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silentcryracha · 1 year ago

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❍ ‗ Tough Work - Bang Chan ‗ ❍

Pairing : Bang Chan x f Reader

Summary : Bang Chan gets his plans ruined yet again by a late notice schedule and he's pissed. His friends call his girlfriend to the rescue to calm him down before he punches his laptop.

Word count : 3.2k

Warnings/tags : a little angst at the beginning, Chan is an emotional mess, swear words, smut (ONLY 18+), sex on a desk chair, unprotected sex (don't be silly goofy y'all), use of pet name baby, baby girl.

A/n : I had some inspo (not gonna tell you eheh) + it's the holiday season so yeah why not! Let's slut the holidays away🤣🙏🏻 merry Xmas pookies 🤎Also be KIND it's my first full written fic since like...august or sumn

masterlist

ps: No Beta'd. Do NOT repost on other socials. Leave feedback if you feel like it, otherwise enjoy!

♡︎.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

When Hyunjin called you, it definitely came as a surprise. It was around five pm and you were doing absolutely nothing except chill on the couch watching a movie on your (very deserved) days off for the holidays. Until the phone suddenly rang, making you curious as you saw the name calling. Especially since you thought you heard Chan, your boyfriend, saying that they were working today.

'Hello?'

'Hey, yn, hi. Are you busy right now?' your friend's voice sounded slightly defeated as he answered, even though you could tell he was trying to play it off.

'Hyune, hi. No, I'm not, what's up? Is everything okay?' you sat straight, listening carefully.

'Yes and no. Listen, we got some late notice from the company and now Chan hyung is pissed. Like very pissed.' you frowned as he sighed, 'But mostly he's upset. And I know for a fact that the only thing that can calm him down it's you. Would you mind maybe coming over?'

You and Chan were supposed to meet at your apartment to have dinner together later, despite that you didn't even think twice before getting up and walking to your room to change quickly.

'Yes, got it. Don't worry, I'll be there in 10.'

You didn't bother getting ready properly, with a full on makeup and hair done, or a carefully picked out outfit. Usually you'd have some decency going out, even just for meeting your friends. But right now you didn't have the time, nor the mood for it.

Hyunjin didn't give too many details, but since he mentioned a late notice schedule, you probably imagined that it would mess with your and Chan's plans for New Year's. It was not the first time that it happened unfortunately, but then again, it was his work. He couldn't truly help it, and you knew that it upset him.

You put on a gray wool oversized dress, some pantyhose, a padded jacket and a beanie, after quickly fixing your hair slightly. Then you grabbed your bag and before you knew it, you were in your car driving to the boys' dorm.

Like you predicted, around ten minutes later you arrived and opted on sending Hyunjin a text instead of ringing the bell. He immediately came to answer the door and gave you a quick hug and a small smile.

'Changbin is not home. Me and Jisung are going out for a while, okay? Let me know when the threath has been doomed.' he joked, just as you waved to Jisung who was wrapping a big scarf around his neck. He smiled back and hugged you too.

'Thank you, yn. He wouldn't hear us out at all, so we decided to call you.' he said. You shook your head slightly as you took off the beanie.

'It's okay. I'm sorry that you guys probably also had some plans spoiled.' you responded. They both had a sweet yet quite defeated expression on as you switched places, them on the doorstep on their way out and you on your way in.

'Ah, It's alright. It's out job after all. Take your time, alright?' Hyunjin replied, and you nodded with a small smile before they closed the door behind them.

You sighed, mentally preparing to try and not look too disappointed. You were, of course, but now it wasn't about you. And besides, the last thing you would've wanted was to make Chan feel more guilty.

You made your way down the corridor to his room, which was pretty much silent. You knocked on the door gently, and just after a couple of seconds your boyfriend showed up. He was wearing a black hoodie, gray tracksuit pants and his big headphones. His face looked tired, serious and there was the slightest hint of red in his eyes.

His expression switched fast as soon as he realized it was you at the door and not one of his roommates, which had already taken turns in trying to comfort him and calm him down. He even had a small argument with Changbin, hence why he had to leave the house before they started shouting names at each other.

'Yn? What- weren't we supposed to meet later? Did I loose track of time-?' he quickly glanced down at the time on his phone, taking off the headphones with one hand and discarding them on his bed. The wallpaper being a sweet picture of you too making yout heart shrink a bit.

'Channie, hi baby. No, it's okay, you didn't. A little bird told me you needed some cheering up.' you smiled sweetly at him as you brought your hands up to stroke his arms.

He scoffed, releasing himself from your grip gently, just to walk back and plop down on his big plush desk chair.

'Which one of those fu-...ah, I don't even care. I assume that they told you, then?' he sighed heavily, stopping himself from curing at his friends. You walked closer, taking off your bag and jacket, placing them on the clothes hanger behind the door.

'Don't be mad. They did it because they care about you enough to not see your hair turn white from stress before your time.' you tried to lighten up the mood, but it didn't seem to work as he just proceeded to put his head down in between his hands.

Your smile fell, taking a deep breath, understanding that he really needed some time to get out his feelings first.

'Just about a late notice schedule. Nothing more, but I assume that it's for New Year's. Is that why you're so upset?' you scrunched down in frot of him, your hands placed on his knees.

He waited a few seconds before speaking, his voice low and quite monotone. 'We got two Japan schedules for the 31st and the 1st. But we have to leave on the 29th. And we'll probably not going to be back before the 2nd. Just in time for our already pre paid and organized planes to be canceled. Of fucking course.' his tone getting sharper as he spoke.

You stroked his thigh gently to comfort him, 'I'm sorry, baby. I know you were looking forward to a few days off.' you responded. He shook his head, frowning as he sat up straight.

'Fuck the days off. I can have days off all year. I was looking forward to spending at leas one fucking holiday with my girlfriend, in peace in a nice luxury cabin in the middle of damn nowhere.' he ranted angrily, before pausing for a second and giving you a quick look. 'It's me the one who should be sorry.'

'But it's not your fault, Chan. It's work, you have schedules and many times they may not be planned. That's how it works for many other jobs too, think about it.' you try to reason, once again taking his hands into your stroking them.

'It's the third time in four months. First it was your birthday, then Christmas, and now New Year's. It's starting to stress me out. Isn't it stressing you out?' he asked, frowning. You sighed.

'What do you want me to say? 'Chris this is too much, you're always busy with stuff that's out of your control so I'm leaving you'? Is that what you want to hear?' your tone slightly more stern. You weren't mad, but his constant throwing himself under the bus was bothering you. He widened his brown eyes, squeezing your hands slightly.

'No! What? Of course not. I was just-' you stood up straight, shushing him.

'Then stop with that shit. We can reschedule later. I don't give a fuck whether it is December 31st or April, or whatever. I'll be happy to spend time with my boyfriend and that's it. Okay? Stop beating yourself up about it.' your voice got warmer. He leaned forward, resting his head on your stomach and wrapping his arms around your waist to bring you close.

'Still. Im sorry that I keep disappointing you. You deserve better.' the last sentence made you snap so you pushed him back slightly, making him look up at you.

'Oi, don't say shit like that. It's not true.' the little oi clearly being his Aussie influence.

'You are better. You're the best. Don't ever say that, because it's not true. I love you.' you cradled his face in your hands. His big brown eyes looking up at you so sweetly.

'Am I though?' he said sadly. Always doubting himself, you sighed internally.

'Yes you are.' you planted a kiss on his lips, trying to lighten up the mood 'Besides, you know that I'm too honest. If you were being shitty to me I'd tell you. Well, I'd tell your friends first and then you. Just to add that bit of embarrassment.' you shrinked your eyes jokingly, finally getting a chuckle out of him.

That made you smile in return, as you kept caressing his cheeks with your thumbs. He looked up at you again, shaking his head slightly with a small smile on his face. 'What?' you said cutely.

'I love you so much. I wonder what did I do to deserve you.' you smiled sweetly at him before switching again, and clicking your tongue.

'Getting sappy here, Christopher' you released his face, about to turn around to go get your phone, just to shoot a quick message to Hyunjin reassuring that the situation was handled, but chan grabbed your hand making you turn around.

He laughed, smirking up at you slightly. 'Hey, come back here' you chuckled, letting yourself be dragged back. You were now standing in between his legs, him still sitting on his big desk chair.

'You need something?' you joked. 'Just my girl. Right here. Close to me.' your smile turned into a smirk, as your hands started to wander on his shoulders.

'I am close.' his hands came up to your waist then down to your hips, pushing you more into him, your faces close.

'Closer' you carefully straddled him, your arms around his neck.

'Enough?' he chuckled faintly, his lips grazing your neck and then whispering 'Never' into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

'Greedy boy' you teased 'I can get even more greedy. Will you let me?' he looked back at you, the slightest hint of humor in his voice, but his eyes were telling a different story.

'Yes' you respondeded without a doubt. 'Go ahead. Do whatever you want. I know you need it.' at that point he crashed his lips to yours, immediately starting a passionate kiss. Your hands gripped his broad shoulders as his hands pressed your hips down to his crotch.

At that point your dress had already pooled around your hips, so the only thing separating you two were your pantyhose and panties, aside from his own pants. As you continued kissing and grinding, he got hard quite quickly.

One of his hands were holding you close to him while the other wandered under the dress and then straight to the hem of the pantyhose and the panties.

'Off' he mumbled in between kisses, so you carefully stood up, a little dazed from the heat of the moment and quickly discarded them both at the same time. Chan also got up to get rid of his own pants and underwear, and then reprised to kiss you.

He tried to lead you to the bed, but you stopped him 'No, I want to ride you there' you slowly pushed him back on the chair, his gaze not leaving you for a single moment.

'Fuck baby' he cursed, before widening his eyes for a moment 'Wait let me close the door-' you pushed him back again, shooting him a smirk.

'Relax, baby. Hold on' you went to close the door, turning the lock for safety, even though you knew that most likely none of the members would've stepped back into the house unless you told them to.

'Need you so bad, c'mere' he grabbed your hand, almost making you stumble into him. You chuckled, straddling him again. He wetted his fingers slightly with some spit before his hand went straight to stroke your slit. You moaned into his neck, as you kept your knees raised at his sides to allow him access.

'So wet already' he teased, making you groan and hump his hand more.

'You made me go out in the cold and interrupt a good movie. Now get to work, Christoper.' you complained, erupting a chuckle from him.

'Okay, okay.' he surrendered, I'll warm you back up real quick, baby girl' at that point he lined up his hard cock with your pussy, gathering some wetness before helping you sink down on him. You both moaned deeply, mumbling some curses.

'Fuck, Channie...so big' he hummed while kissing your neck as his hands supported the back and forth movement of your hips. You started kissing as your hips kept on going faster, then slower again, then going in circles.

After a while though, Chan seemed to notice you trying to get more stimulation to your slit, so he decided to take matter in his own hands.

'Wait, baby, hold on' he interrupted the kiss and grabbed the hem of your dress, taking it off of you and throwing it on the carpet nearby. The fact that you weren't wearing a bra was a pleseant surprise.

'No bra? Naughty girl' he smirked, making you laugh faintly. He attached his mouth to one of your nipples, sucking and licking, while he played with the other with his pointer and thumb.

'Ah-' you moaned as he grazed the nipple with his teeth lightly, 'Wait, you too' you said, this time being you to take his hoodie off. In the meantime your pussy kept grinding on his dick, a bit more lazily since your knees were kinda starting to ache a bit.

Chan seemed to remember what he wanted to do before getting distracted by your tits, so he stopped once again 'Turn around baby. Want to touch you properly' he said sweetly as he helped you change positions.

You were now sitting with your back pressed to his chest, one of his hands grabbing your breast and the other working on your clit. He was making you feel so good that your mind was starting to get a little fuzzy, your hips grinding on his cock and his fingers mindlessly.

'Yeah, just like that. So good for me, baby' he whispered into your ear, his nose pressed to the side of your head, 'Such a good fuckig girl for me' he kissed your hair, your head, your neck.

'C-Chan, baby, m' close' you whined, one of your hands covering his one on your breast, while the other was between his hair desperately holding on for dear life.

'I know baby, I know' he sped up, pounding you so quick and deep that you were seeing stars, 'Come for me, c'mon. So beautiful' he groaned.

'My beautiful, patient, amazing girl' his fingers applying some more pressure, 'Really don't deserve you' the last phrase so quiet that your fucked out mind almost didn't catch it. Almost.

'C-chan, oh my god' your back arched, moaning out his name as you came. His rythm gradually slowed down, but his thrusts were still sharp and deep.

'Come inside me, baby. Wanna feel you, need to feel you, please' you pleaded, grabbing his jaw to kiss him. He moaned into your mouth, and after a few more sharp thrusts, you felt him coming inside you.

'Yes, that's it, so good' you cooed, giving little kisses on his mouth 'Love you so much' you whispered. He smiled slightly in the kiss, hugging you tight. You moved around, getting more comfortable but still hugging each other tight and cuddling. You were left in a comfortable silence for a while.

'I heard that, you know.' you said softly, his gaze pointing down at you as his fingers still delicately caressed your arm.

'What do you mean?' he asked. You didn't look at him, concentrating on playing with his hands.

'You know exactly what I mean. Stop saying that. I mean it. I love you, and I know that you love me. There must be a reason why we're together and we work. So stop getting into your own head' your eyes locking with his. 'Promise?'

He chewed on his plump lip, definitely feeling guilty that he got scolded yet again. Naked, on his bedroom chair, after some mind blowing sex and a whole lot of feelings. In the end he sighed, nodding and planting a longing kiss on your head.

'Good. Now get me a blanket or something, I'm fucking freezing.' he laughed, bumping his head gently to yours jokingly. Then he helped you get off him and opened one of the closet's drawers and grabbed a fuzzy blanket.

'Wait for me a second, I'll get something to clean up.' he told you as he quickly put his hoodie and pants back on. You nodded as he exited the bedroom. Wrapped up in the blanket, you searched for your phone in your bag. When you found it you quickly dialed Hyunjin's number, who picked up after just a couple of rings.

'Hello?' you could hear some noise in the background, so you assumed that they were maybe in a bar or something.

'Everything's fine.' you said, sitting down to wait for Chan to come back.

'Oh, I'm glad. I knew you would make him reason' just as he said that, you clearly heard Jisung yelling 'Are you done fucking or what' with some laugh erupting.

'Oh my Gosh' you replied, embarassed while you pinched the bridge of your nose with your fingers.

'Shit! Yn, I'm so sorry about that. This motherfucker is just jealous you're getting some' he chuckled, as you heard Jisung saying something along the lines of 'Fuck you'.

'Hyunjin!' you scolded him, not being able to not laugh. They laughed.

'Sorry, sorry. We'll be back in an hour or so, bye!' and he hung up.

'You know, I would've betted on Jisung, because he's a nosy fucker.' you got startled by Chan's voice. He closed the door behind him again and scrunched down in front of you, gently helping you clean up with a warm damp towel.

'But he only talks behind people's back. Should've known it was Hyune.' he sighed. You smiled, messing with his hair.

'C'mon. You should be thankful. You started off wanting to punch a hole in the wall and now look at you'. you teased. He smirked, getting up and discarding the towel in the dirty clothes basket.

'Yeah, the power of pussy I guess' your mouth went slack, as you threw at him your previously discarded panties. He caught them, laughing hard at your outraged reaction.

'Oh so that's what I am to you, uh? Good to know, Christopher' you feigned annoyance and dramatically crossed your legs, looking away from him.

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry' he laughed, coming close to grab your had in between his hands and kissing you. 'You know It's not true. Well, not only-' you gasped in shock again as he threw his head back laughing.

'You little-'

♡︎.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

That's it folks! I know it was quite a rollercoaster, but hopefully decent nonetheless. Until next time <3

#silentcryracha #stray kids bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan #skz scenarios #bang chan smut #bang chan scenarios #bang chan fanfic #bang chan x you #chan x reader #chan smut #chan skz #skz imagines #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff

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ynscrazylife · 5 months ago

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Eek! Yay!

So since I'm just a few episodes ahead I'm just going to keep it kind of vague. What do you think of a younger sister whose just a little younger than Sam? Dean practically raising her and so they're super close but when Sam leaves for college their dad decides that maybe the hunter life isn't the best for his daughter so he leaves her behind with a family friend. Imagine the angst and abandonment issues (def not me) like after Dean picks up Sam he tracks down his younger sister he hasn't seen in like a year and she just never gave up hunting so now she's actually pretty good at it? Can you imagine how awkward that reunion would be?? Maybe they're hunting down a monster together or something??

Sorry, this isn't exactly a scenario so much as my own personal idea for a backstory? I don't know but if you like it or you want something else let me know cause there's tons more that are similar or completely different from this one 😏

Great minds think alike cause I kinda had an idea in mind where Dean and Sam meet up with their sister through a hunt! This is a little different than what you put in the ask tho, so I hope that’s alright. I also feel like there is enough for a part 2 so I could end up adding to this! And this would be a fun OC concept to make 👀 if anyone wants that.

a reunion for the ages (dean & sam winchester x sister!reader)

The thing that makes this entire situation, what your life has become, so backwards and twisted is that at first, you didn’t actually want to hunt. You wanted to go to college, like Sam. You weren’t even that much younger than him and in his first year, he seemed to love it. But when your time rolled around, you didn’t get into Stanford.

Yes, there were other colleges that accepted you, but you really wanted to be with your big brother. The rejection hit you hard and as a result (and needing a distraction), you threw yourself into hunting. You became careless and reckless and instead of talking with you about it, your dad made a decision for you: that you weren’t cut out for hunting. He left you and took Dean with him.

When Dean realized what was going on, he of course tried to stop his dad. They got into a pretty bad fight over it. But he was a stubborn man and he refused to go back for you. Dean tried calling you, but thinking that he was in on it with Dad, you refused to pick up. You kept in touch with Sam for a little while, but the both of you got busy as time went on, and the weekly calls stopped.

A few years later, Dean and Sam have hit the road, intent on finding Dad. The backseat of the Impala, which was usually occupied by you, is empty.

“I thought if I gave you some time you might bring it up yourself, but dude, are we picking up Y/N or not?” Sam asks finally, no longer wanting to beat around the bush about it. He knows about Dad and Dean leaving you behind, but assumes that at some point you would’ve made up with them.

“She shouldn’t be involved in this,” Dean says resolutely, keeping his eye on the road ahead, firmly gripping the steering wheel.

“You had no problem involving me in this,” Sam points out, trying not to sound upset over it. There was a small part of him that wonders if he hadn’t gone with Dean, would he’ve been able to save Jess? Still, he knows that he went willingly, and that he could’ve said no.

“You know how to hunt and fight. The last time I saw Y/N hunt . . . Trust me, it didn’t go well,” Dean mutters, definitely not in the mood to have this conversation.

“Shouldn’t we at least let her know what’s going on with Dad?” Sam suggests, now more curious about what happened between you and Dean and Dad. You never gave many details about it.

“Have at it, if she’ll pick up,” Dean says, throwing one hand in the air. He’s trying to play it off as if he doesn’t care, but he does. He misses you.

Sam tries but, as Dean predicted, you don’t answer. Over the next couple days, they get wrapped up into a case where they suspect an angry ghost is the perpetrator, going after the people that they blame for their death. Thankfully they’re able to find the object that the ghost is attached to, a music box. What they don’t expect, however, is to be dealing with a ghost possessing someone. It’s a chef, to be exact, which leads them to their current situation: fighting the possessed chef in his kitchen.

“Sam, a little help here?!” Dean yells, fist-fighting the enraged chef, who looks a little ridiculous in his white chef’s hat.

“I don’t have any iron! Or salt!” Sam yells back, rummaging through his bag in search of something, anything, that might help.

Suddenly, someone runs into the room from behind the guy and jumps on his back. It’s a woman, with a bat in her hand. As the guy stumbles back, she hits him in the head repeatedly, until the guy throws her off his back and onto the table. The woman smacks him again with the bat, then gets salt from out of her pocket, and throws it at him. The ghost is expelled from his body and he drops to the floor.

Dean and Sam exchange looks, wondering who the hell she is.

The ghost isn’t done yet, though. It lifts the woman into the air and lets her drop onto the table, which cracks. She falls onto the floor and the ghost lunges for her, disappearing and now possessing her. Dean and Sam prepare themselves for another fight, only to both freeze when the woman stands up and turns around.

It’s their sister. Their little sister, who’s meant to be enjoying a hunt-free life. There’s a gash on her forehead which is leaking blood down her face and within seconds, she’s lunging at Sam.

He falls back, not sure what to do. If this were anyone else being possessed, he’d fight back, but he doesn’t want to hurt you.

“Y/N, Y/N, c’mon!” He yells, doing his best to dodge your hits.

Dean runs around and grabs you in a bear-hug, pinning your arms to your sides. He drags you back, even as you thrash. “Get some salt, Sam!” He says, struggling to manage you.

“I told you, I don’t have any!” Sam repeats, frustrated.

“It’s a KITCHEN!” Dean practically screams.

While Sam looks for salt, you twist out of Dean’s arms. The two of you go at it but eventually, Dean’s able to get you down on the ground. He feels bad about pressing his knee on your abdomen, holding your arms down, but he has to keep you there.

“I found a salt shaker,” Sam says, kneeling down by your head. “We gotta destroy the music box, though, before the ghost possesses one of us.”

“Alright, do it, but give me the salt,” Dean says, moving your arms above your head and holding your wrists with one hand. With his other, he takes the salt and has to pry your jaw open to pour the salt in your mouth.

You cough and splutter, but Dean forces your mouth to close until you’ve swallowed the salt. Finally, the ghost leaves your body. Dean throws the salt shaker to Sam, who salts the music box before chucking it into the oven.

“Alright, Y/N, we gotta go,” Dean says, throwing one of your arms over his shoulders and pulling you to your feet.

All you can do is lean against him and mumble your brother’s name, your head spinning.

Sam grabs the chef and the four of you stumble out the back exit. Sam lays the chef on the ground and calls the fire department, then you guys make your getaway in Dean’s car.

“I’m staying with her,” Sam decides, sitting in the backseat with you while Dean starts to drive.

“Sam . . . Dean? What’re you doing here?” You ask as Sam tends to your head with the first aid kit that they keep in the car. You can hardly believe that you’re really with your brothers again.

“Could ask you the same question, kid. Sammy and I were hunting that ghost,” Dean says, speeding up a little to get to the motel faster.

“So was I,” you say. Your head feels far too heavy to hold up on your own right now so you let it lean against Sam’s shoulder.

“What?” The brothers ask in unison. They weren’t sure what answer they were expecting but it wasn’t that.

“Been hunting ever since you and Dad left, Dean,” you tell them. Even though you are in pain, you don’t miss the beat of silence that follows.

“You were pretty good back there,” Sam compliments, ruffling your hair a bit. With your head wound bandaged up, he slings his arm around you for the rest of the drive.

Dean is quiet, his fingers thumping against the steering wheel, until the three of you arrive at the motel. Sam helps you out and lays you down on his bed. “I’ll be right back, gonna get you an ice pack,” he says, going to the mini ridge.

Dean sits across from you on his own bed, sighing. “How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Like I got thrown onto a table . . . Oh wait, I did,” you answer sarcastically, mustering up a smile.

Sam returns, giving you the ice pack and then sitting next to Dean. He glances between his siblings, sensing some tension. “Do you two need to . . . Talk or something?” He asks.

“You’ve really been hunting this whole time?” Dean asks you, still in a bit of disbelief.

You nod. “I got my act together after Dad . . . After you and Dad left. I wanted to prove him wrong,” you explain, shrugging. “Where is he, anyway?”

Sam and Dean exchange a look. “We don’t know. We’ve been hunting and hoping to find him in the process,” Sam says.

You nod slowly. Your dad taking off isn’t that uncommon, but it is uncommon to see your brothers hunting together. “I’ll get out of your hair soon,” you mumble, not sure that they wanted you around.

“Woah, wait. There’s no rush. Sam was right, you were pretty good back there . . . We could use your help,” Dean says. He’s not going to let you go so easily this time around.

“Really?” You say, a little surprised. You sit up in bed, taking the ice pack off your forehead.

“Yes. And keep that on,” Dean says quickly, taking the ice pack from you and pressing it to your wound himself. He moves to sit down next to you, making you roll your eyes, but you don’t argue. It’s kinda nice to have him helping you out, he’s always been protective over you and Sam.

“The Three Musketeers, all back together again,” Sam jokes, just to annoy you both.

“Is it too late to back out now?” You ask.

“Yes,” the brothers say. You’re in too deep now, Dean and Sam aren’t letting you go again.

#sam winchester #dean winchester #dean and sam #the winchester brothers #winchester!reader #sister!reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #spn #spn x reader #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction

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sapphicromanoffxo · 10 months ago

Text

Heart's Day | n.r x w.m

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Word Count: 2.2k+

Warnings: fluff(??), dirty talking, implied smut, light angst, pet names, mentions of bruises and wounds

Summary: Natasha and Wanda are about to celebrate their first Valentine's day together. What happens when Natasha has to leave and Wanda has to be on her own on such special occasion?

A/N: I wrote this one in between answering emails at work and this is pretty much a self-indulgent fic in celebration of Valentine's Day. 💜 Happy reading!

╰┈➤ Masterlist

Wanda eagerly anticipated spending Valentine's Day with Natasha this Wednesday, marking their first celebration together. She took thoughtful steps to make it special by pre ordering a bouquet of red roses and she also thought of scattering petals around her bedroom for a surprise touch. Additionally, she meticulously planned a romantic candlelit dinner, showcasing her culinary skills to impress Natasha.

This upcoming Valentine's Day holds great significance for Wanda, as she wants to express her deep affection and appreciation for Natasha. It's an opportunity for Wanda to convey gratitude for Natasha's unwavering efforts, despite her demanding job and hectic schedule. Wanda only has a vague idea of what Natasha's job entails, all she knows is that she holds a high position in a successful company, often finds herself immersed in work 24/7, and making most of her free time with Wanda.

However, Wanda's excitement took a hit when Natasha informed her of an unexpected business meeting that required her to fly to Europe just three days before Valentine's Day. Disappointment washed over Wanda, but she tried to be understanding of Natasha's professional commitments.

Natasha, expressing regret over the situation through a phone call, explained, "I'm truly sorry, detka. I wish I could reschedule, but this meeting is crucial for our business dealings." Despite her disappointment, Natasha was already packing for her flight, set to depart in less than four hours.

Wanda, fighting back tears, sighed heavily and asked, "When will you be back, Nat?"

"I can't predict the duration of this meeting, these deals sometimes extend to a week, including post-agreement celebrations," Natasha replied, the uncertainty of her return evident in her voice.

"Will you at least give me a call once you touch down? And where are you planning to stay?" Wanda kept her voice steady, not wanting to burden Natasha with her own emotions.

"I'm not exactly sure about my accommodation yet, but I'll make sure to call you as soon as I can, alright? I promise, baby."

Wanda, accepting the reality of the situation, simply replied, "Take care, okay? I'll be waiting for your call."

"I love you, my love. Until we talk again, goodbye for now."

****

A day passed without a word from Natasha, which was unusual. While it wasn't the first time Natasha missed a call due to her busy schedule, she typically sent a brief text to update Wanda. However, this time, there were no responses to Wanda's messages, fueling her anxiety. The worry escalated to thoughts of Natasha potentially being involved with someone else, an unfair assumption, yet Wanda couldn't help but overthink the situation. Recalling moments when Natasha was tied up in business meetings, Wanda questioned whether Natasha couldn't spare a minute for a call.

Fast forward to the third day since Natasha left, Valentine's Day arrived. Wanda still sent Natasha a heartfelt greeting, desperately hoping for a response. Sadly, the message only showed as delivered, without any acknowledgment. Tears welled up in Wanda's eyes as she gazed at the bunch of roses that were delivered in the morning. Unable to proceed with her planned surprise, Wanda still decided to decorate her room with a heart-shaped design of roses on top of the bed, a bucket of wine on the bedside table, and heart-shaped balloons attached to the ceiling. Faux-candles added an intimate ambiance, disappointed that Natasha wouldn't witness the effort. Completing the decorations, Wanda snapped a photo, sending it to Natasha with the caption, "I wish you were here, Natty. ❤️🥀"

Wanda sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day as her message remained unanswered.

Approaching midnight, the jingle of keys and footsteps in her apartment startled Wanda.

"Wanda?"

Natasha's voice echoed, prompting her to turn on the lights to search for Wanda.

"Natasha? You're here!" Wanda, leaping off the couch where she had been sleeping, embraced Natasha tightly.

"Yes, baby. I'm here now."

Wanda felt an overwhelming sense of relief knowing that Natasha had returned before the day ended. However, her joy was overshadowed by lingering concerns about Natasha's silence during her trip.

"Why didn't you call me back when I asked you to?" Wanda questioned with a hint of irritation, though her voice carried genuine concern.

Stepping back from the embrace, Natasha replied, "Things got incredibly busy when I landed. I'm sorry about that, my love."

It was then that Wanda had a chance to inspect Natasha's face and body. Noticing a cut on her eyebrow with a poorly cleaned wound and small tears on her neck, Wanda's concern deepened.

"What happened to you? Why do you have these wounds?" Wanda's voice revealed alarm as she anxiously fretted over Natasha's state.

"Shh now. I'm okay. I promise. Don't worry about me," Natasha reassured, purposefully diverting Wanda's attention by kissing her senseless.

Wanda melted under Natasha's kisses, moaning as Natasha's grip tightened around her waist.

"I've seen what you've done with your room," Natasha purred in her ears. "Can I see it?"

Wanda nodded, suddenly feeling a surge of arousal from Natasha's affection. She shrieked as Natasha effortlessly lifted her, arms wrapped around her thighs.

"Put me down, you scoundrel!"

Natasha chuckled at Wanda's reaction, carrying her towards the bedroom. Impressed with Wanda's efforts, Natasha was even more delighted when she saw the setup in person. Though the candles were extinguished, the moonlight cast an ethereal glow on the white sheet forming a heart-shaped design with roses. Playfully slapping Wanda on the backside, Natasha set her down.

"Wow, this is really good, detka."

Wanda beamed at Natasha's reaction and responded, "Thank you, it's my surprise for you! Do you like it?"

Natasha sat at the edge of the bed and turned on the candles that were placed on the footrest, beckoning Wanda to sit on her lap, "Come here, sweetheart. I will let you feel how much I like this grand effort of yours."

Wanda's cheeks instantly heated up knowing what's about to happen next.

"You know, you're all I think about whenever I'm away and my mind can't help but to remember how soft your skin is against mine." Natasha's hands travelled down to the hem of the satin night gown that Wanda was wearing and skimmed through the exposed thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps on her skin.

"How I love leaving hickeys on your chest and neck, so everyone will know that I own you." This was emphasised by an aggressive bite on the junction of Wanda's neck, which made her squirm in pain, but was soon soothed by Natasha's tongue.

"I thought of your delightful moans, sometimes I would need to shake my head just so I could get the sound out of my mind. But baby, I can't. I love how you sound, it shows how needy and desperate you are for me."

Wanda's nightgown was taken off of her at an instant, making her shiver from the sudden exposure. But Natasha's monologue wasn't done yet, and she continued, "And these fucking delicious tits that I could never get enough of. I want to be buried in them, all day long, the same thing with your thighs. One day I know I will suffocate on how hard you squeeze my head when you cum."

Natasha's nails raked over Wanda's thighs and at the same time, sucking on her nipples like a starved animal. "You're really mine, yeah?" Natasha's eyes sparked dangerously.

"You know I'm yours, completely," Wanda responded but her patience for Natasha's foreplay was wearing thin. "But I need you to fuck me right now."

"Hmm. You're impatient today. You miss me that much, huh?"

If Wanda could roll her eyes, she would. But she's not ready for the punishment that it would entail. "Please, Natasha. I need you so much," She rolled her hips desperately seeking friction.

"But honey, I am not done with enumerating the filthy thoughts I have about you." Natasha smirked at her.

"Don't tell me, show me instead," And with that, Wanda brought her hands on the side of Natasha's neck and started kissing her passionately. "Show me, please."

Natasha stood up while Wanda was still wrapped around her midsection and laid her down on the bed, right in the middle of the roses.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've seen." Natasha sincerely complimented her right before assaulting Wanda's lips.

"Take off your clothes, please." Wanda moaned in between the kisses and was forcing Natasha to remove her jacket. Natasha growled at how desperate Wanda was.

"I'll make love to you, all night long." It was a promise that Natasha will surely commit in order to make up for the days she was away from her lover.

****

Hours had passed, and a number of orgasms had been exchanged between the two women. Natasha was feeling utterly satisfied and she glanced at the woman by her side, now peacefully asleep. If someone had told her a year ago that she would be head over heels about a certain girl, she knew she'd shoot that person without hesitation.

Natasha felt like she hit the jackpot when she got to know Wanda and fell in love with her. She never expected to have a chance like this, especially with her line of work. Love was a new and unfamiliar emotion for Natasha, but Wanda made it special, and Natasha wanted her in her life forever. However, the harsh reality interrupted her blissful thoughts as her phone buzzed insistently, revealing an unwelcome caller ID. Answering the call, she knew trouble awaited.

"Where the fuck are you, Nat? You disappeared before the mission debrief, and Fury's losing his mind trying to find you."

Natasha disentangled herself from Wanda's embrace and headed to the living room while putting her pants on and t-shirt. "Don't make a big deal out of it. I had somewhere to be urgently."

Clint chuckled at Natasha's response. "Nah, you bolted because you needed to fuck someone. You were gone for nearly three hours! Get back here before Fury hunts you down, caught with your pants down."

Just as Natasha was about to reply, a voice interrupted her.

"Natasha? Who are you talking to?"

Clint seized the opportunity, exclaiming, "I knew it!" Natasha hastily ended the call, scrambling to come up with an explanation.

"It's just my co-worker. Sorry if I disturbed you."

"Are you coming back to bed?" Wanda asked with a sleepy voice.

"Actually, I have to go. There are things that need to be finalised that I didn't get the chance to do since I immediately left so I can see you." Natasha explained.

Wanda's doubts crept back in her mind and blurted out, "Are you cheating on me?" Her voice trembled as she tried to stay calm.

Taken aback by Wanda's question, Natasha immediately answered, "What? No! Why would you ask that?"

"You're always on business meetings and whenever you're on trips, you never call and you don't reply to my messages." Wanda pointed out.

"I am not cheating on you. I swear!" The redhead walked towards Wanda and placed her hands on her hips to pull her closer. "I don't even look at other people. I only have my eyes on you."

Wanda stared at Natasha's face intently, scrutinising whether she's being truthful but found nothing but sincerity. "You promise?"

"Yes, I promise. I love you, okay?" Natasha touched Wanda's lips before leaning down to kiss her.

"I love you, too. When are you leaving?"

Natasha's phone buzzed again indicating another call. Wanda saw the caller's name, Yelena, and raised her brow at Natasha as if asking who the caller was.

"It's my sister. Wait a second."

Natasha answered the phone and went to look at the window, she shook her head at the profanities that were coming out of Yelena's mouth and dropped the call.

"My sister also works at the company that I'm in and she's currently outside to get me. I will call you in the morning."

Wanda only nodded and kissed her girlfriend goodbye, her doubts still lingering in her head.

"Oh and I will pick you up for a lunch date tomorrow. Please dress up nicely." Natasha winked at Wanda before closing the door.

****

Meanwhile during the car ride heading to SHIELD, Yelena was berating Natasha for her behaviour.

"Are you really not going to tell Wanda that you're an assassin?" Yelena questioned, as if Natasha had sprouted a second head.

"How am I supposed to bring that up? Should I just casually mention, 'Oh, by the way, I kill people—'"

"—criminals," Yelena corrected Natasha.

"Yelena!"

"What? Don't be dumb, sestra. You need to tell her!"

"I will tell her when the time is right." Natasha answered.

"Good luck with that. You even had the guts to go to her while you still have small cuts in your face."

"Yeah, she actually asked about them and the bruises."

"Well, she's going to ask more questions if you continue leaving her like that and then coming back without a limb."

Natasha rolled her eyes at her sister's drama, but she knows Yelena is right to be concerned. Eventually, Wanda will ask more questions, and Natasha might struggle to keep secrets that could harm their relationship. She just hopes Wanda will stay with her once she learns about Natasha and the nature of her real job.

#wandanat #wandanat fanfiction #natasha x wanda #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #marvel #wandanat stuff

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the12thnightproject · 8 months ago

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Chapter Five: The Carrot Exchange - Okatsu and Mitsunari figure out how to work with each other; Mai is teasing, Hideyoshi is concerned, Mitsuhide is inscrutable, and Ieyasu is annoyed.

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline - In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

An alliance is often a necessary instrument of war. Two or more disparate entities agree to work together for a common goal. Alliances may share talents and resources. While some alliances may last for years, they may disintegrate once a common enemy has been vanquished. Conversely, an alliance may also be an instrument of peace, when the entities agree not to go to battle, but rather exist in a state of neutrality, even if their long-term goals are incompatible.

Personal comments: Lady Okatsu appears to have some combat skill, although, as Hideyoshi pointed out, she appears to fight first, and think second – ninety percent of the time, this is not a good tactic. (Alas, it is difficult to predict when the ten percent of success occurs, as if one ‘thinks’ that fighting first and thinking second is the correct strategy, one has already thought first… hm… must determine a better formula for determining when to fight first.)

Also. She may potentially be a spy.

I hope she is not one, as I believe she and I might become good friends.

Confined to quarters indefinitely... The fight had left me with a black eye and a cut on my cheek, and my orders were to lie low until it healed. Not out of any deference for my health, but because it was a bad look for me to walk around the castle looking like a street brawler (Hideyoshi’s words). I lay on the futon, counting the panels in the ceiling and trying to find a bright spot in the situation… if I am confined to my quarters, I might be able finish a meal?

Hm. Finish a meal if they remember to feed me, I amended when my stomach made the kind of noises that in a sci-fi movie would signal that an alien was about to tear its way out. Thankfully, soon after I heard rattling dishes and Mitsunari’s voice outside my door. “Lady Okatsu?”

“Come on in.”

Wait… if he was carrying a tray of food, he probably couldn’t open the door. That thought was followed by a vision of my dinner ending up on the floor. I got up and let him in. On the tray he carried, aside from some delicious smelling meal, was a jar of ointment and some cloth. I cleared a space on the desk.

He set the tray down, then we stood there awkwardly for a moment before I said, “I need to apologize for-” at the same time that Mitsunari said, “I’m sorry for-“

We both stopped, then tried again with the same result.

I gestured for Mitsunari to go first. “I’m sorry you were hurt.” He reached toward my eye, then pulled his hand back. “I should have protected you.”

“Oh, no. It wasn’t your fault.” Did he blame himself? I knew for a fact that Hideyoshi didn’t. “I shouldn’t have gone over there in the first place… and once the fighting started, I should have stayed out of your way.” And not assumed that he couldn’t take care of us. “It’s my fault. I didn’t think.”

Mitsunari handed me the ointment and the cloth. “For your injury. Ieyasu makes it.” I noticed he didn’t say Ieyasu had sent it. “Why did you go to talk to the sailors? You must have had a good reason.”

Well, that was nice of him to at least trust me that far. “My brother is missing, and the last information I had about him was that he had been imprisoned on a ship of some kind. So, whenever I see sailors – I ask. But normall-” I stopped short of mentioning the Katsu disguise. “Normally they answer my questions.” I picked up the ointment and sniffed it. It was a bit strong, but not unpleasant. I put some on my finger and swiped it across my cheek.

“You missed a spot – let me help.” He took the jar from me.

Mitsunari’s help would possibly result with an eye full of ointment, but the injury had occurred because I hadn’t trusted him to begin with. I sat down on the futon, then shut my eyes (I would let him treat me, but I’m not stupid).

The futon dipped a bit when Mitsunari knelt next to me. Then with a gentle touch, he lightly massaged the ointment onto my cheekbone. The warmth of his finger combined with the cool of the salve – the sensation was not unpleasant at all. It felt little like a butterfly was dancing on my skin, and I involuntarily shivered as his touch reverberated through me.

“Did I hurt you?” Mitsunari’s voice was in my ear; he sounded concerned.

“No.” I hurried to reassure him. “It tickled, actually.” Tickled wasn’t quite what I meant, but there didn’t seem to be an adequate word in my vocabulary for the feeling his tenderness had evoked.

He continued the treatment, smoothing another layer across, and I squashed a rogue desire to lean into his hand as if I were Kitty. “There. Done.”

I opened my eyes to see Mitsunari’s serious gaze right in front of me. His palm was still pressed to my cheek. Then he jerked his hand away, as if he’d been shocked. Quickly, he lurched backward and jumped to his feet.

…

Into the awkward silence that followed, I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”

That won me one of those sweet smiles – the first one I had received since we’d gotten ‘engaged.’ Then he bowed before heading toward the door. For some reason though, it felt important that he stay. For the gig, of course. We needed to be able to portray a loving couple, and that meant learning more about each other. Now was the perfect time for that. “Wait. Have you eaten?”

He paused, hovering half in and out of the doorway. Seeing that he was still undecided, I continued, “There’s more than enough for two people.”

His demeanor changed and there was a note of mischief in his voice. “Yes. If you promise to eat all the carrots. I do not like them.”

“Sure – if you do the same with the mushrooms.” Blech. I’d eat them if I had to – seven years here had taught me to eat what was given to me be it fruit, vegetable or meat, but if he’d take that fungus off my plate, then there was hope for this ‘relationship’ after all.

Mitsunari was more than willing to trade the carrots for the mushrooms, and after sorting out the food, we ate quietly for a little while, until he hit me with a surprising question. “Are you a spy?”

Oh boy.

“No.” Technically, I don’t consider myself a spy, although I knew it was kind of a grey area. “Why are you asking?”

“Because you were in Azuchi a few months ago dressed as an old man.” He seemed relatively neutral about that fact, but I imagined if he relayed that information to Hideyoshi, that man might feel far less neutral. But beyond that…

“How did you know?” It wasn’t worth denying. Even my short acquaintance with him was enough to know that he wouldn’t have brought it up if he weren’t sure.

He nodded to himself. “When we met, you were familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I had seen you. Then, today in the bookstore, when you moved those books before they fell, I realized you had done that before.”

Again, I needed to reassess this boy. Man. He might seem like he’s in a world of his own, but he certainly didn’t miss much.

“Yes, that was me. But I wasn’t spying.” Technically I had not been. “I mean, to me, spying is sneaking into some place and stealing information that they don’t want anyone to know about, right?” He didn’t respond one way or another, so I continued. “I was observing things that anyone could have seen, if they were paying attention.”

“Hrm.” The tone was non-committal. Not sure if he understood my point, or if he simply wanted me to keep going. “What were you doing with the information?”

“Generally, it’s for those people who don’t want to be caught in the path of warring clans.” Or they wanted to figure out how to profit from it, but hey, we can’t all be altruistic. I didn’t know what else Aki did with the information I brought back, but every… for want of a better word… project I’d ever worked on him with, involved very small groups of people. Merchants who were being menaced by road bandits. Daimyos with limited territory who wanted to know if it was safe to continue to stay neutral, or if they were going to be forced into war. “In any case, Mitsuhide knows about the booksellers – my employer runs it – and if he had a problem with it, he would have put a stop to it. He uses it himself as a message drop.” Perhaps Mitsuhide didn’t know that I personally had been one of the rotating staff of observers but I’m sure he was aware of the possibility.

With an outrush of air, Mitsunari’s shoulders relaxed. “I ought to have realized Mitsuhide had taken this into consideration already.” He took a few more bites of food, located a wayward carrot in his bowl, and tried to flick it into mine.

It sailed over my head.

I’m not sure Mitsunari noticed. “If you are a professional observer, Okatsu, then you aren’t someone Mitsuhide forced into this charade. Nor are you someone whose feelings could be hurt.”

The suggestion that I had no feelings to be hurt was, in a sense somewhat hurtful, however, it seemed more than Mitsunari simply hadn’t worded what he intended to say clearly enough. “Why would my feelings be hurt?”

He concentrated on his bowl, refusing to look at me. “I don’t want to be in love with anyone. I don’t have time for it, and I don’t want you to think-”

Oh! Ah ha ha… I’d never thought he would fall for me, but I ought to have at least taken into consideration his feelings the way he was considering mine. “No worries. Once our fake engagement is called off, I’ll go back to being a messenger and a scout, and I really like that job.” I found a mushroom in my dish and relocated to Mitsunari’s with considerably more success than he had had with that carrot (which, note to self, find it and toss it out before it attracts bugs). “Anyway, I imagine being a wife would severely limit my ability to search for my brother.”

Finally, he looked up his expression intent and serious. “We are in agreement then?”

“We are.” We sealed the new understanding with a bow that narrowly missed being another injury when I saw – just in time – that our trajectory was on the path to become a head clonk.

Formal business out of the way, the rest of the meal passed more smoothly, because once expectations of love were taken away, Mitsunari relaxed completely, and we chattered away about our respective jobs. I liked this version of him and could easily picture us becoming good friends. He was sort of like a less snarky version of my brother. “I witnessed a couple of the battles of the Siege of Itami last year. Was that triple column your formation?”

He nodded.

I’d never seen anything like that before. Not in battle action. “I bet you’re really good at shogi.” It would be interesting to test myself against him.

“I don’t know how to play.” His gaze flickered to where my own set was sitting on a nearby cushion.

That surprised me. It seemed like it would be a natural fit for him. “I know Mitsuhide plays – half the messages I’ve delivered over the past four years have been a part of a long drawn-out game he’s been playing with Aki.” I reached over and picked up the set. “I could teach you.”

His eyes took on an excited sparkle. “I would enjoy that very much. Mitsuhide has refused to teach me.”

An hour later, I was lying on my stomach on the floor, chin in hands, discovering why Mitsuhide had refused to teach him. What teacher wants to lose their very first game to the new student?

In the end, I didn’t lose the first. But by the time my face healed, Mitsunari was winning most of the games we played. Because I was confined to my room (I maintain that wasn’t completely necessary but was because Hideyoshi didn’t trust me) we not only played a lot of shogi, but also Go and ban-sugoroku. My winning percentage was highest at ban-sugoroku - only because that game required only a small amount of skill and a lot more luck.

Don’t get me wrong, Mitsunari and I hadn’t become instantly inseparable. But once we’d made an agreement that we wouldn’t fall in love with each other, it was less stressful to spend time together. He would come by most evenings after he had finished his tasks for the day, and we’d eat dinner, then play games, or, if he was deeply entranced by a book, he would bring the book along and read it. He’d found a book on shogi strategy in Nobunaga’s archives, so that I would have something to read too (I hadn’t the heart to tell him I had already read it… and since I didn’t have the kind of memory he had, it was likely doing me no harm to re-read it).

The days were a bit slower going, as I was stuck in Remedial Princess Hell. Far too many mornings were spent with a maid trying to find a hairstyle I could maintain on my own (my too-fine hair was always escaping anything more elaborate than a ponytail). Hideyoshi also found my walk objectionable (it was too fast and my stride was too long, per him, and he made me practice mincing back and forth across my room, with a stip of fabric tied around my knees.

On the bright side, at least I didn’t have to negotiate walking in the thankfully-not-yet-invented stillettos. On the dark side, stillettos had yet to be invented, which meant I couldn’t stab Hideyoshi with one.

Still, it could have been worse. It had only taken one excruciating morning for Mitsuhide to determine that my knowledge of current events and politics was up to the mark (thanks to Aki). After that, I was free from that sort of tutoring.

One evening, while Mitsunari and I were playing Go, Mai came by with my new wardrobe for a final fitting. “You two are playing the less exciting version of Go.” She brushed her hand over the silk of a kimono and smiled to herself.

“Alright, since you’re clearly waiting for me to ask – what is the more exciting version?” Even though I lost the majority of the games I played with Mitsunari, I still thought they were exciting, because there was at least the possibility of winning.

“Nobunaga and I play with penalties … and favors.” She winked at me.

“Oh! So, if I were to lose, Okatsu could tell me to eat my carrots?” Mitsunari didn’t look up from the game as he was currently involved in a pincer attack on my stones. “That might add an element of daring to the game.”

“Uh, yeah. That.” She snickered quietly, then let out a soft ‘eep’ when she stabbed herself in the finger with her needle.

“Serves you right.” I had kind of figured that Mai meant a very different sort of favor altogether, which I imagined could be more exciting with the right opponent. Since I didn’t want to corrupt Mitsunari, I kept that to myself.

She simply grinned at me, then handed me a kimono. “Try that on, please.”

Mitsunari was still intent on the game – I could probably wander around naked without him noticing, but I went behind a screen to change anyway. By the time I emerged a few minutes later wearing one of Mai’s designs, he’d taken out my shogi set and appeared to be playing a game against himself, while he waited for me to return to our own game.

“This is easier to move around in.” While Mai’s own clothes had been slightly too big for me, I didn’t think having clothes that were draped precisely to my figure explained the difference completely.

“After watching you fight in that restaurant, I was inspired.” She made a minute adjustment to how the kimono lay across my waist.

“To what? Toss food at it?” Although given Mitsunari’s ability to spill things and my ability to get into trouble, having a food or blood pattern sewn into the material might not be the worst idea.

“No. But come to think about it, flying rice might create an interesting pattern.” She stepped back then gestured to the structure of the material. “The way I cut it, you have more freedom of movement. So, if you need to kick someone, or grab a hidden dagger… you can!”

“Mai! I love that!” I tried a few experimental kicks, and the material gave way to my leg, then immediately fell back into place undisturbed. “This is amazing. Thank you!”

She grinned. “This is what I do. But… don’t tell Hideyoshi.”

“Don’t tell Hideyoshi what?” that very man said as he and Mitsuhide strolled into the room.

“How much she spent on the fabric.” I jumped in because Mai could not lie to save her life.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s your due as an Oda Princess.” For a man so suspicious, Hideyoshi was awfully easy to fool.

Mitsuhide gave me a sharp look, but apparently decided to let it go. Instead, he examined me from head to toe. “Much improved. And healed. I believe we can free you from this room now.”

To prove that I could behave gracefully and sedately, I simply smiled and inclined my head. “Thank you. That would be pleasant.”

Hideyoshi nodded in approval. “I see the period of rest and reflection served you well.”

There was a cough from Mitsuhide who was still standing behind me. So softly that no one else could hear, he said, “It’s infinitely more frightening, when you are pretending to behave.”

Wasn’t that an oxymoron? I mean even if it was a pretense, I was still behaving, right? But I wasn’t in the mood to debate logic with him. I imagined that the exercise would only give me – and possibly Mitsuhide – a headache.

Getting sprung from my quarters didn’t automatically mean I was allowed to leave the castle grounds. As much as I would have dearly loved to take Moonlight out for a good ride, I was told that would have to wait until anyone other than Masamune was available to escort me. (My question to Hideyoshi: “Why not Masamune?” Hideyoshi: “Because he’s likely to goad you into a race.” Which… yes. Yes he would.)

The next best thing was archery, which thankfully was a permitted activity, so the following morning had me accompanying Mai to her lesson with Ieyasu. Mitsunari upon hearing of my intentions, joined us as well, since, as he said, he hadn’t seen Ieyasu in a few days and decided it was a good opportunity to catch up.

Ieyasu greeted us with a hat trick of insults. “Mai, it’s not necessary to bring an entourage; Okatsu, I’m not going to give a lesson to every female with a whim to take up archery; Mitsunari, I don’t know where you’ve been eating but dinners without you have been refreshingly without incident.”

Mai shrugged off his words and Mitsunari misinterpreted them altogether. “Thank you, Ieyasu. I’ve missed our conversations too.”

If Ieyasu rolled his eyes any harder, they would fly right out of his head.

“But I really really want to learn archery.” I pouted at Ieyasu. If he expected a female with a whim, that is what I would provide him. “I’m pretty sure I understand the concept. Just aim the pointy bit at those round straw thingies?”

He heaved a full body sigh, as if I had ruined not only his morning, but his entire life, then went over to Mai, presumably to begin her lesson.

“That was a joke, was it not?” Mitsunari gave me one of those vaguely unfocussed looks that generally signaled there was a lot of thought going on underneath.

Note to self: install sarcasm detection.exe

“Yep.” I sent five arrows in rapid succession into the furthest target.

“I thought as much.” Mitsunari eyed me with the interest of a general who had just been given a new weapon to play with. “Was that as fast as you can shoot, or simply a warm-up?”

“Warm up, both for speed and distance.” Why bother with false modesty when your skill set could be useful? “I’ve practiced shooting from my horse recently but I’m not up to the level of kasagake corps. Yet.”

I went through what would have been my normal practice progressions, shutting out the ambient sounds of Mai’s lesson on one side of me, and Mitsunari’s practice on the other. Once all of us were hard at work, it was almost peaceful. Archery practice is one of the few places I’ve been able to shut out the noise in my head (I’m not psychotic – I’m fully aware of the fact that I talk to myself) and I relish the quiet that intense focus brings.

Once I finished my standard workout, I switched to the new arrows that I’d purchased in the town to test those out. They were slightly heavier than what I used to – not enough to negatively impact my practice, and in fact, I was more accurate at the further distance.

When I put my bow down for the day, I realized that Mai and Ieyasu had been watching me as well. “I suppose it would be alright if you came over here to practice until you leave for Genba,” Ieyasu said, in a tragic tone of voice.

“We’re leaving tomorrow.” Mai handed Ieyasu the bow she’d been using.

“I know.” Ieyasu packed up his things and marched out of the yard.

Tomorrow. The first true test of our ‘relationship’ was about to begin. And Mitsunari was…

“I would be interested to know at what point increasing the weight of the arrows has a negative effect on your accuracy.” He hefted one of my new arrows in his hand.

…thinking about military strategy again.

@lorei-writes @bestbryn @katriniac @lyds323 @briars7

#TBTMND #A mitsunari night's dream #throwback thursday #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #ikesen fanfic #mitsunari ishida #ikesen mitsunari #ikesen #ikesen hideyoshi #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen ieyasu #ikesen mai #oc: katsuko #katsuverse

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ilyasorokinn · 2 years ago

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(day eleven) under the mistletoe , tyson jost

note, this fic is part of my christmas series called taylor's very merry christmas series. check out this masterlist for the rest of the series. pair, tyson jost x reader summary, for years, people have watched y/n and tyson dance around their feelings until they finally have enough. at the annual avs christmas party, the guys put a plan in motion to finally get them to finally admit their feelings for each other. and of course, mistletoe is involved. warnings, this takes place while he's still in colorado. i know, I'm sad too, but i don't know buffalo well enough yet also this is a little cheesy, so if you don't like that, don't read this word count, 1181 words

(gif not mine)

You and Tyson had met through mutual friends, that mutual friend being JT Compher. You were good friends with his girlfriend and Tyson was JT's best friend.

So, you were invited to Avs games here and there, and the Christmas party because they always had more food and drinks than they knew what to do with.

You liked him, and he liked you, but you could never admit it because what if the other person didn't feel the same way?

So you buried it down and chose to forget about it.

But every year, at that Christmas party, like clockwork, everything you tried too hard to suppress for 364 days came rushing back like a wave.

This year was no different. You hadn't seen Tyson in a few months. You had gone to the home opener with Sydney, but that was it. You hadn't really seen him in months, so seeing him tonight, would be a waterfall.

"You looking forward to seeing Josty tonight?" Sydney asked, wiggling her brows at you.

You shook your head, looking out the window to hide the smile on your face, "Shush."

"You aren't denying it!" She squealed.

"Be quiet." You tried and failed, to hide your smile.

Once you arrived, you quickly made your way to the kitchen to make yourself a drink, "You get here and make a bee-line for the drinks? Typical Y/N." You heard a familiar voice.

You turned to the doorway and saw Tyson leaning against the doorframe, a smirk on his face, "Sorry I'm so predictable." You shrugged.

"No, it's cool. Means I get to talk to you before you're bombarded by everyone else." He pushed himself off the doorframe, made his way over to you, and watched you pour different liquids into your cup, "Wow, predictable even down to the drink." He joked.

"Oh, shut up." You smiled, shoving him softly.

"It's good to see you. Haven't seen you in a while." He offered a kind smile.

"Yeah, been a little busy." You shrugged.

Before he could say anything else, you were quickly pulled away by Mel, "You're here!" She exclaimed happily, pulling you into a hug. You were quickly whisked off in a different direction. You managed to look back at Tyson, flashing him a smile and a wave.

As the night went on, you and Tyson would often meet each other's gaze and flash each other a smile but other than that, nothing else happened.

"So, you and Josty?"

"Not you too." You groaned, rolling your eyes and sliding further down your chair. A few of the other girls laughed at your reaction.

"'Not us' what?"

"You all think I'm secretly in love with Tyson." You stated.

"Do we?" They all raised a brow but were all smirking.

"Yes."

"Are you?" You took too long to answer, which they all took as a yes.

"I didn't say yes." You butted in as they all squealed.

"But you also didn't say no," Sydney added. You huffed with a roll of your eyes.

Across the house, the guys were having the same discussion you were having but with Tyson. Their conversation was pretty similar to yours, only Tyson was a little more open.

"So, Tyson, you still haven't made your move?" Gabe asked innocently.

Tyson rolled his eyes, "No." He admitted.

"I know what you can get me for Christmas," JT spoke up and Tyson glanced at him confused, "You can finally admit your feelings for Y/N."

"I'd like that for Christmas, too." Erik nodded in agreement.

As the night progressed, you were getting more and more tired. and more ready to go home, but Sydney was the very opposite. She was your ride home so you were stuck at the party.

The girls and boys had put together a plan to try and get Tyson to admit your feelings for each other. What was their plan? Get you both in the Landeskog entryway were a piece of mistletoe hung over the door frame and get you to kiss.

Was this a good plan? No. Was this a pretty good plan for all of them being drunk? Yes.

Sydney found you sitting in the living room, your eyes closed as you waited for her to be done, "I'm ready to go, but I have to grab something so can you wait?"

"Yeah, I'll get my shoes." You nodded, pushing yourself off the couch.

In another room, JT was doing the same thing, "I'm ready to go." He announced. Tyson's original ride had already left so he was now getting a ride with JT.

"All right, I'll get my shoes." Tyson got up and headed for the entryway.

When he turned the corner, he saw you sitting on the little bench as you waited for Sydney, "You leaving too?" He chuckled.

"Yep." You nodded watching him trying to find his shoes in the big piles of shoes.

"It was good to see you tonight."

"Yeah, it was." You smiled.

"Hope it won't take a year for me to see you again." He spoke nervously.

You laughed, "I'll try to make it out to a game."

You both waited in silence. In his head, he kept hearing JT's voice. He really did like you, but the fear of you not feeling the same way kept him from saying anything.

Today was different. He had some liquid courage in his bloodstream and he was feeling more brave than usual. He knew if he wanted to say something, now would be the time, "Y/N?" You looked up at him.

"Tyson?" You repeated his name so softly he nearly melted.

"I really like you..." Your breath hitched, "And I don't know. if you feel the same way, but I..." The words were coming out of his mouth so fast he had to stop to breathe.

"I feel like I've had a speech prepared in my head for a while now but now that it's really time, I can't think of it." He laughed.

You smiled, "It's okay."

"No, it's not." That caught you off guard, "I had this whole speech, proclaiming how much I really liked you and I can't remember it."

"It's okay, Tyson." You approached him, "If you ever remember the speech, you can tell me it, but until then, I'll just let you know that I really like you, too."

He froze, "You do?"

"Yeah." You laughed at the frozen look on his face, "I do."

"Awesome." Was all he managed to say.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool." You nodded, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Look up!" Someone in the background shouted, which was a telltale sign that everyone in the house was watching and listening to you both.

You and Tyson both looked up and saw the piece of mistletoe hanging above your heads. You both looked back at each other and smiled, "It would be rude to break tradition."

"So rude." He nodded in agreement.

Flashforward to a couple years later, at your wedding, Tyson finally remembered that speech of his, and decided, for his vows, to recite them.

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spiffghosthuntingcorporation · 2 years ago

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Alright. Are we all in agreement about this?

I still think it’s a bad idea.

Kevin, please, stop worrying…

What if Spiff walks in and turns on his computer? Or there’s a power outage and you get stuck? Or we get called away on a mission and can’t grab you? You’d just be alone for hours!

I was alone for five years, Kevin, I think I can handle a couple hours just fine.

Woah.

Daniel, you good? I’ve never heard that tone from you.

…

I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to snap at you!!

It’s fine, Dan. And you’re right, I need to stop worrying.

No, it’s nice that you’re worrying, and you’re bringing up valid points. But I’m a ghost, silly! Spiff won’t know I’m there, because he doesn’t know I exist. If anything goes wrong, I’ll come back, okay?

Now I’m having second thoughts about this…

Lads. Please. Let me do this. I need to do something to help. Not only that, but I need to figure out what the hell happened to make me what I am. I need to know what happened to kill me.

…Fuck, we can’t say no to you.

Even if we did, he could just go do it anyways.

Fine. Fine. Dan, you can go sneak into Spiff’s office. But be careful. And if you’re not back in an hour, we will come and get you ourselves.

If we see Spiff come back, we’ll try to warn you, okay?

This is the first time he’s been out in weeks, it should be a while.

Still. Be careful.

I will, I will…

Daniel let a small smile creep onto his face as he zipped through the wires, feeling the familiar electricity crackle around him. The lads’ devices were great and all, but in the wires he could just let the current take him away. It was something he could do without thinking — which was good, because his mind was very busy pinpointing all the little ways this could go wrong.

Which was stupid. He was a ghost. Nothing could hurt him. But maybe some of Kevin’s doubts had started to seep in (not that he was blaming Kevin, of course), because now he had started worrying. Even as he crept through the wire connecting Spiff’s computer to the wall, he still found himself anxiously glancing at the door just in case the boss suddenly slammed into his office. Luckily, he didn’t, and Daniel let out a small, freezing sigh of relief as he slid into the computer.

It took his eyes a minute to adjust to the unfamiliar dark layout, and when they did he immediately spotted the space where all the files and documents were kept. A good few of them were locked, predictably, restricted to all but its creator. But there were more then enough to keep him busy and hopefully find some answers. More then enough to make him feel like he was finally helping, instead of just tagging along.

Some of the documents he discarded immediately; little notes Spiff had written himself or reminders to do things like ‘buy new UV flashlights’ or ‘polish bones in display case’. There were also files on every member of the company, containing their portfolios and personal info. Those files he lingered by for a few seconds longer, before pushing them to the side as well. Come on, there had to be something good here! Daniel kept pushing through order forms for spirit boxes and strange snippets of writing he couldn’t seem to grasp — until one file caught his attention.

Labeled simply ‘targets.’, the document had to load for a few seconds before appearing in front of Daniel’s eyes. This one had been shared with Spiff, it wasn’t one of his own. It was a list of familiar addresses, but the notes written besides them were completely vague.

Fourty-two Edgefield Road — 2 adults, 2 children, 1 infant — mother’s sibling witnessed last hit (DONE)

Bleasdale Farmhouse — 1 adult, 2 children — connections to chief detective (DONE)

Thirteen Willow Street — 2 adults, 1 cat — former employee (TBD)

Daniel ran his transparent fingers over the words, trying to piece together the clues. These were locations the lads had been assigned to hunt at. Clearly, they were chosen for a reason. But why, and by who? Getting an idea, Daniel moved to look at the properties of the document. Maybe he could see who had shared it with Spiff? As he combed through the history, only two email addresses jumped out at him. [email protected], and…

“Got you.”

With a sudden pull that ripped at his chest, Daniel was yanked into a USB. He barely had time to reach for the computer before he was pulled out of it entirely, and held up in the face of the Spiff Ghost Hunter’s boss. He tried to manifest, or jump to another electronic, but Spiff was quick to drop him into a small glass box far away from the desk.

“Hello, little ghost.” Spiff teased as he peered inside the box, smiling as if he could actually see the panicking Daniel inside. “I knew you were around here somewhere. Oh, my boss is going to be thrilled to see you again.”

Daniel was trapped.

At the mercy of someone who seemed to know more about him than he knew himself.

And all he hoped was that the lads would be safe.

#phasmo!lads #irish lads au #rtgame #callmekevin #jacksepticeye #daithi de nogla #terroriser

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ave-atque-vale-herondale · 2 years ago

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also (same anon as before) tell me how you felt about qoaad!! any predictions for twp?

if you haven’t, i recommend reading the novella books:

- the bane chronicles is fun especially if you like magnus.

- tftsa was so cute i loved her (read nothing but shadows before you read tlh)!!

- ghosts of the shadow market is definitely super important for world building for tlh and twp, so i strongly recommend reading it before them (it could be a little boring at times, i admit. but jessa is adorable). read cast long shadows and every exquisite thing before you read tlh. the rest is a lot of world building for kit’s background and jessa.

- OH OH also read the tec series if you haven’t (it follows malec) and i think it’ll eventually connect to twp.

- i believe cassie has these short stories about the tlh cast set before chain of gold. i remember reading them every month on her newsletter before the book came out. i think you can find them on her website? they’re not super important but they do get referenced once in a while in tlh

you probably know all of this and i probably mansplained (can you do that if you’re a girl?) everything 😭 but it’s better to be safe than sorry!! i hope you had fun reading everything and def let me know if you have any questions!

I'm gonna do my best to answer this in a comprehensive manner (let's see how long that lasts lol). You're my fave! (feel free to pop into my messages if you ever wanna chat or anything)

Okay I'm gonna start by saying that I had a strange relationship w TDA. I mentioned some of this in my initial post but I'm just gonna go through everything for continuity sake, if you will. Last summer I intended to finish the 3 series before my semester started. I got through all of TMI and TID but finished only LM and 150-ish pages of LoS. I waited till this summer to pick back up. I remember feeling bitter when I started LM because it was strange to have a modern-set book that didn't focus on my fave TMI gang (I watched the CoB movie religiously when I was younger and, before I knew better, watched the show weekly). It took me a while for Emma to grow on me and I initially had a hard time keeping track of all of the Blackthorns because there were so many of them. What kept me going were all of the connections to Mr. Poe (yes, I just called him that. deal with it.) I've started rambling so let me summarize this portion by saying that TDA didn't snatch me up until mid-LoS. okay, onward.

QoAaD was so reminiscent of CoHF and I loved it very much. WARNING SPOILERS FOR ANYONE WHO MAY READ THIS FOR SOME UNGODLY REASON. I appreciate the importance of the Thule portion and know the book would be shit without it, but, despite it still being fantastical, the apocalyptic vibe was not my fave. It was nice to get Livvy back for a bit (can I just say how shocking it was to have her death right after Robert? cause I feel like cc v rarely kills important characters so I thought Robert was fulfilling the death requirement yk?) and I LOVE to hate Sebastian. I'm gonna say something crazy here. I love Kit and Kieran more than I love a majority of the Blackthorns. Kit has been my fave character from this trilogy and I am not ashamed to admit it. The entire Ty Livvy spell shit was crazy because I completely felt Kit and wasn't angry at him for not outright saying that it was a bad idea, especially given the situation. I just can't believe cc had me expecting them to be fully in love with each other by then end, ONLY FOR THEM TO NOT EVEN BE ON SPEAKING TERMS (yes I know I need to be up to date w SoBH, I just need business day or two to marinate in my TDA emotions). The battle was epic, Julien's meeting was genius, Kieran is a great king, and the Malec wedding nearly had me sobbing. I'm gonna stop here w my thoughts on QoAaD cause it's getting out of hand. I am so sorry I am typing you up a full essay.

Predictions:

watch cc give us a 3rd plot that gets crazy because of some questionable heavenly fire incident (I mean, technically all three series plots that I've read have involved it if you count Jace's affect on Jem).

I'm super worried about a main character death because I think it would shatter me but it's also probably necessary? idk I dont wanna think about it

I also feel like something crazy is gonna happen to Aline and Helen because although they were literally exiled, nothing too traumatic happened to them in the main line of the story that the reader got to directly experience

not a prediction but truly me BEGGING ON MY KNEES for Jace and Kit content. I need them to be drama Herondales together. Also, Jace literally told him to come to him for personal advice so Jace helping Kit deal w his relationship w/feelings for Ty would be ideal (I really don't know how that would happen but let a person dream)

Final Segment:

Don't worry about mansplaining, youre good bae. I'm in the loop but I'm also not at the same time, if that makes any sense at all (there goes my promise of writing in a comprehensive manner). The only reason I haven't purchased the novellas is solely because it's more efficient for me to purchase a box set of a trilogy. (I do have the Codex and The Denizens of the Downworld books though). CC has done her best to make her world make sense but that woman writes up a storm and no matter what I'm always behind lol.

#wren answers #tda #the shadowhunter chronicles #tsc #tmi #the mortal instruments #the dark artifices #1st anon #I hope you don't hate me for writing so much in response #I have absolutely no one to discuss any of this with

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luveline · 2 years ago

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baby! i love all your au’s so much!! maybe u wanna do something for kbd universe?

like maybe the whole family is sick and it’s just steve and reader trying to get through taking care of the girls and themselves? i thought maybe it would be cute but it’s all up to u <33 hope you’re having a good day jade!

hello! i made it so steve and beth aren’t sick yet I hope that’s still alright, thank you for requesting! thanks so much, i hope you are too <3 kisses before dinner au <3 dad!steve x mom!reader 2k words cw throwing up

Steve worries it's going to be a bad day when Dove throws up in the morning. He knows it's going to be a bad day when Avery throws up a little later, and then it's all but cemented when you chuck up in the sink.

You're a big girl and you can clean it up yourself but Steve would go lie in a busy highway if he thought that would make you smile, and so he has no qualms about sending you to the quarantine zone and cleaning it himself. It's a very unfortunate place to chuck up, all things considered, and Steve has to wash the dishes in the basin three times before he trusts they're clean.

Beth clears her throat from the kitchen doorway.

"Oh, hey, baby," he says sweetly, peeling out of his rubber gloves and throwing them eagerly into the trash. "How's my girl?"

Beth is three and a half years old. She loves Steve more than anybody on this entire planet, loves his attention, his hugs. She's a clinger, and he's more than happy for her to be so. She's also rather quiet— Steve worries she wouldn't talk at all if it weren't for Avery, her six year old sister. Ave is a smarty pants who talks Beth's ear off every chance she gets.

Beth, predictably, doesn't answer, holding her arms up in the universal sign for pick me up.

He wipes his hands on a tea towel haphazardly and pulls her up into his chest, hand spread over her back. Steve's constantly reminded of how soft and pretty his girls are, and he wouldn't ever say this aloud but Beth is the prettiest of the three because she looks so much like you. She dips her head, the line of her jaw softening with the movement. Steve ducks down to meet her eyes, offering up a loving smile.

"What, you aren't talking to me today?"

"I'm tired," she says quietly.

Steve licks his lips and pulls her closer in one arm so he can hold the other up and read the face of his watch.

"It's not bed time for a while. Should we sit down for a nap?”

"Yeah," she agrees, rubbing her face against his collar.

Steve shifts her in his arms to prop her up with one and hug her with the other.

They head upstairs and cross the landing to his and your bedroom, where you, Ave, and Dove are all sequestered in bed with a sick bowl.

Dove sleeps like a log on your chest where he's propped you up with pillows. Ave lies in Steve's spot, arm across the mattress to hold hands with you.

"Hello," he says, hesitant at the threshold. You're gonna be in a tough spot if Steve gets sick too. "How are you feeling?"

He directs his question at both you and Ave, but Ave answers first.

"I feel sick," she says morosely.

"That doesn't surprise me, baby, you are sick. How about you, mom?"

"I'm fine," you say. Your other hand rubs up and down the length of Dove's back and shoulders steadily, an absent-minded gesture no doubt. "What about you, my lovely girl? You and daddy had to clean up my mess, huh? I'm sorry."

The apology is entirely for him. He doesn't need it or even want it.

"It's okay," Beth says.

"You took the words straight outta my mouth," he praises her.

Beth all but dissolves into his chest. You read her mood, and his oncoming question quickly.

“You gonna go nap?” you ask.

“Would that be okay? You’ll be okay? I can put her down and come right back.”

You give him your most loving, darling smile, the kind of smile he fell in love with; the kind of smile that had him looking at you, twenty years old and lonely, and knowing he wasn’t going to be lonely much longer.

“We’ll be okay,” you say. “Love you, miss you.”

“I love you.” He waves at Avery. “Love you, baby. Try and get some sleep.”

—

He wakes up to his name being called severely. It’s a pretty terrifying sound to wake up to when you have a family, your wife calling to you with little room for affection.

“Steve? Steve, I need you right now.”

He startles hard and wakes Beth where she’s lying on his chest.

“Daddy?” she mumbles.

He slides her off of him as carefully as he’s able, which in his panic is nowhere as carefully as he wants to. “It’s okay, babe. Go back to sleep.”

“Steve.”

He hears the unfortunate sound of retching. You’re sitting in the middle of the bed with a hand on Avery's back as she chucks up into the bowl, and Avery isn’t the problem, it’s Dove, who’s throwing up all over your shoulder and screaming between heaves.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, but they won’t stop. I think they’re setting each other off and-“ You inhale sharply. “I don’t want to-“

“Hey, okay,” he says easily, much less panicked than you. He understands exactly why you’re so scared — to have them both so forcefully ill is terrifying, and worse, you’re by yourself and sick too.

“Avery, are you alright, sweetheart?” he asks.

Avery is understandably in tears. She heaves and nothing comes out but spit, so he sits down heavily next to her and wraps an arm over her trembling shoulders. “Deep breath,” he says, “super deep breath. You’re okay.”

He works Avery through the last of her throw up. He can hear you placating the baby, your voice shaky.

“Let’s go get in the bath,” he says quietly, “should we?”

It’s dangerous to leave Avery in the bath alone, so he puts a towel on top of the toilet lid and sits her down.

“I’m gonna get Dove and you’ll both have a bath.” He rubs her back, heart broken by her little downcast face, her cheeks shiny with tears. “I’m gonna make it all better, baby, I promise,” he says slowly, offering his pinky to her.

She holds up her own, so much smaller, and they shake on it.

He doubles back for Dove and, unfortunately, the worst has happened. You’ve chucked up, mostly in the bowl, but enough on the sheets to need changing, and there are tears bumping down your cheeks. Dove is screaming like she’s in agony. It’s awful.

“Pass her over to me,” he says.

Your lips part.

“It’s okay, babe, just pass her to me,” he murmurs, hands replacing yours under her armpits. “You want to strip off and come in the bathroom too? The smell…”

“I’m sorry for shouting, I probably gave you a heart attack- I don’t know, I was being silly,” you say.

“You were not.” He pats Doves lower back until she’s calmed down enough to hear himself think. He can’t stay in here with you as much as he wants to, worried about Avery, and a little about Beth. “Come on, you can have a bath next.”

Steve gets Avery and Dove in a warm bath and it calms everybody down. You sit on the toilet seat in your underwear looking miserable and embarrassed and tired and he takes what time he can to squeeze your naked calf.

“You’re wet,” you faux-complain, mouth full of toothpaste and your toothbrush.

“I’m damp at best. So dramatic.”

He washes the sick out of Avery’s hair and Dove entertains herself with a rubber duck. Avery enjoys having her hair washed, eyes slipping closed as Steve massages her little head.

“How are you feeling, Dovey?” you ask, reaching across the lip of the tub to smooth back her wet hair.

“Duckie,” she cheers, brandishing her yellow friend at you.

Your smile is soft. “Duckie,” you repeat. “Does he have any water in his tummy?”

She squirts it at you. Point proven.

He gets Avery out and wraps her up in a towel that’s yards too big for her. Beth ventures into the room with tired eyes, and she looks unhappy to be missing out on bath time. She loves playing with her mermaid dolls.

“You want one with mommy?” you ask.

Beth smiles so wide that Steve wants to take a picture.

When he’s wrangled both sicky girls into new pyjamas, he asks Avery if she’ll entertain Dove for a little bit. It’s more of a hope than a true request. Avery nods seriously and grabs one of her picture books, sitting by her baby sister on the pillows decorating her bedroom floor.

He changes the ruined sheets in your bedroom, throws them in the laundry, pushes open the bedroom window to circulate some clean air and then makes his way to the bathroom with the sick bowl to pour the contents down the toilet. You and Beth sit across from each other in the bath. Even though you’re sick, Steve thinks this might be one of the most important moments of Beth’s life. Carving alone time with you, your hands rubbing soap over her little shoulders while you murmur praises at her, it’s incredibly sweet. He’s sorry to ruin it.

“You’re squeaky clean, baby, I barely gotta scrub you, such a clean girl. My Beth’s always been neat, huh?”

Steve washes his hands. Beth, bubbles up to her neck, says, “Hi, daddy. You’re coming in?”

“Not me. I don’t think you can fit me. And mom does the best job, anyways, she gets rid of all the stink.”

“Stink!” you deny. You have to clear your throat after. Your smile doesn’t wane. “She does not ever stink because she’s a princess, thank you very much, daddy.”

Back to Avery's room. So much of being a parent is retracing your steps, walking the same distance over and over and over. He encourages the girls into the bathroom and helps them brush their teeth, which Avery thinks is, “Weird as heck. You’re s’posed to brush your teeth after dinner.”

“But you’ve been sick,” he reminds her, kneeling with one knee in a puddle, Dove’s chin pinched between his finger and thumb as he brushes her tiny pearls gently.

“But we’ll have to brush them again,” she whines.

“I brushed my teeth too,” you say now wrapped in a towel, rubbing Beth’s hair with the hood of her bath-poncho.

“You’re a grown up.”

“So?” Steve asks, genuinely laughing. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Mom does stuff she hates all of the time!”

“Like what?”

“Like kissing you,” Avery declares.

You burst into laughter, which does not help his case. Avery laughs because you’ve laughed. Beth and Dove are easily infected, leaving Steve one against four and feeling bullied. You apologise profusely when you see his theatrical heartbreak and offer him a kiss to prove you don’t mind it. You won’t actually give him one when he puckers up.

“If you get sick too, we’re screwed.”

He leads his girls down the stairs in a freshly made procession and insists they all sit at the dinner table, you included. From there, he doles out Pepto Kids, crackers, watered down apple juice and forehead kisses. Beth doesn’t need any Pepto, and she gets some secret peanut butter on her crackers. He worries anything too rich will prompt a third upheaval for the rest.

You get regular old Pepto, and you hate it. “I’m having flashbacks,” you mumble. Pepto is a great anti-nausea medication, and you’d reaped its benefits heavily during pregnancy three.

Maybe he’s biassed on who needs more kisses. He lays them thick from one end of your forehead to the other and then, finally, sits down in the chair next to Dove with a tired groan.

Her hand reaches across the gap for his. She holds his finger with one hand, offers a cracker with another. “Dad,” she says warmly.

He takes it. If he gets sick, he gets sick. There isn’t a world that exists where he has the power to say no to her.

requests are open for more of this au <3 pls consider a reblog if u enjoyed cos im an attention seeker and they make me happy, thanks for reading!!! <3

#kisses before dinner universe #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x reader fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #dad!steve harrington x reader #dad!steve harrington #stranger things x you #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x afab!reader

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scoutwritesworld · 2 years ago

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Hi!! So I have an ask abt a Rooster x reader! Where the reader is Maverick’s daughter but she’s also a pilot, when there’s a mission that’s rather dangerous Maverick doesn’t want her to go but then gives up. Then she gets shot down and Rooster goes back for her… (if you wan to change this please do )

Sorry for it being weirdly specific:) have a good day

Oh sweet anon please NO APOLOGIES. I adore this request, and hope I did it well.

DISCLAIMER – The movies are my only research, I am no Navy expert, so I hope it's okay that the mission details are slim.

Reader call sign – SCION.

“My answer is no.”

Mav's voice was firm, though you knew he was fighting a losing battle. You hadn't dared utter a word while he stood to attention putting forward his reasoning not to send you on the mission. It had meant to be straight forward, in and out - but complications had risen making things intensely more complicated. Your father didn't want to send any of his students out without more extensive training for the circumstances you would face, but especially not you. You were the youngest on the team, the most recent addition and you were his daughter. You knew it wasn't easy for him to voice reasons for wanting to ground you, but you knew his reasoning was nothing to do with his belief in your ability, and everything to do with the unlikelihood of a safe return.

Unfortunately for Mav, time wasn't on your side. It was an unfortunate 'now or never' assignment and difficult decisions needed to be made.

Cyclone sat stiff across the table with his arms crossed across his middle. You could see his expressions better than you could your father's, and it was easy to predict his words before he even said them.

“Your answer may be no, Captain. But this choice no longer lies with you. Prep your team for wheels up at 1400 hours,” He glaced briefly at you before turning back to your father, “All of them.” He didn't even give your father chance to respond, before leaving the room.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, and for a good few moments neither of you moved. Movement outside in the corridor filled the silence as soldiers began preparation for the job at hand. Boots marching across solid flooring and indistinct radio chatter. Your eyes glanced up at the clock on the wall and as second after second ticked away you knew you couldn't waste anymore time in silence.

“You're the best teacher we could have asked for, you know that?” You said softly.

Mav shook his head and took a deep breath, and not even you could predict the response that followed.

“I'm sorry, for...” He paused and turned to you, and in that moment you needed no further explanation beyond the fear in his eyes. For the mission, for his team, but most of all for you. “Y/N, I -”

“Tell me when I get back.” You cut him off, stepping forwards to wrap your arms around him. “Because I'll be back, we all will be.”

It was an impossible promise to keep, but the reassurance was there for you as well as him.

“Give 'em hell, kid.”

“Scion, bank right!” Rooster's voice bellowed through your comms as you skilfully manoeuvred your aircraft out of the path of an incoming missile, the chain reaction of the diverted explosion jolting you into the line of heavy ground fire.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You immediately pulled up out of their range, g-force pressing you unforgivingly into your seat.

Your ear piece was busy with your team calling warnings and guidance, your own eyes alert not only for your safety but that of your team.

“Smoke in the air, smoke in the air! Phoenix, on your nose!” You called out, slamming your fist against the button to release flares as Hangman alerted you to two more missiles on your tail.

It was a scene of chaos in all directions, missile explosions left, right and center with far too many near misses for your liking. Your target should have been an easy hit, but enemy defence was beyond what had been anticipated. Even without the enemy aircrafts circling the base below them, ground defence was more advanced than you or your team had ever trained for. You kept your F-18 steady as you swooped down, lining up a shot on target.

“Rooster, clear me a path. Hangman, on my six!” You called out to your team, altitude dropping as Rooster shot down an enemy on your nose. The target was small and the decent was bumpy, but despite the chaos surround you, you locked on target.

“Target locked. Firing.”

The next few seconds happened too fast for you to comprehend what order it all went down in. Your finger squeezed the trigger, the missile hit it's target and the explosion that followed was fatal to the enemy. As soon as your hit was confirmed you and your team were ordered to fall back and return to the Theodore Roosevelt before the enemy could recover and deliver more blows.

The relief that washed over you as your hit was confirmed was short lived as you were thrown off course into an uncontrollable spin by a hit to your left wing, both hands on the stick as you unsuccessfully fought to regain control of your aircraft, warning lights flashing from every direction. Your altitude was too low to eject but climbing wasn't an option. The ground closed in at an alarming speed as you focussed primarily on putting distance between you and the enemy base. Blaring alarms sounded over your comms and a strong smell of smoke filled the cockpit, but before you slammed through a clearing of trees and crash landed with a jolt so hard it blurred the world, you heard a voice that could have been Bob or Hangman, calling out.

“Rooster, no!”

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

“Y/N, open your eyes! C,mon, Y/N, helicopter's close but we gotta get you out of here!”

You were very aware of the breeze that hit your face, and the hands that fumbled with your harness to loosen it, and you knew who that voice belonged to, but what you couldn't do is convince yourself that he was really there. The world around you felt heavy, gravity a force to be reckoned with as you tried to open you eyes.

“I mean it, Y/N. Ain't no damn way I'm leaving without you.”

You groaned as a steady hand on the back of your neck guided you forwards, your body protesting every movement while your mind fought to regain consciousness. In the distance you could just about make out the snap of chopper blades on their descent, but the concern that overwhelmed you wasn't for yourself.

“Y-you gotta go..” You mumbled, unaware whether or not you words were even audible. The response was a warm hand rested on the side of your face, a touch which you leaned immediately in to.

“We go together or not at all, Y/N. Open your eyes for me. Please.”

“Mmkay.”

You blinked heavily a couple of times. The first attempt at opening your eyes only resulted in the harsh light of the sky forcing them back shut, but in an instant the natural glare was gone so you tried again. The second him was easier, and the first thing you saw the second your eyes adjusted was him.

Rooster had positioned himself to shield your gaze from any bright lights and was watching you with concerned eyes, but even you noticed the little twitch in the corner of his lips when he noticed you coming to. “Atta girl.”

You blinked a couple more times, giving yourself time to adjust to your surroundings before you shifted your arms to remove them from your harness. Rooster moved to give you space but not so much that he couldn't steady you if you stumbled. As much as both of you knew that time was not on your side, you also knew that one careless move could do much more harm than good. You lifted yourself from your seat and Rooster edged out on to the right wing with an arm out for you. Feeling your weight and balance against you, you steadied yourself with the help of Rooster.

“You got this. I got you.” He reassured you, leading you out of the cockpit before he jumped to the ground with his arms outstretched to ease you to the ground. Even with your boots firmly on the dry soil, he didn't let you go.

“Bradshaw..” You locked eyes with him, suddenly stern. “I hope you know that if you're down here with me on purpose, my Dad isn't gonna be the only one to kick your ass.”

Rooster shook his head, he was definitely smirking. Moving to your side, he wrapped one of your arms over his broad shoulders so that he could support you while you walked.

All you could focus on was putting one foot in front of the other, and although you couldn't form the exact words to tell him in that moment, you were beyond grateful that Rooster was by your side. Without a shadow of a doubt you'd be a gonner without him.

Your eyes were down as you walked, each step just that little bit more difficult than the last. You felt as though your boots were sinking into the dirt and your knees buckled more than once. But Rooster was there, and he didn't let you fall.

You were't sure how far you'd walked or how long it had taken when you were almost taken back by the gust of wind from the blades of the rescue chopper.

“They're here! We've got them!” The medics called out as they rushed over to the two of you. Rooster held up a hand when they tried to separate the two of you.

“I've got her, it's alright. Let's go!”

You gave up voluntary movement as Rooster lifted you up into the chopper. You trusted him wholeheartedly and your body ached - so badly that when you were safely aboard the chopper with the weight off your legs, you collapsed against Rooster and let him hold you as you ascended. Knowing the two of you were safe, you didn't fight the weight of your lids as they closed to give your body the recharge that it needed.

#rooster x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #top gun x reader #pete maverick mitchell

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iamasimpingh0e · 3 years ago

Text

Fezco x reader

Words: 2787

Characters: Fezco, Ashtray, Reader, and other euphoria characters...

Warnings: talk about drugs, spoilers, talk about murder

Genre: fluff & angst

Summary: a day in the reader's life, inspired by some episodes

Everyone that knew you also knew how incredibly inseparable you and your family were. You went through all the shit together, from the beginning on.

Back when you were still a child you spent every minute you got with your best friend Fezco. It was like you already lived together with him and his grandma. This soon also became reality as your parents just left you at her house without a proper explanation and dipped. You never heard from them again. Fezco and you grew closer everyday and as Ash came along, you cared about him like you were his mom. You knew he needed a mother figure in his life and even though you were still a child, you tried your best to be a great role model. Eventually you and Fezco fell in love and started dating.

"Shit ma, look at you." Fez said as you entered the small corner store you guys owned.

It was true you looked like shit. Nightmares of Ash killing Mouse hunted you and you could barely grab a minute of sleep. With dark bags under your eyes and hair just thrown into a messy bun, you hopped on the freezer of the shop. The cold that hit your legs was welcome because the day felt like one of the hottest in a very long time. To be honest, you weren't the biggest fan of the heat, but you would always stay in California together with Fez and Ash.

"Shut up, Fez." You weren't in the mood to argue. If it was for you, you'd be lying in bed now, with the fan blowing cold air into your direction, probably reading. But you'd promised Fez to look at the store while he and Ash would be on their way to meet their dealer. You gladly stayed back because you disliked Laurie with all you had. After the move she pulled on new years you would probably not be able to hold back if you see her again. You weren't the violent type, no, but if you're angry, what happens next wouldn't be predictable.

"We'll try to make it fast, after that we gon' pick you up and close the store." Fez came to stand next to you and passed you his blunt.

While you took a hit, he continued talking.

"You're sure you wanna come along tonight? 'M sure, Ash and I'll be fine on our own, ma"

"No, no it's fine, I'll be alright. Also I won't leave ya hanging on your promise to buy me cotton candy." You answered, now feeling the effect of the weed on you.

"Shit, you still remember that? Wasn't it like months ago, I told ya that?" Softly you chuckled.

"Shut your mouth and hit the road, you're gon' be late, babe."

" aight if you say so. See you later ma. Love you" He gave you a quick peck on your lips, knocked on the fridge door to notify Ash that they'd be leaving and went outside.

Ash exited the small hidden room and looked at you.

"I packed a few bags in case customers came by. And remember, if they don't pay the whole price, don't sell them anything. Understood?" He sternly said. This business was very important for Ash, but sometimes he forgot that it was you and Fez who taught him all the shit he needed to know.

"When did I ever disappoint you?" You laughed which made him smile.

"Aight see you later mom" with that he followed Fez.

Your heart felt warm after the word 'mom' was spoken. Sure it wasn't the first time, he had said that but it still made you feel some kind of way.

You hopped off the fridge to make yourself busy for a while. As you were rearranging some of the shelves Rue entered the shop.

"Eyoo y/n, long time no see" You felt sorry for the girl. She came by often, mostly buying drugs or just talking to your boyfriend, didn't have many friends or at least didn't really hang out with them much. Fez always said, she was like a little sister for him, and if she was family to him, she was family to you too.

"Hey Rue, how you doin'?" You asked the brown haired girl. She probably wanted to buy some drugs even though she already looked as high as she could be.

"Ah you know, doing great. Left rehab about two weeks ago and never been doing better."

"If you went to rehab, why you being high then right now?" This made her look up from the drinks in the fridge.

"Just because I went to rehab, doesn't mean I have to stay clean, you know?" It broke your heart seeing her like that.

"Is Fez around?" She asked you.

"Nah, he and Ash headed out to do business. Whatcha need?"

"Pills" She simply answered.

"Rue listen. Ion think this is a good idea. You're clearly already high and I don't want you to overdose a second time. I ain't selling you shit today." You were tired, she could clearly see that but that didn't mean, you had the right to tell her what to do.

"To be honest y/n, I don't know what Fez sees in you. You're clearly aren't made for this business. Selling drugs to junkees is the job, it's how you afford your food and suddenly you don't want to sell shit to me? You know what? Fuck you! I'll be back when Fez is around." She turned around and left the shop. Her words hurt, for sure, but one thing you learned from Fez's grandma was, to never let words an addict says, touch your heart.

You went on with your day, quickly trying to shake off the encounter with Rue.

After a few hours, Fez and Ask entered the store again.

"Hey, how'd it go?" you smiled as you gave your boyfriend a soft kiss. Ash looked at you and fake gagged.

"Went good, Laurie's a weird woman if you ask me. Told us to not fuck with her and scared the shit out of little Ashtray there." Fez joked.

"Hell nah, you lying bro. Y/n he's lying. Fez was the one that almost shit his pants as Laurie showed us what would happen if we mess with her, ya know me mom, I ain't scared, ever." Ash tried to get out of this.

"You sure Ash? I clearly remember last week when you-" The kid directly cut you off, knowing you were right.

"Whatever" he huffed out.

"Aight. I ordered the pretzels for tonight, only have to pick them up. Ma, why don't you pick them up while Ash and I get the stand at the fair ready?" Fez asked you.

"Yeah, I can do that. But first 'm gonna head home and change. We'll meet there?"

"For sure, see you later hit stuff." One last kiss and you went outside to your car.

You went home and quickly got ready. Before leaving the house again, you grabbed yourself one energy drink and then made yourself out the way. Knowing it's going, the fair is going to be filled with a lot of people, didn't make you feel too enthusiastic. You preferred the silence but you also loved cotton candy.

As you stepped into the small bakery, Fezco orders pretzels at, every year, you saw Nate Jacobs standing in line right in front of you. You knew what happened new years, of course you knew. You were the one that got Fezco to stop beating him, but Nate kinda deserved it. He treated everyone that was kinda important to you like shit. But you also felt a little sorry for him. If you lived in this town your whole life, you couldn't get around hearing stories about his family, especially his dad. There were always rumors around, nothing too bad though and most of them were proven to be fake. People just were jealous of the perfect family. You really hoped he wouldn't notice you standing behind him, that was the last thing you needed.

"Oh look who it is, Fezco's little slut." Oh so he wanted the smoke?

"You know you shouldn't be talking like that when you weren't even able to fight back on new years. You looked like a small little pussy."

"If I'm a pus-" He quickly got cut off, due to it being his turn to order.

After that he left without seeing much more.

"Hey, what can I do for you?" The woman behind the counter asked you.

After you got your pretzels, you went to meet your boys at the stand.

"There she is. Everything went smoothly?" Fez asked you as he took the pretzels from you and handed them off to Ash.

"Yeah, run into motherfucking jacobs at the bakery. He was trying to be tuff but you can't hide behind a pussy if you are one."

"Damn ma, tell me if you want me to beat his ass up again." Fez laughed. It was true, Fez would do everything for you, even risking landing behind bars for beating up Nate.

"Yo ma?" You heard Ash.

"Yeah?"

" 'm hungry 'cause Fez didn't let me go to but some to eat yet. Can you maybe grab us some?" The boy asked. Just now you noticed how hungry you were as well.

"Yeah I'll grab some, 'm hungry too. Fez you want too?" You asked your boyfriend.

"I'll take some, sunrise us ma"

"Alright."

You grabbed your wallet and went off to search for one of the many food stands.

As you walked a bit you ended up in a big crowd, not knowing what this was about, you tried to get through it. As you reached the front you saw a girl, dressed in a very special outfit. You were sure, you saw her around from somewhere.

"Yeah I'm not supposed to be here right now, because I'm dressed like a HOOKER and none of you like me...." She went on and on and lastly ended up, pushing over the chili pot of the Jacobs' stand. You kinda liked her attitude, it made her look like a bad bitch and smiled as you made your way away from the crowd, continuing to search for something proper to eat.

After a while you found a hot dog stand and brought three hot dogs for you and your boys. Ash was thankful as you handed him the food and he ate it like it was the last edible thing on earth. The boy must have been starving.

After a successful evening at the fair and Fez keeping his promise of buying you cotton candy, you were glad to be back home. Your feet were aching from all the walking around and you felt sweaty all over your body. You quickly told the boys that you would take a shower and left them behind in the kitchen. After your shower, you welcomed the feeling of fresh clothes and were excited to finally get to sleep. Fez was already laying in bed waiting for you.

"Hey, you good?" He asked you.

"Yeah, just tired. Was a long day and I haven't slept well last night."

"You still dreaming badly? Shit ma, I told you to wake me when you got nightmares again." Fez was worried. He knew Ash killing Mouse took a toll on you, but he didn't know it was that bad. He thought you were fine again, at least that's what you told him.

"Nah babe, it's fine. It's just that your snoring kept me awake." You said, trying to sound serious.

"Snoring? Ma, you out of all people should know that I ain't snoring, so quit the shit."

"Fez, can we please just go to sleep?" He was worried but he also saw that you didn't wanna argue. After knowing you for this long, he could read you like an open book.

" yeah aight. Goodnight ma" He gave you one last kiss and pulled you close.

Soon your eyes went heavy and you fell asleep.

-------

"You sure you hid it good enough?" You asked your boyfriend.

"Yeah ma, no worries." Fez and Custer were gone quite a while to let Mouse's body disappear, that is why the next time you saw Fez again, it was the next day.

"Where'd you hide it?" You asked.

"Shit, I ain't gon' tell you. Ain't bringing you in on this."

"Fez, I'm already in on this. If you go down, I go down too, you know it." You tried to argue.

"Still ain't gon' tell you." With that and a small kiss on your cheek, Fez left you standing alone in the kitchen.

You went to check up on Ash, the boy might didn't show it but the whole thing took a big toll on him.

Softly you knocked on the boy's door.

"Hey Ash? Can I come in?" You softly spoke.

After not hearing anything, you just entered the room. You were worried about him.

As you saw him sitting on his bed, you noticed that something was wrong right away. You heard soft whimpering coming from his direction. You directly went over to him and crouched down in front of him.

"Hey buddy, what's the matter."

Ash looked up to you with glossy eyes and it broke your heart to see him this way, so you quickly engulfed him in a hug while he cried into your shoulder.

"Shhh, it's fine, it's alright, honey. It's good." You tried to get him to calm down.

"I'm worried" He sobbed.

"Worried about what?" You asked as you slowly drew pattern on his back as you often do to Fez when he needed to calm down.

It seemed to work because Ash slowly stopped to cry.

"I ruined your life" the boy sobbed out.

"No you didn't ruin our lif-" Just as you wanted to reassure him that everything was going great, you heard a loud bang coming from the hallway. You felt Ash making a move to grab the shotgun he had laying under his bed, as you stood up to go check out where the noise came from.

Just as you reached the door that leads to the hallway, you were met by a whole squad team.

"Police freeze!" Guns were pointed at you and you couldn't do anything else then put your arms in the air.

"Don't shoot, there's a kid in there. Don't shoot!" You yelled.

The next thing you know, you heard shots ringing.

-------

You shot up in bed, sweat all over you. Another nightmare had stolen your precious sleep.

Slowly you moved out of the bed, trying not to wake up Fez.

You walked into the kitchen, toward the fridge to grab yourself a glass of water, not planning to go back to bed soon.

Suddenly you felt arms sneaking around you from behind and you could smell Fez's cologne.

"Why you're up ma? Thought you was fine?" He quietly said kissing your neck from behind.

"Maybe I'm not fine" you sobbed out, closing your eyes to stop the tears from falling.

"Come on babe" slowly Fez guided you toward the couch in the living room.

"You wanna talk 'bout it?" He asked you.

"No, not really." You weren't ready to tell him yet, sure there were no secrets between the two of you but you would rather just cuddle and enjoy his company for a while.

"Wanna watch a movie?" Fez suddenly asked as if it wasn't middle of the night.

"You serious?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I? Come on, when was I ever not serious huh?" He teased.

"We're in this together ma, we're in this together and if you ain't sleeping, I ain't sleeping either. So movie?"

You nodded and smiled at him as he went to grab the remote that was laying on the coffee table.

"What movie you wanna watch?" He had asked you.

"Ion know, you choose."

You had to stop yourself from grinning to much as he went to put on the movie 'Stand by me'. Back in the day it was you both's absolute favorite movie, it might still be.

Even though you both were tired as fuck, you still stayed awake the whole time to not miss out on anything, which was a surprise because you had the whole movie memorized.

As the end credits rolled on, you and Fez softly sang along while being in each other's embrace. This was all you needed, the little family you loved so deeply, meaning your boyfriend and son. That night you swore to yourself that you would never trade this for anything else.

I really had fun writing this and I hope you enjoyed. Pls leave feedback and requests:)

#fezco euphoria #fezco x reader #ashtray #ashtray x reader #nate jacobs #maddy euphoria #rue bennett #euphoria x reader #euphoria hbo #fezco fanfic #fezco imagine

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lunar-years · 2 years ago

Text

It's a Long Night When You Do it On Your Own

Pairing(s): Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler; in my mind this is background Will/Mike also, but it's so background I've left it very open ended for you to interpret as you'd like!

Rating: T (Mainly for Lonnie reasons- domestic violence, child abuse, homophobia. Lonnie does not physically appear in the story but he haunts the narrative.)

Summary: After Jonathan gets a concerning phone call, he and Nancy take an unexpected trip back to Hawkins to help pick up the pieces.

Written for @jancyweek2022 Day 5: stay with me until i fall asleep/family

A/N: Title is from Maisie Peters' "Take Care of Yourself" which is a beautiful song that so perfectly suits Jonathan and Nancy & this prompt. I highly recommend listening to the acoustic version on youtube!

This was inspired by a post I saw a while ago questioning how much Nancy actually knows about Lonnie in canon. In my opinion...not much. I imagine she learns the full extent very slowly, over a long period of time, and this is sort of an exploration of what that might look like.

It's a bit of a longer one so I recommend reading on Ao3 but you can also read below!

The phone starts ringing again at 8:05, and Nancy audibly groans, her lips still pressed against Jonathan’s even as he starts to pull away from her. “No, don’t answer it babe—” she tries to protest, one hand stretching out after him as he untangles their legs and begins to stand. It’s no use. Jonathan’s never not going to answer that damn phone.

He shrugs at her apologetically but doesn’t allow himself to be pulled back towards the couch, too busy walking away from her to the phone in their kitchen. “Sorry, sorry. It might be my family,” he says as he goes. His usual explanation.

Nancy groans again, purposefully exaggerated, calling after his retreating back, “Tell your brother and sister they really can survive one night without calling you!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grins, “I’ll be sure to remind them.”

“Also tell them that your girlfriend has a very special evening night planned and if you’re not back over here kissing her senseless with your hand up her shirt again in five minutes flat she’s keeping you here all Christmas so you can make up for it!”

Jonathan pauses in the doorway to laugh, shaking his head back at her fondly. “Okay, well I’m definitely not telling them all of that.” But when the phone shrieks out another ring, she’s pleased to see he turns back to it with a new expression of mild regret.

Once he disappears, Nancy slumps back against the sofa to wait, trying very hard not to feel at least a little bitter. This is their first evening alone together all week, and they’ve still barely had a minute to themselves. First it was Max, calling her to ask for advice about starting birth control—which had obviously turned into a long conversation. Then it was her mom, calling to make sure they were still driving home for Thanksgiving next weekend as planned, yes of course Mom, nothing’s changed. After that, Cathy and Elliott, Jonathan’s friends from a photography workshop he took last semester, inviting them over for another game night. No I think we’re just going to stay in tonight, but thank you for the invite!

They’d only just had enough time in between the incessant calls to take the short trip down the street for their favorite Chinese take-out, come back to the apartment to eat it, and finally, finally get around to the fun part of the evening—and now this. God knows who’s calling, but Jonathan’s prediction probably isn’t too far off. It’s been a whole two days since the Byers’ last phone call, so they’re long overdue.

The apartment they share together is extremely small, the rent exorbitantly high, and the walls paper thin. Nancy listens half-heartedly as Jonathan answers the phone. “Hello? Oh, hey bud. Look, I’m a little busy right now—” Will. Nancy applauds Jonathan’s effort, but she also recognizes a lost cause when she hears one. Her five-minute warning is all but meaningless; Jonathan will talk to his brother all night if Will needs him to. She half considers picking up the remote and fighting with their horrible, secondhand television to try and flip to a decent channel, but then Jonathan’s voice grows suddenly sharper. “Whoa—what?! Slow down.”

He sounds panicked.

Nancy sits up straighter on the sofa, pulling her bra strap back up onto her shoulder, running her hand down her skull n a poor attempt to tame her mangled hair, now that Jonathan’s been running his fingers all through it. Thoughts of the television, and her regrets at this call interrupting an evening of sex, are already forgotten. She listens carefully to her boyfriend’s half of the conversation, his words coming out firm, alert. The way they sound when he’s talking Will through a panic attack, or a bad nightmare that turned into a panic attack. But usually those calls come in the middle of the night, not at eight o’clock. Shit.

“Okay…Okay…Where’s Mom?...All right, well can you call her?...Listen to me, just breathe, bud. Breathe. It’ll be all right, yeah? You’ve just got to calm down a bit with me, okay?”

This must be really bad, if Jonathan’s willingly trying to involve Joyce. Nancy shuts her eyes, resting her forehead against her palm. Shit. “Good. That’s good…Look, can you hang up with me and call Mrs. Wheeler and ask her to come over?...Well, you don’t have to tell her any of the details, Will. Just the general overview…Just until Mom gets home, yeah?” Nancy’s head shoots up. Jesus, it must be fucking catastrophic if he’s involving her mother.

Her mind immediately jumps to the worst possible things known to happen in Hawkins, and she has to wonder if someone has died. Has another gate, somehow, impossibly, opened up again? It’s been years. She’d finally thought it was over, once and for all. A still familiar fear grips her chest. Maybe she should be collecting up her guns right now, dusting them off. The thought is so overwhelming it almost makes her feel physically ill, cutting off the air to her lungs so she can’t breathe, like she’s about to have a panic attack of her own. But no, she can’t do that. Jonathan, despite his sometimes insistence otherwise, can only keep one person from falling to pieces at a time.

The rest of the conversation in the kitchen floats over her, short but firm. “Yes, I know, but I’m hours away, bud…You’ve got to call Karen, okay?” Jonathan’s next words are muffled, but they sound a lot like might need a hospital, and Nancy’s fingers nervously start playing with the hem of her sweater just to have something to worry between them. Then he says, “Okay, good. I love you too.”

She hears the click of the receiver and stands up. Then, a beat of silence before Jonathan’s back in the room, his features drawn tight and that strange, distant look in his eyes that Nancy hasn’t seen in a long time. It’s never long enough to forget it, though. The first time she saw that look on Jonathan’s face, they were sixteen, and he was choosing between child-sized coffins at a funeral home. Something is horribly, terribly wrong. “What is it?”

Jonathan just blinks at her, like he’s forgotten she’s even here, in the apartment she lives in. The apartment they share. Nancy’s stomach drops as he says, “I have to go home.”

“What is it?” she repeats, mind still swimming with a number of horrible possibilities, wondering if she’s still got a pack of bullets or if she used them all up last time. “Is it the Upside Down? Is there another gate?”

He just stands there with that faraway look in his eyes, like he didn’t hear her question at all. Nancy walks towards him and reaches out to take his hand, but Jonathan flinches away from her. It’s the first time that’s happened in years, too. She recoils even as he starts immediately apologizing. “Sorry—sorry,” he croaks, “Nothing like that. It’s…um.”

Nancy reaches out again, more slowly, and laces their fingers together. This time, Jonathan lets her. She waits. Then he says, “It’s my dad.”

Well, that explains the flinching, anyway. Nancy tightens her hold on him. If whatever’s going on involves that asshole, it’s practically the same as having to fight another Demogorgon, if not worse. She hasn’t out ruled collecting the guns.

“He found out about Will,” Jonathan says in a rush. Nancy doesn’t need to ask what exactly Lonnie found out about his youngest son. The answer is abundantly clear from the look on Jonathan’s face. Fuck.

“Oh my god, is Will hurt?”

Jonathan shakes his head. “He’s shaken up pretty bad, but—not him. It’s Hopper.”

That’s hardly any better. Personally, she was hoping for no injuries. Or, in a best case, one very catastrophic, even lethal injury, naming Lonnie its sole victim. “What?”

The slicing tone of her voice must cut through to him, because Jonathan seems to come to life then, blinking the strangeness out of his eyes and setting into motion all in a great rush. Nancy has to do a trot to keep up with him as he strides toward their bedroom, already pulling open his drawers and throwing clothes on his bed to pack. “He’s passed out in the driveway.”

“He—? Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

Nancy shakes herself, trying not to think about what Lonnie could have done to take down Jim Hopper. She never exactly envisioned Lonnie to be all that great of a fighter, since his usual opponents of choice always seemed to be his two young sons. But Hopper? That man survived a Russian gulag. So what the fuck happened?

She doesn’t allow herself much time to think about the possibilities, already crossing over to her closet and pulling down a few skirts. She tosses them on the bed beside Jonathan’s clothes.

“What are you doing?”

Nancy pauses in choosing between her jean jacket with the sherpa lining and the jean jacket with little embroidered stars on the elbows to look pointedly at her boyfriend. When have they ever let one another go monster hunting alone? “What do you think I’m doing? I’m coming with you, stupid.”

Jonathan blinks at her again, like she’s a deer in the headlights who came out of nowhere out onto the road. Nancy rolls her eyes and returns to her closet. She decides on the jacket with sherpa. Extra warmth and that.

“You don’t have to do that,” his voice says gruffly to her back. “You’ve got two exams next week, and…”

“Your family’s in trouble, we’re going.”

“I appreciate it, Nance, but—”

It’s only when Nancy spins around to glare at him again that he finally shuts up.

***

They’re 18 miles down the highway before they really talk again. Jonathan’s been practically mute since they packed their suitcase and shoved it ungracefully into the trunk of his car. He is definitely driving over the speed limit, but it’s not too fast to be properly dangerous, so Nancy doesn’t mention it.

His knuckles are bone-white against the steering wheel.

Nancy can’t remember ever being in a car with Jonathan with no music playing, but now they drive for forty-six minutes in complete silence before Nancy simply can’t take it anymore. She leans forward to rifle through the small cassette collection they keep stored in the console. “Can we put a tape on?”

He nods, eyes locked on the road ahead like he’s trying to convince it, through sheer willpower, to speed past them faster. “Sure, whatever you want,” he says dismissively.

Nancy drops the tape in her hand, a Joy Division, and spins to face him. To hell with it.

“I want you to stop blaming yourself for whatever happened happening,” she says determinedly, hoping this will finally be the time her words stick. She’s tried many times before.

Jonathan just blinks. “I’m not—”

“You are.” Softer, she continues, “But this wasn’t your fault.” Most of what you blame yourself for isn’t your fault. “It’s all right that you weren’t there.”

Jonathan takes one hand off the wheel to swipe at his eyes. “Will didn’t sound well on the phone,” is all he says.

Nancy sighs. She puts on the Joy Division.

***

Even after years of dating Jonathan, she knows very little about Lonnie Byers, beyond him generally being a complete and total piece of shit. Most of what she does know are things Jonathan hasn’t even told her, the bits of town gossip once passed around her family’s dinner table like salt. Her mom sighing out what a shame it was that Lonnie Byers would up and leave behind two young children: Isn’t it just awful? Her dad replying, Well what do you expect Karen? The man’s a drunk. Hasn’t made a moral decision in his life. Course, if I was married to Joyce Byers, maybe I’d be a drunk too. Mom shooting daggers at him. Joyce had a black eye at Melvald’s last week, you know. She tried to cover it with makeup, but I could tell. Nancy can’t remember what her father said to that. Probably, Michael, finish your peas.

She watches Jonathan watching the road and wishes she could drum up all the right words to say to him. Somehow, when she’s the one freaking out, about her family, or her future, or the memories that come back to haunt her in middle of the night, he always knows what to say.

The most Jonathan’s ever talked about Lonnie was that very first week, when he confessed to her that he’d been the one to teach him to shoot, and had made him kill that rabbit. That same day, he’d told her Lonnie had once loved Joyce, or he thought so, anyway. Nancy wonders how anyone could go from love to black eyes, to a son who follows up any mention of your name with, he’s an asshole; who refuses, by and large, to refer to you at all.

Once, about a year ago, after she and Jonathan stumbled home from a party neither one of them had really wanted to attend that ended in both of them having way more fun and getting far drunker than intended, Jonathan brought him up. They were eating leftover pizza from the fridge and drinking waters, which they had at least had the wherewithal to determine they needed to switch to before dropping off to bed. It wasn’t the first time Nancy had been that drunk, but it was for Jonathan.

He was at a giggly, silly, perfectly content level of drunkenness, which was Nancy’s favorite stage. After coming up from a bout of seemingly endless giggles, though, things had gotten more contemplative. Jonathan turned to her, the ghost of the laugh of seconds before still written across his face, and admitted, this isn’t how I thought it’d feel, being drunk.

No? What did you think it’d feel like?

I was afraid I’d finally understand him.

Him?

Dad. You know, he would yell all the time, shove us around, maybe, but he wouldn’t start throwing the real punches unless he was sickeningly drunk. I thought maybe I’d have it, too. He’d gestured nonsensically at the air. The anger. There was a short pause in which Jonathan finished the last slice of pizza, shook himself a little. Then he said, Do you want to listen to the Clash?

Even drunk, Nancy had wanted to scream at him that he couldn’t just say something like that and then move on like it was nothing. All she managed to choke out was, Did he do it a lot? Throw the real punches, I mean?

Jonathan waved her off, already shuffling through his records, somehow, impossibly, not tired at all. Don’t worry, Nancy. The important thing, Nance, is that he never got Will.

Four hours into the drive, Nancy makes him pull into a rest stop so they can switch places. At the very least, she’s not going to let him drive to the point of exhaustion.

***

They make it to Hawkins in record time, and are in front of the Byers-Hopper residence by 9:45 the next morning. Jonathan lets them in the side door. No sooner have they entered the living room before El’s in front of them.

“Jonathan!” she cries, flinging her arms around her brother. He drops his bag immediately to pull her into a tight hug. El draws away long enough to repeat the gesture with Nancy.

Nancy loves coming home to the Byers-Hopper clan. The reception she gets here is more enthusiastic than if she were Queen of England. It’s the exact opposite of what she gets coming home to her own parents’ house, where she’s lucky if Mike comes upstairs from the basement long enough to mutter ‘hello’ at her, and her father reluctantly rises from his recliner only to make a judgmental comment about her clothes, or the size of her weekend bags, or the way she’s done her hair. Here, she never feels like she has to pass muster.

When El’s arms leave her, they’re replaced almost immediately by Joyce’s. She’s swatting both her and Jonathan’s shoulders and saying, “You guys should not have driven home for this! Hop is fine, we’re all fine. You have exams!”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Jonathan reassures her, waving a hand dismissively at her fretting gestures, “we wanted to come.” He’s already looking over her shoulder at the couch, where Nancy can see the slouched form of Jim Hopper. She can’t deny that she’s relieved to find him in one piece, looking mostly unscathed but for a jagged cut splitting his right eyebrow, deep enough to warrant a row of neatly spaced, purple-threaded stitches. El’s returned to her spot beside her father, hand woven immediately back into his. Will, Nancy notes, isn’t in the room at all.

“What the hell happened?” Jonathan asks, stepping towards Hop. Nancy notices that both of his hands are shaking, now that they no longer have the steering wheel to cling to. She reaches forward to cup one of his palms between both of her own.

Normally, Hopper would probably make some sarcastic remark here. Nancy can practically hear it. But he must see the same franticness Nancy does in Jonathan’s eyes, because he’s quick to reassure. “Just a scratch, kid, just a scratch. Nothing to drive across state lines for, Jesus. I’m not worth all that.”

Jonathan crosses his arms, bending over to more closely examine Jim’s cut. “That’s a dozen stitches at least,” he observes dryly. “Near your eye.”

Hopper shrugs, “Better near than on. Could’ve been worse. Your old man’s got a decent throw.”

“Will said you passed out.”

“My own fault. I broke the golden rule of policing: never turn away from an armed assailant. Thought I’d finally convinced that fucker to go away; beer bottle caught me when my back was turned. Went down from the shock more than anything. And Will exaggerated. I was only passed out for a minute.” He shrugs, like the whole event was no big deal. Like he’s willing them to believe this is not a big deal.

Nancy can tell Jonathan clocks it immediately from the way that his shoulders dip. Her boyfriend is well adept himself at trying to minimize the concern of others. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

Only then does Hopper’s voice rise. He tries to stand too, but Joyce pushes him back down. “Now listen. I neverwant you to apologize for that man, you hear me?”

Jonathan’s breathing is heavy. He doesn’t answer, but instead turns to his mother to ask, “How’s Will?”

Now that she’s got over the initial shock of seeing them, Joyce’s face is drawn. Nancy wonders if they’ve been up all night, sitting in this living room looking at each other. Maybe wondering if Lonnie would dare come back for another round. She sounds utterly exhausted when she says, “In his room. Resting.”

They do nothing but stare at each other for a long beat, having some silent conversation mother to son. Then Joyce continues, “I’m sure you both are exhausted. You didn’t drive through the night, did you?” It’s obvious that that’s what they’ve done, to get here this early. “Bed, both of you. El sweetheart, maybe you should go up too, none of us slept much last night, did we? Then, tonight we’ll all—well, we’ll all catch up!” It’s too forcibly cheerful for the situation. Nancy doesn’t miss how Joyce’s smile is pinched at the corners.

Jonathan opens his mouth like he wants to say something more to her, but then he just shuts it again, moving to collect their bags and lead Nancy up the stairwell.

Joyce and Hopper have a new house, now. Still on the outskirts of the town, by the woods, but bigger than the Byer’s old home and Hopper and El’s cabin, put together. They have a room set up for Jonathan, even though he hasn’t stayed in it for more than a few nights since their first summer of college. Jonathan drops their bags in the room, then turns to her. “I’m going to go check on Will,” he tells her softly. Nancy nods, and watches his retreating back as he disappears down the hall. She know he won’t sleep until he’s seen Will for himself, verified he’s still alive and breathing.

She waits up for him, laying on her usual side of the bed between unfamiliar sheets and staring at the window, a bright square of light that can’t quite be dimmed by the thin curtains. She can see through them right into the backyard, which is settling in beneath the morning sun. The light drapes the grey room with a yellowness that seems almost eerie, considering how much it feels like midnight, in every sense but the time on the clock.

He’s gone for at least an hour before finally he crawls in beside her. Nancy feels warmer immediately, even before she’s pressed herself against him, before Jonathan’s arms lace around her, pulling her in flush to his chest. She breathes in the scent of his shampoo—some 2-in-1 coconut thing that’s the cheapest option at their corner drugstore. It smells like home. For some reason she feels a little bit like crying. “How is he?” she whispers to the half-darkness.

Jonathan nestles into her neck, speaking mostly into her hair as he says, “He thinks it’s his fault.”

Hmm, who does that remind you of? she thinks. But Nancy doesn’t say it. She pulls his hand to her chest and laces their fingers together. Squeezes once, twice, as many times as it takes until Jonathan squeezes back.

“He’ll be okay,” she says softly, “He’s got a good support system.”

He says nothing back for so long she thinks he might have fallen asleep, but then Nancy feels him start to shake. It’s a jerky, rigid movement, like he’s trying hard to suppress it. She feels a dampness at the nape of her neck, and it’s so foreign coming from him that it takes her a moment to realize what’s happening. Jonathan’s crying.

“Oh babe.” She lets him go long enough to turn herself around so she’s back against her pillow before pulling his head down to her chest. He wraps his arms around her waist like she’s a lifeline, and then she strokes his hair and lets him cry harder.

Now that he’s started, he doesn’t seem to be able to stop. It’s no matter, Nancy has the time. She holds him closer, whispering nonsensical words she hopes are at least a little soothing. Jonathan has done this countless times for her before, wrapped her tight and let her cry out her sorrows, and Nancy has returned the favor in a million small ways. But she’s never borne witness to Jonathan weeping, in all the years she’s known and loved him. He’s never let her.

They lie there just like that until Jonathan has run out of tears. Then he whispers, voice hoarse, “We’re never going to escape him,” in such a lost, devastated tone that it snaps Nancy’s heart straight in two.

She runs a gentle finger along the curve of his ear. It doesn’t take a genius to work out who he means, but Nancy asks anyway. “Lonnie?”

He nods against her. “Someone saw them kissing behind the school. Then all of a sudden, our dad knows. Lonnie’s still got friends here. After everything he did…”

His voice breaks, so Nancy finishes for him. “It’s disgusting. They’re all disgusting, all the people that defend him even after what he did to you—”

“To my mom and Will,” Jonathan corrects. He doesn’t even sound angry, just…defeated.

But it’s okay, because Nancy can have enough anger for the both of them. “To you,” she repeats, leaving no room for argument, “and to them. Both. You don’t have to give me the details—ever, if you don’t want to—but I know he hurt you, too.” She strokes his hair again until Jonathan shudders, then finally relaxes. He doesn’t try and argue with her this time.

After a while, he drifts off to sleep against her, probably out of pure exhaustion. Nancy knows she needs to sleep too. They’ve been awake an unbearably long amount of time; surely, her body will give out soon. But at the moment, her mind refuses to stop reeling from how much she would like to kill Lonnie Byers with her bare hands for what he did to this boy, her favorite person in the world, and his family (which happens to be her favorite too).

She lays awake for some time afterward, thinking of Joyce patting her cheek in greeting, of the cheerful, happy beam that’s been a near-permanent feature on Will’s face in the past year or so, ever since allowing himself to live as his truest self. She hates that his own dad could take that away, that anyone could want to hurt any of the people under this roof. The devastation of it burns inside of her until at long last, sleep pulls her under.

***

When she wakes, it’s to empty sheets and the sound of quiet humming coming from downstairs. Nancy gets herself up and pulls open their bags, quickly changing into clean sweatpants and one of Jonathan’s sweaters from the top of their clothes pile. Then she pads her way through the hallways and down the stairs, to see how she can help.

It’s only El in the kitchen, stirring something on the stovetop and bopping her head to rhythm of the song she’s humming, Nancy vaguely recognizes it as something Madonna. “Hey,” she says in greeting, and El jumps about a foot into the air, nearly dropping the spoon.

“Oh! Hi, Nancy.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

El shoots her a conspiratorial smile, “I’ve been scared by much worse.” She’s grown a lot in the last year, even more since the last time Nancy’s seen her. El’s as tall as Nancy now, and healthier than she’s ever been, now that she only gets to use her powers for such mundane things as picking up the spoons she drops and turning on fans without the switch. She’s happier, too.

“Where are the others?” Nancy asks, leaning against the counter and watching as El once again begins to stir.

El frowns. “Well, Jonathan and I started the garlic bread, but then I remembered we didn’t actually have bread, so Joyce went out to get some! Will went to pick up Mike.”

Nancy sighs. She was kind of hoping none of her family would learn she’s in town, so she wouldn’t have to cram in time to see them all. But it’s Mike, so of course she should have expected it. It will probably be easy to convince him to keep the info from their parents, at leats but it’ll be harder sell to get him to not tell Holly.

“Oh,” El continues, “And Dad and Jonathan went outside to talk. I do not think they wanted me there.” She dips her head in gesture towards the small window above the kitchen sink, and Nancy shuffles close enough to look out.

Sure enough, Hopper and Jonathan are sitting on the steps of the back porch. Hopper’s got an arm reached out, a hand tousling Jonathan’s shoulder, so it must be going well enough. That’s good. Nancy doesn’t want to admit it, but she’d been a little worried how that would shape out. Jonathan’s relationship with Hopper, even though it’s been years since he and Joyce got together, is still somewhat tentative.

It's nothing Hopper’s done, it’s just…who her boyfriend is. He doesn’t let anyone in easily, but once you’re in, you’re in. She watches as Jonathan laughs at something and shakes his head at Hop. On the drive here, he had been worried about Will, yes, But Nancy knows he’d been worried about Hopper, too. She turns back to El. “What can I do to help?”

“Set the table?” El says, “Oh, and can you pass me the parsley?”

They work alongside each other preparing the dinner in companionable silence. Then out of nowhere, El says “I’m sorry you had to drive here.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth in the anxious way she does sometimes. “Joyce and I were at the movies. If I had been here, I would have handled it. Then Dad wouldn’t have gotten hurt, and Will wouldn’t have panicked, and Jonathan wouldn’t have had to worry.”

God, was it every member of this family who blamed themselves, even in situations where every indicator pointed very clearly towards a single man at blame? She sets down the last napkin and moves back into the kitchen so she can look at El directly. “Jonathan worries no matter what, I assure you.” She offers a small smile and waits for the younger girl to return it.

“Too much, Dad says,” El eventually sighs. “Joyce, too.”

Nancy frowns. “They’re right. But there’s no changing him. And anyway, I love him for it.” She did. It was one of the things that had endeared her to Jonathan even before they’d officially become friends. His love for his family was the axis on which his entire world spun.

“I think it’s good that I wasn’t here, probably,” El adds, turning back to the pasta now boiling on the stove. Nancy raises an eyebrow at her. “Dad says I’m not allowed to kill people anymore.”

She says this so plainly that Nancy immediately bursts into laughter, which sets El to laughing, too. “It’s true! He told me this morning we’re just supposed to press charges against him for battery and assault, and maybe get a restraining order, like we’re normal people.”

This makes Nancy laugh even harder. “I thought about killing him last night,” she admits, “with one my guns.”

The grin she receives back is one entirely of approval.

They’re interrupted by Joyce returning with a loaf of bread and soon after by Will and Mike, the latter of whom greets her with a wave and no smile.

Nancy looks her little brother up and down. He looks very stressed out, bouncing on the balls of feet like he’s wasting time by just standing still, and he keeps shooting Will extremely unsubtle looks of concern, like he’s afraid the other boy will fall over at any minute.

The Byers and the Wheelers. What would they do without one another?

She moves forward to wrap him in a tight hug, and for once, Mike doesn’t even groan out a complaint.

***

Dinner is wonderful. Nobody talks about the gaping elephant in the room, which is the reason they are all here together in the first place. Instead, Hopper jokes with Mike and El tells her and Jonathan about an art project she’s working on in school. By the end, even Will, who was unusually quiet for most of the meal, even by his standards, has somewhat relaxed.

It feels like all meals with the Byers-Hopper family feel: warm. Nancy asks Will and Mike for updates on their college applications and Joyce if she’ll give her the incredible garlic bread recipe. She goes back for seconds of pasta, because even though she and Jonathan do a decent job of keeping themselves well-fed, their own meals never quite taste this good.

At some point, beneath the table, Jonathan’s foot loops around one of her own so their ankles are touching. It’s lovely.

When Joyce and Hopper retire early for the night, she and Jonathan stay up with the others and put on a film. It’s some horror thing Will and Mike are into, and Nancy ends up falling asleep on Jonathan’s shoulder thirty minutes in. She’s promptly shaken awake and ushered up to bed as soon as the credits start to roll.

The kids stay behind, still high on the adrenaline of everything that’s happened in the last forty-eight hours, but Will promises he’ll drive Mike home when the time comes and neither she nor Jonathan bother to try and figure out if that’s true or not. She can’t wait to be under the blankets and snuggled up against him again.

“Hey,” Jonathan whispers to her, lying, face to face this time, against their pillows.

“Hey.” After the chaos of the day, she soaks in this moment of just him. It’s the quiet, stolen seconds between them that keep her sane. It’s been like that for more than five years. God, is she lucky.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he says.

She would follow him anywhere, she thinks. To the moon, if he asked it of her. This is a much quicker turnaround. They’ll have to make the drive back on Monday in order to give Nancy at least a day to prepare properly for Wednesday’s exam. Thankfully, Nancy Wheeler prepares ahead; She’d started studying a week ago, so it will probably be okay. If not, well, this was more important anyway. “Family comes first,” she tells him. The ‘our,’ she hopes, is implied. Somewhere along the way, she’s stop distinguishing between his family and hers. He reaches a hand out to trace a finger along her eyebrow.

“Will seemed a bit better after we ate,” she says, thinking about the grin on his face when he’d held up his movie choice. He’d been solemn during dinner, but then he’d started to come back to himself talking with El and Mike.

Nancy’s come to know Will well, and she knows the similarities between the Byers brothers run deep. They both just get so…stuck in their own heads. It takes time, and persistence, and people around them they trust, to bring them back again.

“I’m not sure we can claim much of the credit for that.”

She thinks about the scene they’d left downstairs—all three of them laughing as Mike reenacted some ridiculous, gory death scene from the movie, and has to agree. “Maybe. But he only let them help after you helped him first, when you talked to him this morning.”

“You have too much confidence in me,” Jonathan says, but he does quirk a smile. “You don’t even know what I said.”

“Ah, but I’ve had my share of Jonathan Byers’ pep talks, so I know it was good.”

He cups the back of her head and pulls her in close enough to kiss her forehead.

***

The rest of the visit goes about as well as can be expected. El arranges a board game tournament and Joyce makes them all hot cocoas, which they sip gratefully as they play. Mike comes over again for this event, too, which is nice. Nancy doesn’t get the chance to come home very often, and no matter how much she loves the city and the small, happy life she’s building there with Jonathan, it’s the afternoons like these she misses most.

Hopper spends the second morning and afternoon at the police station, and that’s when Jonathan is most on edge. After she loses an infuriating round of scrabble to Mike, Nancy finds him sitting on thee pebbled steps leading up to the front door, eyes on the quiet street. She plops down next to him, takes his hand, and rests her head on his shoulder, just to cover all her bases.

He quirks a brow at her in feigned shock, “Wait, you lost?”

“Only because Mike’s memorized all the ‘q’ words,” Nancy tells him bitterly. Qaid is going to haunt her a few days, at least. “What are you doing out here?”

“Thinking.”

Nancy frowns, waiting for him to elaborate. He always tells her, eventually.

Sure enough it come minutes later. “I almost took the car this morning,” he confesses. “Before everyone woke up. I was going to drive to Indianapolis.”

Nancy stills. She doesn’t know exactly how that would have ended, but she can’t imagine it would have been anything good. “Jonathan….”

“I know, I know. I didn’t do it, did I?”

“Good. One, I care about bringing you home in one piece, you know. Two, if you do anything that reckless, you bring me along. That’s the deal.”

Jonathan shakes his head. “He usually runs out of steam after the first few hits.”

Her skin crawls with the implications of that statement. She squeezes his hand tighter. A breeze carries the leaves further across the path of the lawn.

She’s surprised when he continues, quiet and steady: “There was this one time, when Will was maybe…six? Mom was at work, and Dad was at the bar. One of his buddies had a kid in Will’s grade, a girl. So he was bragging to my dad all about her, the sports she was trying out for, the hikes they’d gone on, that sort of thing. You know Will…he was never like that.

Well, this guy must’ve said something to Dad, something like, ‘see that, Lonnie, I think they’ve switched it. I got the son and you got the daughter,' because Dad came home in a rage.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Completely wasted, you know…yelling for Will, calling him names. So I told Will to go hide and then I tried to go calm him down….”

Jonathan trails off, but it doesn’t take much to piece together what must’ve happened next. If Will was six, that puts Jonathan at all of nine or ten. Nancy can picture it: skinny, quiet, little Jonathan, standing between his father’s rage and his brother’s hideout.

“That’s the night I decided I hated him.” He gives a hollow, dull sort of laugh. “And look, all these years and he’s never given me a reason to stop.”

Nancy follows his line of sight down the street. Not a car has passed through since she came out here. “You don’t think he’d come back?” She asks tentatively.

Jonathan shakes his head.

She thinks of the person who saw the boys kissing in the schoolyard, who must’ve reported it to their own father, who then reported it to Lonnie. “And he wouldn’t…you know, tell?”

Nancy reads the newspapers, and she’s seen the headlines. Missing men, murdered men. She remembers, all too well, what everyone was saying when Will disappeared; all the rumors that swirled about what had most likely happened to him, and the jeering, unsurprised way the people in this town discussed it, like it was good riddance. Like a twelve year old boy could ever deserve something like that, just because of who he was. Even the memory of it is enough to bring a rush of bile to her mouth. The possibilities are always there, and the fear. She knows that it haunts Jonathan, too.

Another shake. “Nah. He thinks it’s his own personal shame, having a gay son. That’s probably why he showed up here in the first place, to make one last try at beating it out of him.” He sighs. “If Hopper hadn’t been here….”

“But he was,” Nancy reminds him. She will remind him of that no matter how many times it takes to sink in, do everything in her power to stop this impending spiral before it begins. “It’s not all on you anymore, Jonathan. Or even you and your mom. It’s all of us in it together, now.” She pats his knee and makes to stand. “Now come on, Will said we’re doing Pictionary next and I’ve still got time to convince him he should be on my team.”

"Wait...no way! Will's always with me."

***

The next morning, they sit in the driveway with their bags in the back for a good long moment before Jonathan starts up the car. Nancy starts to reassure him they’ll be back in a week, but then Will and El both come jogging out, racing to the car. Jonathan puts the car back in park as Will taps on the window.

When they roll it down, he says in rush, “Mom said to remind you you’re in charge of pies for Thanksgiving. One apple and one pumpkin—”

“No,” El huffs, “One apple and one pecan.”

“El, you’re the only one who likes pecan, it’s gross. We’re not having pecan.”

They argue back and forth for a minute until Jonathan interrupts. “Guys. Guys!” Two heads snap to attention. “If I’m making them, I’m choosing.”

“So apple and pumpkin,” says Will victoriously.

“Maybe I like pecan now.” His tone is elusive enough for Will’s face to fall. El smirks. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” they both say. Jonathan waits.

“Mom also says call when you get there. What else?”

“Don’t worry too much.”

“Oh yeah. Don’t worry too much.” Will shoots them a final grin, then they’re both running back up the drive.

Jonathan rolls the window back up and lets out a breath. Relief, Nancy thinks. They'll be okay. Then he turns to her and smile. “Home?”

“Yes. Let’s go home.”

This time, they play music the entire way there.

#jancyweek2022 #Jonathan Byers #Nancy Wheeler #jancy #Jonathan x Nancy #otp: monster hunting #my fanfics #this feels kind of incomplete but im calling it 'not all fanfics have to be the best thing you've ever written katie' and clicking post #stranger things

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calibri-crossies · 3 years ago

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Call me when you need.

(Sinclair sister (adopted:)

Oh God, the day couldn't get any worse. You had finished your chores early, just not washing the dishes because the sink was a trouble. You talked to Bo about it, but he was too busy patching something in his damn truck to hear you. Imagining that you could talk to him about it later then you spent the rest of the afternoon at home taking care of your own hobbies and now you was reading in your bedroom. When you heard the heavy footsteps of the twins' boots come into the house, you could see they seemed to be arguing,again.Well, you could hear Bo yelling and complaining to Vincent about something, and you could also clearly hear the angry grunts of the twins. masked brother imagining that he probably waved his hands frantically to answer his brother.

Then you heard a last grunt from Vincent before he slammed the basement's door and locked it right in Bo's face. This was not good, Bo was pissed, and would probably take his anger out on the most vulnerable member there, that was, you, you already predicted that he would probably look at the sink and see the mess that was there, just one more reason to him yell in your ear all night long. Oh God, you liked Bo and Vincent a lot, but damn,everything had limits, and you didn't have the head to hear the older one yell at you while you tried to explain already hoping he wouldn't let you talk right while he spit more shit on you.

The worst days in Ambrose were when the siblings argued, as you felt smothered by the tension between these two, and you could find yourself in the twins' crossfire every time you tried to walk around the house or in the same spot where both of them had to be. You could already hear Bo screaming your name from downstairs, and your blood froze instantly, you also could already see his sadistic smile ready to stab you with words if he could.

You only salvation wasn't there in the house, Lester. He's been busy all week and was probably taking the weekend off to rest at his house right away from Ambrose's shit, but you still needed his help now, he knew what Bo was like.Rough with you when he couldn't take all his anger out on Vincent as the masked man decided to lock himself in the basement where he would be his only place of peace. You took out your cell phone and sent two messages to your contact who you affectionately called "🦝Racoon man🦝".

"Sorry to bother you now bro." You started. "The twins argued, what do I do now? To keep me alive?" By explaining the whole situation of the day you situated Lester on where your ass was.

The answer soon arrived, it was as if he was already waiting for you to send something. "Shit, kinda hard day, wait for me to get there, I'll get you."

"I think it's gonna be hard for me to be in one piece by then..." You answer a little warily when you hear Bo yell from the other side of the door you've locked.

"OPEN THE DAMN DOOR Y/N!!!" You continue with the message "Oh, I know, I'm going to jump out the window!!"

"Wait!! Y/n, don't do it, No!!" You didn't even see Lester's pleading messages as you opened the window. But before you jumped you left a message of your explanation for Bo in your bedroom notebook, you knew that eventually that door would open and you didn't want it to be there when that happened.

You tied your bed sheet to serve as a rope and then jumped out of your room, and luckily, or perhaps unlucky because of the stench, your fall was cushioned by the trash drum on that side of the house. You quickly got up and ran off already hearing Bo screaming and wondering what the fuck that noise had been.

"Haha, I just jumped out of the window!!" You again answered Lester, and only now realized that he had sent 50 messages asking for you and another 50 begging you to still be alive. You didn't know what you were most impressed with, the amount of messages, or the short time it took him to send them all. "Holy shit sweetie want me to have a heart attack?" He answered and you laughed, but I knew Bo was already behind you, so I didn't want to extend the conversation. "I'm fine, relax." You assure it. "Meet me at the pet store, if I tried to hide in the wax museum it would be too obvious." You send the message, and he replies right away. "I'm already on the road." He answers. "Stay alive!! And don't try to jump anywhere!!" You cover your mouth to keep from laughing. "Can't promise the first one." You add "I think you better stop texting, I don't want you to lose concentration on the road."

On the other cell, Lester smiles with his message of concern, you always advised him to pay more attention to traffic as this could cause accidents or pedestrians.

"Pff, Y/n, dealing with roadkill is my job!" He says fun, the time you two were heading into town to get supplies.

"Wouldn't be nice if you were part of the roadkill you know?" You say with an pouty face.

"Now please put that knife away and keep an eye on the track!!" You tell him after he shows you the new knife he got since the other knife's blade went dull.

"Sure ma'am." He says in a playful tone which only made you laugh and shake your head.

It's been a few minutes, and you saw both Bo and Vincent walk back and forth behind you. You saw them going back and forth in the wax house they seemed to have already looked for you in all the places you used to go to clean .You saw how united they looked again, it seemed like hunting your scared ass really motivated them to work as a team and act like good brothers.

You laughed, didn't know if it was the situation or if it was panic, and you prayed they didn't have the idea to investigate the pet store. When you saw them go somewhere else and walk away. one last look through the dark shop window to see where the brothers had gone, and, to your dismay, just as you got distracted looking for Lester's truck, one landed on the glass and made you flinch back.

You looked up, and saw Vincent staring at you, he emanated a menacing aura, you felt like one of his victims when you realized there was no way out. Oh God, what if you really were his next victim? You weren't a bloody Sinclair,was only "accepted" after being rescued by Lester who found you on the roadside badly hurt.

Vincent tapped his finger on the glass, like he was asking you to leave and he wouldn't hurt you, but no fucking way you would fall for it. You knew Vincent could be kind and gentle with you, but you also knew he was just as unpredictable and manipulative, if he wanted to, as Bo.Who guarantees that Bo himself wouldn't be around there just waiting for Vincent to get you to come out of your hiding place to give you to him?

You however soon saw lights from the headlights of Lester's old truck at the end of the street, and it seemed that all the air that was stuck in your throat came out and almost took your something out of your body. Once Lester parked and got out of the car he walked in front of the Pet Shop, he greeted his brother, and then called his name, saying that everything was fine. You got out and grabbed Lester's body and you didn't even notice when you got out so fast you were. He hugged you back and ran his hand through your hair calming you down saying it was okay and that no one would hurt you, not while he was with you.

"What the fuck is going on? Y/n! Where the fuck were you? Were you trying to get away??" Bo came up to yell at you and Lester, and you more scared now tightened your arms around the younger Sinclair. Bo realizes you were about to cry, so he softens his posture a little. Lester rubs your shoulders trying to comfort you as he looks angrily at his brothers.

"Get in the truck, I'll talk to them real quick." He talks low in your ear and you nods, then without even looking at the twins you get into the truck and keep your head down while he talks to his brothers.

You couldn't quite hear the argument that was mainly between Lester and Bo, but it looked like Lester had explained about the previous event, and was trying to solve this for you.Annoyed Bo seemed to have pointed to his escape attempt and how much it could compromise them. Lester snorts, and before he turns his heel towards the truck he says to his brothers loud and clear. "I won't let you take your anger out on each other on Y/n like she's a punching bag." He continues "If you guys don't know how to resolve youselves without having to put her in the middle of this madness then I'll take care of it and getting her out of here myself!!"He says seriously.

"Either you learn to settle down like two normal adults, or she'll move in with me!" He finished, his last sentence leaving Bo with a vein throbbing in his forehead as Vincent stared at his brother's truck where you were. The two of them could be very angry at both each other and themselves for feeling like two idiots who had been scolded by their younger brother. And they didn't want you to leave. They didn't want to admit it, but your presence somehow brought a lightness and joy to them that they didn't want to give you up. They've already become attached to you.

Lester opened the driver's door and got in. After starting the car he drove still directing his frown to his brothers. You felt a greater relief after that, after Lester was taking you out of town. You got used to living in Ambrose, but you had to admit it always gave you a sense of freedom every time you went out with Lester somewhere in another city.

A few minutes passed, the silence was comfortable, but Lester decided to break that as he hated to be silent for too long.

"It made me worried when you said jumped out of the window." He says. "Did you get hurt a lot?"

"Nah, the garbage broke my fall, I only took a light bump on my thigh when I fell, but it's nothing serious!!" You reaffirm.

"You can only be crazy." He says, laughing a little to relax.

"Hey, remember the broken fan belt song?" Your question makes Lester look at you with a puzzled face. "Uh...yeah? But what does it have to be–"

"Immmmmmm broken the femur! I broke the femur, immmmmmmmm broke the femur, the daammn femur broke!!" You sang it in rhythm to the broken fan belt song. Lester looked at you with wide eyes, and he couldn't resist it, you both burst out laughing.

"Wha'the hell Y/n??" He rubs his eyes from the tears of laughter, you rub the back of your neck awkwardly, but still laughing at your dumb version of a dumb song. The two of you continue your journey, with Lester singing with you his new version of the song, he had to admit, he liked your version better.

#slasher fandom #slashers #house of wax #the sinclair brothers #the sinclairs #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #sinclair sister au #scenario

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rae-gar-targaryen · 4 years ago

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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.

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

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