire hand wrapped around just a few of your fingers. "What do you wanna do?" She shrugs, looking around at the different activities that the others are already starting.

"I can push you on the swings, or we could race. There're some monkey bars and a merry-go-round, too, that nobody's using right now." You suggest, hoping to catch her interest with one of them. Her attention snaps up to you at that last option, and she dramatically drops her jaw. "Did you say merry-go-round?" You nod with an amused grin, laughing when she lets out a cute noise of joy. After pointing her in the direction of it, she dashes off ahead of you and makes her way to it, only stopping to make sure you're still coming with her once she gets there.

"Hold on tight, little one." You advise, cheering when she giggles in anticipation. Her chuckles fill the airwaves as you spin the bar around, making sure not to pull too hard and make her too dizzy. You were once a kid, too, though, so you make it a point to add some serious speed every now and then to keep her entertained and happy. You remember playing on these all day when you were her age.

---

"Auntie!" Aera shrieks, excitedly thundering towards the fence that borders the playground. You finish cheering Seungbum on after watching his trick, grinning as he tries to flirt with Jia; she looks impressed. You turn around at Aera's commotion, feeling your eyes practically pop out of your head at who you see standing on the other side.

"How was your day, my love?" Jisoo asks sweetly, leaning over the metal divider to run a hand through her niece's hair lovingly. She still hasn't noticed your presence, and for that you don't know if you're relieved or saddened. Watching her interact with the young girl is quite adorable, though, and you're distracted from your personal gay panic for the time being.

"I've had so much fun. And Y/N-yah said she likes my hair clip! I told you this one was prettier than the one with just trees on it!" Aera says smugly, happy to have her decision pay off and prove her aunt wrong. Jisoo tenses up, not expecting to hear your name right now. Seeing that this is her first time picking Aera up, she had no idea you work at the daycare; though she'd be lying to say that it comes as a surprise -- you're a very warm person, so it's no wonder that you're good with kids.

As per Aera's request, you walk across the playground and join her in front of Jisoo. Now it's your turn to be shy; you sneak a glance at the student council president and immediately feel your cheeks heat up, so you busy yourself by patting Aera on the head. She hugs your leg and settles against your side, causing Jisoo to raise her eyebrows. "I'm impressed, Y/N. She usually doesn't open up to new people very easily."

"Ah, I'm surprised that such a cool girl like her wanted to hang out with me." You tease, tickling her side lightly when she hides behind the material of your shirt. "Do you want to come in and see what she drew today? She's definitely skilled." You suggest, trying not to sound too hopeful as you muster up the courage to look at Jisoo again. She's already smiling at you, a soft sort of adoration shining in her eyes as they rake over your features. She accepts your offer, and you walk over to the gate to let her in. Aera demands that you carry her, so you scoop her up into your arms as you make your way back into the daycare center. Her head sits on your shoulder, and you can feel her playfully making faces at Jisoo the entire way; her tiny frame jolts with each loud giggle she lets out, and the sound makes you smile.

---

"Yeah, she was my sidekick for the day." You respond to Jisoo, continuing your conversation as you watch Aera remove her drawing from the cork board that she taped it to earlier. Displaying the kids' artwork is something that you advocated for when you first began working here, and you're so glad you did; they always get excited to share their works.

"She's a lucky girl, then." She says, doing her best to ignore the feeling of your eyes on her. Focusing on anything other than you is already hard enough for her, but she knows there'd be no hope left if she gives in now.

"Y/N helped me draw this. She doodled Dalgom in the corner," Aera cheerily says, breaking the slight tension in the air as she approaches the table. Most of the other kids have already been picked up, and Minji's watching the handful that haven't.

"It's not very good," you cringe, scratching the back of your neck. You've seen him a few times since the beginning of the year, whether it be on walks across campus with Jisoo, or perched on her desk during "bring your pet to class" day.

"It's adorable; Dalgomie will be honored when I show it to him." Jisoo says with a nod, shutting down your insecurities within a second. You fail to contain the laugh that slips past your lips, disbelief present in your voice as you ask, "You're going to show him?" She looks at you like you have 3 heads. "It would be a disgrace not to."

With a breathy chuckle, you say, "You're so strange. I like it, though."

Jisoo smiles at that, and the three of you discuss all of the fun things you did that day. Jisoo tells you about the classes she had to sit through, and even how she stepped in gum and had to borrow a pair of Rosé's shoes.

---

All good things must come to an end, though, and after about half an hour of talking, it was time to say goodbye.

You lead them out the door and down the sidewalk as per Aera's request, yet again (that child is basically a mini dictator at this point, but she's cute so she gets a free pass). As she rustles around her bag in search of her keys, Jisoo accidentally knocks her earbud case out, sending it tumbling to the ground. "Oh! Here, I'll grab it for you." You kindly offer, stepping past her to retrieve it from the grass. She takes it from you with a word of gratitude uttered in that angelic voice of hers, and you begin your goodbyes upon hearing Minji call your name.

"I'll see you around, Jisoo. And Aera, I expect to see you next week." You wiggle a finger at the little girl, donning a shocked expression when she pretends to bite it. "Can't you tell we're related?" Jisoo asks with a smile, ruffling her niece's hair. "The resemblance is uncanny," you laugh, watching as both of them join in with you.

"Y/N, come on!" Minji whines, sounding like a toddler herself. You initially go to brush off her request in order to spend a few more seconds with the two of them, but when she stands in the doorway, entering your line of sight, you see why she's so desperate for your help -- two of the children still waiting on their parents are climbing on her, about to knock her over at any second. Her face is beet red from the effort she's exerting, and her hair is mussed wildly.

"Oh shhh---" you start, catching yourself when Jisoo widens her eyes at you and goes to cover Aera's ears, "--shiitake mushrooms!" You finish with a nervous smile, gaining a stunned laugh from your crush. "Bye girls; gotta go. I'm on my way, Minji!" You call out like a superhero, running to her aid as fast as your legs will carry you.

Jisoo watches you wrangle one of the squirmy kids off of her and initiate a tickle fight to distract him and give Minji time to deal with the other one. She smiles like a dork at your actions, realizing she would be content with watching you all day. You're a natural with them, and seeing you in action is something she wishes she had the chance to do more often. With that, she turns around and picks Aera up; the youngster nuzzles into her embrace, lazily slumping onto her after having such a tiring day. As Jisoo goes to take a step forward, she notices something on the ground: a piece of paper. It's been folded neatly many times, and it reminds her of the notes she would always pass to her friends back in elementary school. Her curiosity gets the better of her, and she can't resist the urge to pick it up.

"To The Girl Who'll Never Know I Love Her"

Her eyes scan across the words and she unfolds the note, making sure to keep a steady grip on Aera with her other arm. An almost unnoticeable signature is scribbled in the bottom corner, and she nearly scares Aera by squealing in pleasant surprise.

It's your name, curled into the letters that are so uniquely yours; the paper must've fallen out of your pocket when you bent down to get her case earlier.

After buckling her niece into her car seat and climbing into the driver's seat, Jisoo unfolds the note again and begins reading. She's like a giddy kid all over again, and part of her feels bad for giving into temptation. She reasons with herself by promising to give it back to you the next time she sees you, and that manages to rid her conscience of some of the guilt she feels. For now, though, she's eager to see what it contains.

The first thing to catch her eye is a poem written neatly underneath a doodle of a rabbit, likely serving as some sort of label. Everyone on campus knows of her nickname and resemblance to rabbits, and she can't help but hope that your drawing wasn't simply a coincidence.

Poison, is what you are

A bittersweet mix, intoxicatingly beautiful

For one glance from you

Steals every breath I had so foolishly believed was mine to take

For one smile from you

Sends me reeling, falling all over again

She nearly swoons at the words, rereading them multiple times over and imagining you saying them to her. She wonders how the syllables would fall from your lips, which ones you'd stress to alter the meaning into whatever you imagined when you wrote them. Whether or not they're written for her, she may never know; all she's aware of right now is how they make her feel, and how that feeling is one that she never wants to stop experiencing.

4.) Practice Makes Perfect

2 Weeks, 3 Exams, and 1 Mental Breakdown Later

"Coming!" You call out, using all of your strength to push your rolling chair away from your desk and across the room towards the door.

"Y/N L/N, at your service," you say, doing a little bow in your seat. Upon looking up to see who's in front of you, your eyes lock with the same girl who's been living in your mind rent free ever since you met her.

"Jisoo!" You announce a little louder than intended, scrambling up into a standing position before kicking the chair backwards. You wince when it collides with something behind you, filling the room with noise as a few of your knick knacks clatter to the floor. Jisoo has to fight to contain the smile on her lips, pursing them as she looks towards the ground so as to not embarrass you.

It's too late though -- you've already made a fool of yourself, and right in front of your crush, no less.

"What can I do for you?" You ask, finally relaxing your face from its previously scrunched up position.

"Are you busy right now? I have a favor to ask and you might be the only person who can help me out." Her eyebrows raise inquisitively at you, quirking up in that special way they always do when she's focusing in class.

She could ask you to do just about anything, and you'd be agreeing without hesitation; no questions asked.

"N-no, just doing a little studying is all. How can I help?" You'd normally curse yourself for sounding so shy, but she looks especially gorgeous tonight and you can't even blame yourself for it. The fluorescent bulbs of the dorm's hallway fail to even put a dent in the glow she's radiating, and that's no small feat -- those horrible little things are usually capable of making anyone look bad, and yet, once again, Jisoo manages to break the mold.

"Mrs. Choi assigned a rehearsal for me tonight, and I need a peer to score how well I do. I trust you to do it." She says, having no idea how much her words are affecting you.

Review portions of the semester are crucial to every major's success, but arguably none so much as those studying to be actors. The peer and admin reviews that they receive account for a large chunk of their grade, so you can imagine how nerve-racking it would be to put that kind of power in someone else's hands. You're touched that she trusts you with it.

"I'd love to help, Jisoo. Just curious, though: why don't you have one of the girls help? They probably know more about it than me, after all." Everyone knows how close JenChuLiChaeng are, so her decision to choose you is genuinely intriguing.

Shit. For some reason, Jisoo hadn't anticipated that you'd ask that question. The thought had never crossed her mind earlier, when she was preoccupied with convincing herself to come in the first place, so she has to think something up on the fly.

"They're all busy with work. Couldn't afford to lose any precious cramming time, you know?" She says, a hint of nervousness behind the small laugh she lets out. It's uncharacteristic for her, considering she's usually so confident all the time, but you think it's adorable.

"Ryujin's the same way," you tease, turning your head to look at your roommate. She's across the room on her bed, reading through her book as she holds her middle finger up to let you know she heard your comment. "What a sweetie," you coo, blowing a kiss at her that makes her roll her eyes and smile despite herself. She pretends to be hardcore, but after spending the past few months with her you've discovered that she's actually the human embodiment of a cinnamon roll.

"Well," you say, turning back to Jisoo, "when do you have to start?"

She pulls her sleeve back to glance at her watch before returning her gaze to you. "Gotta be back at the dorm in 10 minutes."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, the inner honor student in you already panicking. "10 minutes?! It's all the way across campus, Jisoo!"

She laughs at you now, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. "I'm kidding; we still have a couple hours. You should've seen your face, though. Priceless."

"That's no way to treat someone who practically has your grade resting in their hands." You say smugly, a little smirk playing on your lips when her jaw drops dramatically.

"You wouldn't dare," she narrows her eyes, referencing the notion that you might give her bad marks because of that little prank.

"Maybe, or maybe not. Perhaps I'll be merciful if you take me to get something to eat first."

"Food as a peace offering? Alright, I can do that."

You smile, doing a dorky little cheer at that. "Okay, I'll be right out; just give me a second to make myself look presentable."

Jisoo accepts your words with a curt nod, but she wants to tell you that you already look more than presentable. When you first opened the door earlier and she saw you in your study glasses, she couldn't help but smile like a fool; you're adorable, especially to her, and she wishes you could see that.

A couple minutes later you exit your dorm and find her leaned up against the hallway wall, her hands fidgeting in front of her. Is she nervous?

"So, where would you like to go?" You ask, pulling the thin material of your jacket over your shoulders. It's lightweight -- seeing as how the weather doesn't call for a large one -- and it feels soft against your skin.

As the two of you fall into step with each other, she responds, "It's up to you, princess. Since I'm at your mercy and all." Her smirk is visible in your peripheral.

The nickname causes your heart to flutter in your chest, thudding around even harder than it had before. "U-uh, how about the noodle place?" You suggest, trying not to cringe at the stutter in your voice. You've heard that she likes chicken and ramen, and that shop is known as the best restaurant on campus for it.

"110%. You know me so well," she says dreamily, batting her eyelashes at you with a silly smile.

"Called it," you retort, brushing your shoulder off nonchalantly. "Now come on, I'm hungry and ready to spend all of your money." Her hand slips into yours when you reach down for it, almost instinctively, feeling like it was meant to be there all along, and you tug her down the hallway towards the elevator.

----

"I know! If Mr. Johnson assigns another project like that then I'll politely be jumping out a window."

Jisoo laughs at how animated you are, even having to stop chewing her mouthful of food momentarily to make sure she doesn't choke. She really loves hanging out with you; you make everything fun, and all of the stress she feels on a daily basis seems to vanish into thin air.

"I did pretty bad on that last one," Jisoo adds, grimacing as she remembers her score.

"You literally got a 93 out of 100, shut up." You shake your head with an amused smile, reaching across the table to snatch a piece of gimbap from her plate.

"Hey--" she goes to yell at you, but her phone vibrates against the table, successfully stopping her.

"Hello?" She answers, silently starting a chopstick war with you when you reach for another piece. When the person on the other end begins talking, she stops playing in order to concentrate on what they're saying.

"Did she cancel?" She asks, furrowing her brow as her lips form into a natural pout. She sighs, rubbing her temple gently as the conversation continues. "Okay, I'm out with a friend right now, but you can go ahead and head that way. We'll meet you there. Alright, love you, too. Bye."

You raise an eyebrow, wordlessly requesting info about what new plan you're being involved in. "That was my brother; the babysitter cancelled on them last minute, so we have to watch Aera for a few hours." Jisoo loves her niece dearly, but she can't deny that she wanted to spend the evening alone with you. She's afraid the little girl will steal all of your attention away, as childish as that may seem.

"You're such a good person," you compliment, only to frown when she brushes off your words. "I mean it, Jisoo. You always take care of everybody around you; it's admirable. Now take the compliment or I'll team up with Aera later and tease you."

She rolls her eyes with a smile, saying, "You're gonna do that regardless."

"That's not the point," you pout, stomping your foot on the ground lightly.

"Fine; tis I, Jisoo, the greatest person in all of existence. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic." You beam at her, returning back to your cheery self. "I'll go grab some boxes for us, okay?" She nods, and you scurry off on your mission.

----

Back At Jisoo's Dorm

Images flash across the large, flatscreen TV mounted to the wall across from you, displaying scenes of whatever cartoon the network decided to air right now. Aera isn't being picky; she's content with sitting in your lap, mindlessly fidgeting with the necklace that loosely dangles from your neck as she remains entranced by the screen. Your arms are around her to make her feel secure, and her small frame racks against you with every sweet giggle she lets out anytime a new joke is told by one of her favorite characters.

Jisoo observes from the kitchen, leaning back against the countertop to settle in while she waits for Aera's favorite snack to heat up. She watches as you point to various things on the TV, having her name the ones she knows and teaching her others that she doesn't.

She loves seeing you like this. You're beaming in that special way that sets her heart on fire, and the flames are only fanned when you turn to look at her. Somehow, the sight reminds her of the first time she met you:

It was orientation week -- the beginning of the school year -- and you were taking a tour around campus with some of your friends. You were lucky to have them; you'd only kept in contact with a handful of people from high school, knowing full well that most of those relationships were only rooted in superficiality, never meant to last. But this motley crew was different; they saw you for you, and all of you genuinely enjoyed each other's company. It didn't have the same air of awkward tension as the fake friendships had -- this was real and honest, and you thanked your lucky stars for them on the daily.

All of you had managed to get into your dream schools, and the reality was bittersweet; you'd all be moving away from each other and beginning your own lives, having less and less time for each other in the process. You were beyond proud of them, and yourself, for that matter, but it still hurt to think that they wouldn't be just a few blocks away anymore. That you couldn't just swing by their house to go on a late night drive through the city like you used to. As exciting as your new experiences were bound to be, part of you was terrified; your life up until now had been fairly safe, creating a little security blanket to protect you from all that life had in store, but now you were on your own and the idea was a bit daunting. The memories you made together comforted you, though, and kept the sadness at bay.

"Dude, this place is sick. How did you manage to make it in again?"

"Because she's smart, dumbass. We should be asking you that question."

"Ouch, (Friend's Name), that hurt."

"Do you still have those chips from earlier? I'm starving over here."

"Yeah, here, they're in my bag."

Pockets of separate conversations can be heard from behind you, all of your friends chatting away while you walk ahead of them, map and schedule in hand. The campus is fairly large, and with so many buildings and classrooms it's easy to get confused. You continue walking, running a finger along the map to trace the path you intend to take towards the Help Center.

In your preoccupied state, you don't even realize that you're headed straight for a trash can that sits on the sidewalk, mere seconds away from colliding with it.

A passerby notices just in the nick of time, reaching an arm out in front of you to prevent the accident with a noise of warning. You tense up, not expecting the sudden interruption, and look up into the eyes of your savior. Her dark orbs peer back at you, an innocent gleam in them when she sees your lips slowly tug into a smile.

She mirrors your actions, neither of you saying anything yet. You couldn't utter a word even if you wanted to; her beauty leaves you speechless.

"That was close," she says quietly, only to you. Your friends have almost caught up with you now, still busy with their own conversations, though they'll tease you once they see a gorgeous stranger's arm wrapped around you.

"Thank you," you breathe out, clearing your throat as you take a step away from her.

"Ooh, who's this, Y/N?" One of your friends coos, garnering a chorus of childish "oohs" and kissy noises from the others. Why are they so obnoxious?

You apologetically glance at the girl one more time before turning around to respond to them, but she speaks up before you can.

"Kim Jisoo." She introduces, facing them with a wide smile. It's easy to see that she's done this before; her tone is pleasant and light, not even a hint of hesitancy in it. She's used to being the center of attention; you can tell by the way she carries herself and commands the space.

"I see you guys are taking a tour, right?" She looks between all of you, though her eyes linger on you for a second too long to be brushed off as 'just friendly'.

You nod, saying, "I can't find my last class. It's a Gen Ed one; World History, room 435. The map says it's in Complex D, but the room was vacant when we went by."

She listens intently, paying attention to your every word. "They must've handed out the old maps by accident, then. Mr. Johnson had to move rooms to accommodate larger class sizes. When do you have him?"

You unfold your schedule again, gazing down at the slightly crumpled sheet until your eyes find their target. "Tuesdays and Thursdays, 1PM."

Upon registering what you said, Jisoo does her best to contain the grin that threatens to spread across her face. "Ah, same as me! I can take you to the room, if you'd like. That way you can find it next week." She offers, pleased by the fact that she'll be seeing you more often. Your cute mannerisms have already thrown her for a loop, and she wants to get to know you better.

"That would be great." You let out a relieved laugh, releasing the worry you felt; tours are meant to end within 20 minutes or so, and before Jisoo came you were afraid you'd never find your last class. She's saving the day again, it seems.

"Great, follow me," she smiles warmly, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back to turn you in the right direction. When you give your friends one last glance over your shoulder, you find them giving you thumbs up with smirks on their faces. One of them puckers their lips at you, and you stick your tongue out in return.

You're not sure what they'll end up doing while you finish your tour, though it'll likely involve either skating or eating fast food. They have each other to keep themselves entertained, so you're not worried about them in the slightest. You make a mental note to text them when you're done to meet up again.

Jisoo smiles like an idiot when she realizes what's happening behind her, failing miserably to hide it when you spin back around and give your full attention to her.

"What?" You ask, leaning in closer to her to nudge her shoulder when she looks away, blushing.

"Nothing," she shakes her head, only to be prompted by you again. "You're just cute, is all."

You have to use all your power to hold back the squeal you want to let out at hearing that. Kim Jisoo, as you now know her to be, thinks you're cute? You must be dreaming.

"That's funny, I don't remember turning into a mirror."

"Yah, babo!" She chuckles, not expecting that as she smacks the back of your head with no real force. The two of you share a laugh and continue talking while you make your way to the room.

Beeping sounds from the microwave bring Jisoo back down to Earth, causing the pleasant memory to fade more and more with every incessant signal that cuts through the air. She grabs a couple heat guards and approaches the machine, carefully opening the steaming package and pouring its contents into a big, shareable bowl. Though it may be Aera's favorite food, she'd be damned to not make enough for the two of you as well. After all, keeping her entertained will take plenty of energy.

"Did this princess order one heaping bowl of popcorn or am I at the wrong castle?" Jisoo plays, padding into the room with a bright smile on her face as she looks over at her niece. The smell of her snack snaps Aera back to reality, making her eyes light up with pure joy as she leaps off of your lap and runs to Jisoo. She wraps her arms around her legs, thanking her in that sweet little voice of hers as she gazes up at her aunt with stars in her eyes.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She chants, wiggling her body around in excitement. She lets go when Jisoo goes to walk to the couch, following close behind her like an eager puppy.

She approaches you again, making grabby hands for you to lift her onto your lap even though she's more than capable of getting up there by herself. Nevertheless, you pull her up with a humored grin, watching as she puts her hands in her lap and patiently waits for the two of you to get a bite first. Her ability to follow manners is commendable, though the slight twitch of her lip when she gets a whiff of the food is pretty adorable.

"Dig in," you say around your mouthful of food, locking eyes with Jisoo when Aera jumps at the opportunity to follow your instructions. You never have to tell her twice when it comes to food.

"Yep, definitely related."

Jisoo laughs at your comment, reaching over top of Aera to flick you in the forehead. She shrugs at your pained exclamation, uttering a nonchalant "Sorry, not sorry," as the two of you crack up together.

----

"Y/N, how the hell did you manage to do that?" Jisoo whispers, not bothering to censor herself when she sees Aera fast asleep in your arms. It's not like she could hear her anyway.

"She was already kinda tired when she got here; I just made sure to get that last little bit of energy out with the games. Have you forgotten that I know a thing or two about kids?" You tease, turning to her with a smile when you finish walking up the short staircase.

"You don't understand: usually it takes us hours to settle her down. She's just a totally different person around you."

"Must be my awesomeness."

"Hmm, must be," Jisoo hums, quietly opening her bedroom door for you and watching as you carefully lay Aera down. You tuck her under the blankets with care, making sure to brush the hair out of her face and adjust her pillow a bit. Jisoo leans against the doorframe, adding the scene before her to her list of reasons for loving you. Seeing you in such a domestic situation gives her baby fever, and she has to push the persistent feeling away.

"Ready?" You whisper with one last look over your shoulder, giving Jisoo your undivided attention once you confirm that Aera's alright.

"Let's do it," she says, pulling the door to but not latching it. The two of you will be in the living room, just down the hall, and you want to be able to hear her in case she needs something. So responsible.

You take in the dorm as Jisoo leads you towards your destination, amazed at how much bigger it is than yours and Ryujin's. This one has separate rooms equipped with their own personal bathrooms, a decent kitchen, and, of course, a living area. Clearly, having ties to the school and being president of the student council come with some major perks. Your socked feet pad against the hardwood floor, and you close what little distance is left between Jisoo and yourself to press your body against her back, wrapping your arms around her. She lets out a little noise of surprise, but doesn't protest; she tucks one of her hands into your clasped ones and uses the other to rub your forearm.

A few moments later you plop down onto the couch and get comfortable on the cushions. Jisoo digs around in her bag that leans against the tv stand, searching for the script of her upcoming production. Her shirt rides up slightly, giving you a perfect view of her beautifully sculpted stomach, and her skin looks ethereal as it glows in the soft lamplight of the room. Embarrassed for admiring her in such a way, you avert your gaze, failing to notice how she subtly bites her lip as she approaches you; she planned that little show, and it worked.

"Okay, so here's the scoring sheet," she hands you a semi-formal looking paper, along with a pencil and clipboard to use as a stabilizer. "I'll be reading from the first few pages on my own, but I was wondering if you'd fill in for the male lead for some of the other parts? It's a lot easier to get into character if I have someone's energy to feed off of."

You smile at how cute she sounded with her little rambled request, and nod. "Of course, Jisoo. I doubt I'll be any good, though." She releases a sigh at that, happy to have you agree; her plan is coming along nicely, but there's always room for things to go wrong.

"I'm sure you're better than you think."

"Stop sucking up, Chu. Flattery won't make me raise your grade," you warn, pointing the pencil at her sternly. Your tone sends a shiver down her spine, though it goes unnoticed by you.

"Let's just get started." She concludes, doing her best to keep from getting too flustered under your already watchful eye.

----

Her show is well underway, caught somewhere towards the end of act two, and you're enthralled by the performance she's giving. The paper that once rested in your lap is marked up with comments of praise and proud annotations to accompany your high scoring, though now it lays forgotten about on the coffee table, serving no purpose any longer. You finished all of the required sections necessary for your peer review, and now you're just enjoying the journey that Jisoo is continuing to take you on.

You look back up into her eyes after reading off the lines of the character you're filling in for, looking completely unskilled next to the pure talent that she's exuding. She stands from the couch, looking down at you with an exasperated expression as she remains in character.

"You don't get it!" She raises her voice slightly, though not loud enough to wake Aera. Even while in the intense mindset she has to be in for her character, she keeps one foot in the reality of this world, making sure to behave appropriately.

"Enlighten me, then." You stand and retort, shifting a bit closer to her after reciting your line.

"Only when I'm with you do I feel true happiness. Your kind eyes bring me comfort like no other; I'm safe in your arms. For you, my love," she pauses, her eyes brimming with tears from the emotional words she's spent so much time rehearsing. "...there isn't a thing in this world that I wouldn't do." Your breath is held tightly in your throat, and your hands subconsciously grip onto the material of your jeans.

Only now do you realize how close the two of you have migrated to one another; she's merely a breath away, so close you can feel the warmth radiating from her. You swallow thickly, feeling your nerves come alive with every second that passes in heated silence, neither of you knowing what to do now. You've lost the desire to read your next line, and she doesn't seem too upset by that fact. Her eyes slowly scan over your features, and the lovesick look in them makes you question if she's still in character or slipping out of it.

After her gaze darts down to your lips and she licks her own without even realizing it, you seriously begin hoping for the latter of the two options.

She searches your face for any sign of refusal as she leans in closer, now bringing her arms up to wrap around your waist and lightly ball the material of your shirt up into her fists. Your hands rest on her shoulders, and you glide your fingertips over her jawline. A singular nod is the last form of consent that you give her before she pulls you closer.

Her lips ghost over yours, receiving some of the vanilla balm you applied earlier; her breath hitches when you tug at the collar of her university sweater, teasingly taking her bottom lip between your teeth. She wants to savor this moment, so she fights against her urge to dive right in and get lost in you.

Within seconds, she's kicking herself for that decision.

"Auntie? Y/N?" Aera calls sleepily from just around the corner, making the two of you spring away from each other. When she appears less than a second later, you realize how close you had been to getting caught. Jisoo refuses to meet your gaze when you look towards her, and that simple action disheartens you a bit.

"Hey, sweetheart. Bad dream?" You ask, using your inference skills after noticing the way that she's clutching her stuffed bunny close to her chest. Her lip trembles as she nods, and the sight breaks your heart. Quickly, you pick her up again, assuring her that she's safe and that you'd slay any monster that dared to hurt her, even in her dreams. A small smile tugs at her lips, and she brings a fist up to rub her eye. "How about this: I'll do a quadruple check of the room for you, and stay with you until you fall asleep. Sound good?"

She utters a tired, "Yes, Y/N-yah", before laying her head on your shoulder and waving a goodbye towards Jisoo as you take her back to the room.

Four sweeps of the room and one fight with a ghost later, you tuck her in again and lay a sweet kiss to her forehead. "Love you," she mumbles lazily, making your heart melt. Kids say that phrase quickly, without even realizing the weight that it has, but you're always glad to accept whatever they imagine it to be. Whether she loves you for playing with her, tucking her in, or defending her honor against imaginary monsters, you don't really care all that much -- she loves you in the ways that she knows how, and that's all that matters.

"I love you, too, Aera. Sleep well." You tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and settle against the wall, prepared to come through on your promise.

----

"Hey," you start, albeit a bit awkwardly.

"Hey," Jisoo returns, pushing her leftovers from the restaurant around her plate half-heartedly. You approach the marble countertop that she sits behind, silently begging for her to look up at you.

"Should we talk about earlier?" You quietly ask, picking at imaginary imperfections on the surface of the countertop.

"What about it?"

"We practically kissed--"

"It was in the script to do so, Y/N." She says, finally looking up at you. She sounds a bit hostile now, like she's getting defensive for some unknown reason.

"Oh," the simple utterance is all you can manage, seeing as how your brain is running a mile a minute. You want to ask if it meant anything else to her -- if she would've taken it farther, had Aera not walked in -- but you don't. Her tone serves as enough of an answer, and you're not sure you could stand to hear her verbalize your fears anyway.

"Well I guess I should go, then." You retract your hand and put it in your pocket, realizing how stupid you were for thinking she could like you back. She doesn't; she was just in need of a helping hand tonight, and you offered that. You shouldn't have tried to turn it into anything that it wasn't.

Hearing the disappointment in your voice makes her want to confess right then and there, but something still holds her back -- some force is yelling at her to keep her feelings hidden for fear of rejection. "I can drive you."

You shake your head. "Nah, it's okay. I'll have Ryujin come get me. You can't leave Aera here and I wouldn't want to have to wake her up just for you to drive me across campus." Jisoo agrees, realizing that she didn't even think about that at first.

"Goodnight, Jisoo." You say, heading off towards the front door. She returns the gesture, reminding you to be safe as she locks it behind you and watches you dial up your roommate's number. Before long, she pulls into one of the parking spaces in front of the dorm, and the two of you drive away.

Click Here For Part 2

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kikilefangirl · 3 years

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Phantom Love

Erik Lenhsherr x Reader

(Word Count: 1.6k)

The knock on your apartment door was frantic and jarring.

You remained perched on your window sill, staring out at the busy street. You inhaled, taking a hit from your blunt. There was a light drizzle outside, and you could feel its pull on you and you pushed back.

You made the water bend to your will, twisting and turning droplets as they fell. Never anything attention grabbing, but just enough to pass the time. As you exhaled, you pulled your knees up to your chest, and rested your head on them.

Whoever was out there wasn’t invited, and you weren’t keen on visitors at the moment.

Y/N, you know we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious.

You perked up at the familiar voice in your head. You sighed at the trouble Charles Xavier would bring to your door. He was interrupting your carefully crafted solitude for his shit.

“Fuck off, Charles!” You shouted. Smoke escaped your lips and up into the air, slowly dissipating into nothing. Your eyes followed its path, staring up at your ceiling.

Charles knocked again.

“Y/N! It’s Erik!” He called out. You clicked your tongue.

Of course it was. It was always Erik. Blunt in hand, you stalked over to the door. You stared at it with all the rage and scrutiny you had in you, then haphazardly swung it open.

One hand sat on your waist as you lifted your blunt to your mouth again. Charles and Hank were waiting for you in the hallway. You let the smoke blow in their faces.

The two men coughed and sputtered as you headed deeper into your apartment without ceremony.

“Y/N. He’s taken a turn.” Hank said. You snuffed out your blunt in the ashtray.

Running a hand along the walls, you let the cool surface calm your growing anger. You could feel the water rushing through the pipes. From there, you were connected to the complex plumbing network that made up the whole block. And the rain, too.

“I could’ve told you he was crazy as hell the day I met him.” You scoffed. You took your hand away from the wall and sat back in your chair.

Charles frowned at your callousness as he stood in the middle of your living room. All around him, your plants and art were splayed across the room, a calming ecosystem in the midst of his panicking.

“He’s joined up with someone dangerous. He’ll get himself and everyone else killed.” Charles persisted, “Let me show you.”

Your leg bounced and you rolled your tongue under your bottom lip. Something in your old friend’s face gave you pause.

“Fine.” You finally relented. You dropped your shoulders and let Charles place two fingers on your temple.

Images flashed through your mind, rapid fire. And it was worse than you could have imagined. It was Erik, well past his breaking point. His face was red and blotchy, his hair was unkempt, and his powers were in full force. The worst was watching how utterly and completely destroyed he looked. It was bottomless.

You now understand why we need your help, Y/N.

You couldn’t find the words just yet, opting for a small comfort instead. Strategically hidden in the floorboard, you pulled out a velvet box. In it, was a simple diamond ring set in a platinum band.

“What did he get into, Charles?” You asked, almost absentmindedly. The ring was on a chain, sitting in your palm. It stared back at you, laughing at the phantom love you and Erik had. You met Charles’ gaze, final and resolute.

Your expression darkened. On the right side of you, the glass vase filled with fresh calla lilies shattered into a million pieces. Water sprayed everywhere, dowsing Charles and Hank the most.

The sound sent you tumbling back into the moment— and you lifted your hand in the air. Water rose up from your apartment floor and your visitors’ wet clothes, gradually growing into a ball of water. You twisted your hand, burning the liquid off in mid-air.

“Thank you.” Hank offered, albeit stiffly. Charles just nodded—he’d seen the full scope of your abilities before. He knew what you were capable of and that was probably the only reason he was really there.

“A mutant called Apocalypse is planning something, and Erik is playing quite the role in whatever that is.” Charles spoke at last. Your eyes cut back down to the ring, twirling it between your fingers. You swallowed hard.

“He made this ring for me himself. Asked me to marry him with it,” you started, feeling the special groves and roughness of the ring, “I love him more than anything, and I still walked. But I’ll be damned if I spend the rest of my life picking up after him just ‘cause I love him.”

You couldn’t bite back the bitterness or the love. It was all there, all the time. You found over the years that your relationship with Erik teetered from one to the other, and you went with it every time.

“Y/N, we need your help.” Charles begged you. You put the ring back in its place. The box snapped shut. You stared blankly at it, then up at Charles and Hank.

“No.”

Your voice was barely audible and it was more felt than heard. You couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not to Erik.

“I didn’t know all of...please, Charles, just leave.” You were shaking, uncontrollably now. The pipes roared loudly behind you.

Hank protested, and Charles said nothing at all. You could feel his steady anger pulse throughout the room. You sparked your blunt again, trying to get a light to no avail. You were grateful when it finally gave.

“I’ve shown you everything and you still refuse to act against him.” Charles spat out. The venom in his tone was harsh and unexpected.

“You’ve been warned, and whatever happens you and I know you could’ve stopped it.” He continued.

Charles gave you too much credit; he had too much faith that you could change anything. You headed back to your window sill, and turned your back to them. You heard the shuffle of feet and a door slam and then nothing.

You took another hit, hoping to be nothing, too.

…

That night, it rained harder than it had in weeks. Partly nature, partly you.

“I know they were here.”

You couldn’t look back at him to retort. It was true, and it was your apartment to begin with. Your anger surprised you, making you turn on him faster than either of you expected. You pulled a wall of water straight through the window. The glass shattered and some minor cuts appeared on your shoulder, but it didn’t matter.

You caught Erik off guard and had him pinned to the wall. He squirmed under your grip, but he could only do so much. The water reached past his neck, successfully keeping him where he was.

“If you decide to burn the world down, the only thing I’m doing is getting the hell out the way.”

The words stung coming out of your mouth, probably as much as they stung hearing them. The two of you were doing that thing you did when you broke each other’s hearts again.

You slung your bag over your shoulder. It was all you were taking with you.

“You would leave me, again.” Erik pleaded. You stopped dead in your tracks. Mesmerized, you could feel the blood pumping through his veins. Tentatively, you pressed your forehead in the crook of his neck. You pressed your lips onto his, and he craned his neck as best he could to kiss you back. He tried to put every ounce of desire he had for you in that kiss, and you did too.

Pulling away from Erik was hard to do, but you closed your eyes and did it anyway.

“When Charles Xavier shows up to my house and I have no defense, no words to give him about you. I sat up here looking like a goddamn fool and you let me.” Your gravelly voice was weak at best.

Erik couldn’t muster a reply worth shit, so he chose silence. In that, a pained expression took over his features. You ran your palm across his face, savoring the laugh lines, the ridges, the stubble. As you passed over his lips, he kissed your hand and you let him.

“I love you, Erik, and don’t you dare go around thinking I don’t. But whatever Apocalypse has given you, I hope it was worth it.” You admitted.

His eyes went wide, first with shock, then they settled on something bordering shame.

You took a deep breath, and gave Erik your back just the same as you gave it to Charles, slipping out the door and into the rainy night.

#Erik Lehnsherr #erik lehnsherr x reader #black!reader #poc!reader #xmen x reader #x men fanfiction #magneto #magneto x reader #x men apocalypse #mutant!reader #woc!reader #magneto angst #Erik lehnsherr angst #x men angst

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

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more of the mutually assured destruction duo, post-prison this time! this one was really fun, thinking about what this dynamic might be like in the future gives me SO much brainrot, im so excited. this one’s also a little dark, so make sure to read the warnings + tags !! :D

tw: implied prison abuse, starvation, toxic relationship, touch starvation, manipulation, panic attack, trauma, blood, injury

Dream hasn't been the same since he escaped prison.

And it's ironic, because Wilbur hasn't even been around, has been in hell for fuck's sake playing Competitive Solitaire for nine-odd years, but even he could've seen the self-destruction hanging like a cloud around the other's head from a million miles (and several months? years?) away. Perhaps, he thinks wryly, you can only see the signs when you've lived them, or maybe red flags don't raise alarm when you’ve painted the entire figure in blood, but it doesn't really matter, in the end, because the final result is the same.

Still, it's just a little funny when he's stopped in the middle of his journey through the Nether, not a piece of armor on him per usual and an unused netherite sword slung over his hip.

"Hello, Sapnap." The kid is standing in front of him, eyes gleaming in badly-hidden anger and desperation, smoke rising from the mottled red-black skin on his hands. "Fancy seeing you around."

"You-" Sapnap sputters, unable to speak as his face flushes red in frustration, and Wilbur smiles at him condescendingly. The expression on the other's face is one he's seen before - one Tommy had been particularly inclined to give him in the past, when his emotions raged so heavily that there was nothing for the pressure to do but build, too thick and heavy to force themselves out of his throat. "You're monsters," Sapnap manages, finally, and Wilbur quirks an eyebrow.

At least we're self-aware, he thinks, the all-too-familiar twinge of irritation at Tommy's - and apparently, Sapnap's particular brand of reckless naivety pulsing at the base of his skull. He lets none of these thoughts show on his face as he cocks his head to the side, smiles wider - and Sapnap, just like Tommy, takes the bait.

'Why are you smiling?" He looks achingly young - they all do, really, their expressions and reactions dripping with a sort of innocence and sincerity that dissolved from Wilbur's own face somewhere around the fifteen-hundreth game of poker, and it really does feel ironic, how quickly the outside world can fall apart compared to the unending constancy of the void - but he digresses.

He didn't know Sapnap well before his whole death thing, and as much as he wants to use his partner to get information on the other members of the server, he doesn't really think Dream is really even lucid enough for that - the man clearly hasn't been thinking clearly, not for a long time. It doesn't matter, though, because you learn to read people when your life becomes nothing but running the same broken-edged memories over and over again in your mind and smiling jaggedly over the same few card games - Wilbur had always been a people watcher, and Sapnap's feelings are stamped on every corner of his face.

"Monster, huh," he says, saying the word slowly, rolling it over his tongue like he's tasting it for the first time, watching from the corner of his eye as Sapnap squirms, "Interesting word you've got here. You use it often?"

Sapnap bristles, smoke curling from his nostrils - "It's what you are, dickhead."

Rolling his eyes internally, Wilbur keeps up the act, humming as he fiddles idly with his cufflink. "I mean, if you really believe that," he rocks forward on his right foot, stifling a smile at the way the younger draws back, "But really, it's all a matter of perspective." He twists himself around, pivoting around his heel, beginning to walk in an arc around Sapnap's left side, watching as he spins around, shoulders drawn up to his ears. "What do you think?"

"I think that you're full of shit," he says, voice flat, and Wilbur laughs. It's genuine, really, because well - Sapnap's different. He's fun; the entire server is, after so long in the void. You can only spend so much time with the same two people before they drive you a little up the metaphorical wall, but Sapnap's reactions are fresh and new and different, still saturated with vitality that hasn’t been leached out by the same deck of cards in the same scarred hands shuffled and reshuffled for eternity. He's interesting, and new, and most of all, predictable.

"Say, Sapnap," he continues, blowing over the other's anger, knowing that it'll only make the frustration build more. He lets his hair flop lazily over one eye, lets his smile grow wider, lips pressed together in amusement, turns his face so that it's lit eerily by the lava lake beneath them. "If we're monsters for, I don't know, setting off a few stacks of TNT," he waves his hand flippantly, watching the muscle of the other's jaw jump in poorly-hidden rage, "What does that make you for what you did to Dream?"

Sapnap's eyes go wide, and Wilbur knows he's struck the jackpot. He lets his lips part to reveal bared teeth, jagged and glinting in the light. "I'm sorry, did that hit a nerve?"

The kid's mouth opens- closes- emotions warring on his face, fists curling and uncurling at his sides, lip trembling. "We- we had to-" his hands come to his face, palms digging into his eyes, and while he's not looking, Wilbur draws his expression back a bit, becoming softer, more welcoming. When Sapnap looks back up, his eyes are shining, hands shaking still; he steps forward, then rocks back on his back foot like he doesn't know where to go. "What do you mean?" he throws the words like they're meant to be a threat, but by the end his voice has devolved into something high-pitched and keening, overflowing with desperate grief that Wilbur latches onto like a starving man (ha) with his last meal.

"I'm sorry, it does seem rather insensitive for me to assume," he resumes pacing around the other, voice lilting, soft, "I just mean, it seemed pretty obvious, don't you think? I don't think I've ever seen someone so skinny, really, but I guess that is what happens when you get starved,"

"Shut up-"

"Not to mention the whole panicking thing, I mean, he's like Tommy sometimes with all of the fucking shaky breathing and mumbling around like creepers, not that I'd know what all of that's about," he watches Sapnap through half-hooded eyes, darkly amused, "and pickaxes, oddly enough, but oh well. Who am I to judge?"

"Shut up-"

"And all of the scars - I thought they were from you, honestly, he told me about the whole 'taking his last life' thing, but then he jumped into lava one day - I guess there wasn't much to do in that cell, huh? He didn't even scream, it's really pretty fucking incredible - I thought I'd actually have to break him down a bit, but really, you've made my life so much easier-"

"SHUT UP-"

Wilbur watches with a too-wide grin as Sapnap finally, finally charges, a netherite sword appearing in his hand as he races blindly ahead, tears shining on his cheeks, his words more pain than thought as he brings the blade down-

A blur of purple, the sound of crumbling netherrack and metal meeting metal, flesh hitting flesh - Wilbur moves smoothly out of the way as Sapnap crashes to the ground, an armored figure bearing down an axe against the shield he's raised between them.

Dream, hair tangled and long, wearing armor that is far too heavy for his skinny frame, every inch of him shaking in panic, should hardly be a threat - but this is Sapnap, weakened by Wilbur's sharp words and crippled by the shock of seeing his former best friend's face again, eyes still unfocused from the rage and tears that had clouded over them moments before, so he can do little but raise his shield as the netherite slams into it, again and again. Not a word falls from Dream's lips, but he brings down the weapon at a ruthless pace - ever since he's been free, his attack style has changed greatly from the defensive style he used to favor, even to Wilbur's untrained eye - there's no skill, no art to the way he attacks anymore, just the fearful ferocity of a dog trapped in a cage for far, far too long.

He finally kicks Sapnap down the netherrack cliff that they're on, the other man left to nurse his wounds below them - Wilbur doesn't bother sparing him another thought; Dream's far too weak to cause any permanent damage. Instead, he approaches his partner, weapon, with a smile, watching, satisfied, when he whirls around with a manic expression.

"I'm alright, see?" he croons as Dream's shoulders move up and down with his heaving breaths, eyes fever-bright, teeth bared. He brings a hand down on the other's shoulder and watches as he flinches at the movement, breath hitching, every muscle freezing, knuckles pale on the handle of his axe, before moving again, stumbling forwards, hands reaching for Wilbur's head and stopping halfway. Wilbur tips his head forward, lets the shorter brush his face with trembling fingers, checking his unmarred skin for blood through the purpling bruises already forming on his cheek, and thinks how powerful he is to have a god at his beck and call, a perfect attack dog brought to heel, death itself obediently at his side.

Dream hasn't been the same since he escaped prison, and as Wilbur runs his hand up and down his back, feeling the way his spine arches at the touch, at the fluttering pulse under the skin-and-bone wrist under his fingers, he thinks how fortunate he is to be the first to notice.

#old stuff :]#queue <3 #tw abuse #tw panic attack #tw manipulation #tw toxic relationship #tw blood #tw injury #tw trauma #tw touch starvation #mutually assured destruction duo my beloved #post prison dream brainrot always lmao #my writing :D #my asks !!

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ellitx · 3 years

Text

Chapter 8: Unexpected Sojourn

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

previous || next

art belongs to rome

word count: 3.2k

“[Name].”

You flinched when your name slipped from his lips. Venti furrowed his brows in worry and slowly knelt down before you, reaching his hand out to brush your cheek. You crawled backward before he could touch you.

Fear had once again found you. It spoke to you in its cackling voice. It told your legs to go weak, your stomach to lurch and your heart to ache. Your eyes averted from his own gaze. You don’t want to look at him.

You fear facing the unknown Venti in front of you. What happened back then still lingered inside your head. Those cold and ominous orbs when he looked at you made you shudder. You know that intense gaze wasn’t meant to be directed at you, yet it scared you so much the more you think about it.

His heart ached to see you distancing away from him. It feels so cold, like concrete drying his chest. It was unexpected for him to experience a heartbreak— top of the world one minute then cut down the next. Why is that? Is there a part of him that you dislike seeing? You do know that he’s trying to help you, right?

“[Name], what’s wrong?”

He softly asked, his voice sounded so pleading. As much as he wanted to near you, he kept himself in place to prevent you from keeping away. You have always imagined him holding you so many times, but now more often than not you find the future you seek is an empty shell.

Things have changed abruptly— he changed, so fast, you worry that he might not be able to control himself in front of you.

“It’s nothing…” You muttered. You said you aren’t scared but he can see your body movements are tighter and your yearnings reduced. Your smiles were shorter and silence longer. You didn’t even look at him as you said that.

Venti bit his lip as his face contorted. He so badly wanted to wrap his arms around you and just bury his face on your hair, taking in the fresh smell you have, yet you were scared. Scared of what though? He doesn’t know the answer to it. Was it because of Boreas?

“Please look at me…”

He begged. There was something in his voice, a pain behind it. You watched. You watched his eyes and then you knew. The anger was nothing but a shield for pain, like a cornered knight aimlessly lunging his sword, scared for his life, lonely, and desperate.

His emotions turned jagged and his insides tight. He wanted to cry out and reach out to you. Love him, sit with him, hold his hand, say his name, look into his eyes, and say you love him. He waited, heart in his mouth, hoping you’ll come back to his arms.

It hurt you. It hurt you to see him like this. The emotional pain in those green gems swelled you with guilt that you’re staying away from him. You impulsively extended out your arms and apologized.

“I’m sorry,”

Venti blinked in surprise yet he didn’t hesitate to come to you. Your arms were wide open, welcoming him in, and he immediately entered them then wrapped his arms around your waist so tightly.

His hug is stronger than anything you’ve ever known as if holding you wasn’t quite enough, he has to feel every ounce that you are pressed into every ounce that is him. In that moment of a feeling of you so close has awakened him, more alive and relieved than he has been in so very long.

He nuzzled onto your neck, feeling safe against you. Your warm hug took the pain away and just let himself melt and be comfortable. You slowly reached up to his head and caressed his dark locks.

“I’m sorry…” You repeated. “I… I thought you’re mad at me.” Your gaze darted downwards with your arms falling back to your side. Your eyes remained glassy for a moment and that’s when he finally connected the dots together.

You were scared seeing him furious. It’s an emotion he never really shows it often and is rare for him. This side of him was uncommon to see and you’ve never seen him felt like that once in your life of knowing him for all these years. Anger, pain, sadness— so intertwined that perhaps his name is ought to be tweaked to reflect the true origins of these emotions.

Venti pulled away and looked at you, his eyes calmly searching yours. He raised your chin to make you look at him and pressed his forehead with yours. “I’m not mad. And I’ll never ever be mad at you.” Warm hands then cupped your cheeks and when he spoke, you can feel his warm breath against your face, and it’s just now you're realizing how close you two are.

“I’m worried about you,” The distance between your lips were just a few centimeters apart, almost brushing together. “And I don’t know what to do without you being here with me.” He was firm and gentle as he pulled you in and it caught you off guard the moment his lips brushed with yours. In that kiss was the sweetness of affection, a million thoughts condensed into a moment.

He laced his fingers with yours and tugged you close to him. You never quite figure out the beauty of his lips was more the softness of their association with the words he spoke. He always loves being near you, touching you, and holding you in his arms. His warmth would seep into your being and comfort you without ever opening his mouth.

You’d melt onto him easily as you belonged next to him as he belonged to you. And each time before you part, the aching to be in his arms would begin anew.

—

“Say Aether,” Paimon started catching the traveler’s attention as he stopped munching his food. He hummed at her and raised a brow. “Isn’t the Tone-Deaf Bard a little bit shifty this day?”

The blonde swallowed his meal and took a napkin wiping the crumbs sticking on the corner of his mouth then asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean aren’t you curious to know who this maiden Venti keeps talking about?!” Her face was so close whilst she floated above him. Aether sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This pixie really doesn’t know where to not poke her nose into, does she?

“It’s not our business and we shouldn’t pry onto it anymore.” Paimon puffed her cheeks and stomped her feet onto the air in annoyance. It did irk her that her companion was not interested in this topic, but her curiosity is eating her up.

“Is she perhaps the one he told us in his story?” She didn’t change the topic as she grinned while taking another piece of the Mushroom Pizza. Aether simply shrugged and just ignored her rambles, absently staring onto the wall of Good Hunter’s diner.

If it really was the girl Venti mentioned from the story of his old friend, does that mean she’s awake already?

“Anyways we’re still going to check it out, right?!”

He snapped out from his dazed state, owlishly blinking before looking back at her. “Hm? What are we talking about again?”

“You’re not even listening to Paimon! Well never mind, Paimon can just repeat it to you.” Before she could utter a word, Aether had cut her off. “If it’s about following Venti, we don’t have the slightest clue to where he could be.” His floating companion grumbled and crossed her arms in aggravation since what he said did have a point.

Albeit disappointing as it may be, she did actually hope they could investigate it later. “Bummer…” She muttered to herself and took another bite of the pizza.

Aether rummaged inside his bag and clicked his tongue at the sight of the lack of crystals he currently has. He forgot to collect more to enhance his weapon to the blacksmith, great. He disappointedly sighed and zipped his bag close. Sufficient mora, shortage of crystals. Seems like they’ll have to mine them before he could enhance his trusty sword.

“We’re going to Stormterror’s lair after this.” He announced. “Now? But we haven’t finished eating these yet! We still have another order coming.” Oh, right, the Sticky Honey Roast.

“We’ll eat Sticky Honey Roast first then go to Stormterror’s lair.”

“Aww yeah!”

The wait was fortunately not that too long. The waitress stopped by their table and served them their meals. The sight and aroma of the food made them drool in hunger, their souls wanting to ravish it in instant. The two grabbed their fork and knife, hastily slicing to get their piece, and enjoyed the delish meat feast prepared for them as they shoved a forkful of it into their mouths.

Warm food melted in the back of their throat and Paimon, who was dissatisfied with the size of her spoon, raised the plate to her face, wolfed it down, and licked the plate clean. Her body shook as she belched loud and long.

Aether cringed at her lack of manners in dining, looking away from the other customers who gave them a glance of curiosity at his guide. This emergency food will be the death of him.

After finishing their meal and paying up, the two went off and started their journey to the lair. The embryonic oaks laid upon the grass, their brown eyes a gift to the eyes. He could watch them for a while, these acorns, hoping the silent bliss would extend if not for some group of slimes and hilichurls attacking them.

Fighting was easy and not too much of a trouble for him, a sign that he’s gradually getting stronger. He smiled to himself and let his sword vanish into thin air on his back. Just a few more steps and he can finally gather the crystals he really needed.

The path went onwards and there was much journeying ahead in front of them. He paid no mind to Paimon’s ramblings about what food they should get later. Sheesh, why does she can only think of nothing but food? Just how big is her stomach that can handle so many?

Still, he appreciated her little babbles to distract himself from their quiet walk. His golden orbs then lit up at the sight of the familiar entrance getting bigger each step they take. His leg stopped from leading him and peered at the big tower looming before his small form.

The memories of the Stormterror issue returned to him. The agony and pain the poor dragon was suffering, the blood clot that drastically continued to consume him as he writhes and cries while no one was there to help him. Venti, the Anemo Archon, was there to help Aether in his journey and to aid in freeing Dvalin from being corrupted by the Abyss Order.

They were able to set him free and save him from poison with the help of the Dandelion Knight and Darknight Hero of Mondstadt. Still, even after that incident, there are still no clues as to where his sister could be.

Aether took the chunk of crystal and placed it inside his bag. He heaved a sigh and stretched his arms to ease the cramps formed on his tense shoulder due to the struggle of breaking the crystals from the ground.

“Are those enough?” Paimon hovered above him and took a peek inside as she asked. The blonde shook his head and sled the backpack over his shoulder. “Just need two more and then we can go back.” He took out his map and checked the current location he is in to mark the spot.

“Oh! Paimon remembers there are few over there.” Her small finger pointed on the spot of the map near to where they are and tugged his scarf to make him follow her. Few long strides here and there, his brow quirked when Paimon stopped midway guiding him.

“Uh… are you seeing what Paimon’s seeing?” His brows knitted together at her ambiguous context behind her words. “What are you talking about?” He questioned and looked in front seeing nothing but thin air.

“Over there! Is that a dead body?!” She flew behind him and took a little peek over his shoulder, her form slightly quivering in fear. He squinted his eyes to take a closer observation to where her finger was directing. Upon more detailed inspection, he can faintly draw out the figure that was limped on the ground.

In instinct, his legs immediately guided him towards the figure and saw an unconscious form of a girl the closer he gets. He knelt down and drifted his hand on your chest to check your pulse.

“She’s just unconscious.” He assured Paimon. She sighed in relief and fluttered across you to check your features then back to the area. Something feels off…

“Is it just me or was there always a garden here before?” She remarked, catching Aether’s attention. His eyes wandered to his surroundings and she was indeed right. Various flowers scattered before you, cushioning your body in the grassy field. He remembers that the ruins were only filled with the remains of the old buildings and structures.

He explored this area in and out and never once in his journey does he remember a garden was set up here in just a month. Is someone revitalizing this old lair? Even if it did, he should prioritize first your passed out state and bring you back to Mondstadt for safety.

“We should bring her back with us. It’s too dangerous here.” He told his little companion and before he could tuck his hands underneath your legs, a strong grip on his wrist stopped him from doing so.

�� He jerked his head in the direction of the owner’s arm, following the white sleeve covered up until to sight of a familiar appearance of a bard standing before him. Venti stared blankly at him with cold eyes. Frightened by his expression and sudden presence, he took in a sudden intake of breath and stumbled backward, his foot slipping from the ground. His shoulders tensed in alarm, the tightening grip on his wrist caused him to wince in pain.

“Venti?!” Paimon exclaimed in surprise and glided away to give the distance from him as she noticed the abrupt ominous aura encircling him.

“What are you going to do with her?” His expression hardened when the traveler remained quiet at his question, so he constricted his hold on him even further to get his attention.

“I said, what are you going to do with her, traveler?” He repeated but with a firm and loud voice. The pixie shuddered in fear at his unforeseen behavior but she quickly stepped in and tugged his hand away.

“We’re just going to bring her to the city to help her!” She exclaimed and attempted to release his restraint on her ally. Resentful countenance flit across his features as his mouth had gone hard hearing her words. Though, he quickly replaced it with a smile and finally let go of Aether.

“I see. There’s no need to do that.”

The blonde rubbed his wrist to ease the discomfort that continued to linger, he was sure of himself it’ll create a bruise on it. His eyes followed to the bard’s small form as he carried you in his arms. You squirmed against him and huddled closer searching for warmth.

Venti glanced at you then back to the two companions. “You should go back now.” His voice was more demanding than they had expected. An order from an Archon himself. Though Aether didn’t budge, he hoisted himself up first then looked at him in utter puzzlement.

“What about her? Is she injured? Sick? You should come with us too if you want to aid her.” Venti clicked his tongue and forced a smile to hide the growing anger that’s boiling up even more the more he talks.

“I can handle her myself. It’s getting dark already and I don’t want you to get lost on your way back to the city.” The small bickering started to wake you and this is not what Venti likes to happen.

As you rose from your light slumber, you are first aware of the coolness of the air and the fresh and loamy fragrance. Your clothes feel damp as a flower in the dew of the dawn. You half wonder if you’re still dreaming as you shifted from your place and sensed your feet weren’t touching the ground.

“She’s awake!” You heard a squeaky voice exclaim near you. Venti raised his hand and commanded the winds to push the two away back to the exit.

“Leave. Now.”

It irked him further when Aether persisted then stared at you, observing your features in silence. If he’s desperate to stay then so be it, he can just teleport himself somewhere else with you as long as they keep a distance from you.

He didn’t hesitate to leave them all alone and not even once listening to what they’ll say as he suddenly disappeared into thin air with few teal feathers fluttering along with the air.

He stopped near the lake and heaved a sigh of relief that he can no longer see them at last. You rubbed your eyes to erase the sleepiness within you and looked up at him, calling his name in a drowsy manner.

“Sorry did I wake you, love?”

He settled himself on the ground and brushed your hair away that was fixed on your cheeks. You blinked and looked around the area to get a glimpse of where you are. Now you were awake, perhaps a little bit awake with a tint of drowsiness still in you. As far as you can tell, you’re trapped in your lover’s arms with birds making their carefree song around you.

“What’s the noise all about? What’s going on?”

Ah, seems like that woke you up. He sighed and placed his head on your shoulder to relax with just your presence. It’s a miracle how your own voice can instantly calm him down after attempting Aether and Paimon to leave the place.

“There were visitors that came here. Quite pesky I must say.”

“Visitors?”

That fully woke you up more than you’ve ever been. “No need to worry about that. It’s not really important. Get some more rest, you’re tired after what happened after all.” He kissed the top of your head and pulled you close to snuggle against him. You enjoy the feeling of his warm body next to yours, causing you to be sleepy once again.

He carefully shuffled to find a comfortable spot and looked at you. Your features were much softer in sleep, more youthful than ever no matter how many millenniums of years passed by. It reminded him of your heavy slumber while he waits for you to wake up.

But now, he doesn’t need to worry if you’re still in a comatose state. You’re already awake, with him and finally together. He can easily check up on you all the time as long as he’s next to you. He could soak in all that you are forever and still be right here, still wanting more. It is infatuation, but what is love without it? Desire, passion, and true love are threads of the same emotion, a perfect recipe for his attraction for you.

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