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marvel-m-lee · 3 years ago

Note

Here's a prompt: Camilo was tickled very often by Pepa and Felix but as he grew up he thought it was embarrassing (teenagers... deep down he still liked) so as teen he refused to admit he was even ticklish until his parents decides to give him a sweet tickle attack. sorry about my english :/

Are you t!cklish? No- that's childish-

Words:4472

Fandom: encanto

Summary: *prompt* Camilo thinks being t!cklish is childish and enjoying it it even wirse- his parents show him otherwise though...

Warnings: angst-t!ckling, the tword has also been banned so I censor it now x

A/N: HELLO. I've been sick all day with a headache and this was the only thing keeping me going- I wrote another one like this too but with Mira and Bruno, so hmu if yall wanna see it??

Also this is MUCH longer than expected- like way longer- but I love it so much 🥲

Also your English is great! I don't believe you mare any mistakes in the prompt! <33 hopefully you emjoy this or its at least similar to the idea haha :D

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It was a normal day in the Encanto, Camilo was going round, making everyone smile, laugh, and teasing his family, winding his siblings and cousins up the wall as per usual.

Everything was great... until just around tea time.

Camilo was the playful cousin. That was it. He was followed up by Mirabel and recently Isabela in his antics, no matter how childish or silly they seem, as long as they made his family and village happy and brought a smile to someone's face, he didn't care. Though there was one thing Camilo tried to stay away from-

T!ckling.

Why you may be asking? Well, when Camilo was younger, he would love the activity; it wouldn't be rare to hear a squealing Camilo somewhere in the house. He would usually go round and cause mischief, earning him the said t!ckles, and go round in that circle. Many of the adults had realized the boy enjoyed the activity so they would find any way to get him, give it a ball left outside or a sock on the floor, they would give the boy any reason to be wrecked into a giggly puddle on the floor.

Camilo would love every bit of it. Then his tio Bruno left... After that, he was still t!ckled sure, but it became rare enough that by the age of 10 and his younger brother Antonio being born, he never received any t!ckles, unless it was from his elder sister or Isabela- even so, it would only be a poke to the side at most.

By the age of 15 though, Camilo still seemed to enjoy the activity. Some days he'd just wake up, craving t!ckles for no exact reason other than waking up! It's like this secret joy taunted him because deep down, he also thought everyone had stopped because it was childish. If they knew he enjoyed it, why would they stop? He could never think of any other reason other than how everyone must have looked down upon him or how it was childish and embarrassing.

So he buried it deep inside him, whenever the activity arose he would always try to stay away or avoid it somehow, and if the dreaded question ever came up he would shrug and say no, then leave, not being able to stand a minute more in case he would be looked down upon again.

He wanted to make people smile. Not think he was a little kid.

It all came tumbling down right before dinner. Camilo was walking to his room after coming back from the town. He'd seen some kids a bit younger than him running around and chasing each other, then tag teaming and t!ckling one of them to the ground. That scene sent Camilo into a whole other mood and he needed to calm down in his room.

On the way, though, he bumped into his tio Bruno and Mirabel. The two were chatting about something and Camilo was so focused up in his mind that they all walked into each other.

"Woah, hey Camilo!" Mirabel said, smiling at her primo who seemed to be in a weird daze after the bump.

"h-hey? Hey Mirabel, Hey Tio Bruno" The chameleon didn't make eye contact but he still said hello, trying to not act suspicious or too weird, even though he couldn't help it.

"You okay Camilo?" Bruno asked, realising the boy seemed to be a little out of it. Camilo shook his head, as though trying to rid the thoughts that threatened his mind.

"hmm? Yeah- no, yeah. You okay Bruno?"

Bruno tilted his head a little, both he and Mirabel sensing something was up but not wanting to upset him further. "Yeah... if anythings wrong, you can talk to us" Bruno explained, smiling a little at his nephew. Mirabel nodded agreeing with Bruno.

Camilo still made no attempt at eye contact, knowing his face would flush the minute he did. He just nodded and rubbed his neck awkwardly. "Yep... Thanks Tio, Thanks Prima- can i- Can I just get through please?" Camilo asked, jestering to his room.

Bruno turned around to see where Camilo had pointed, "Oh! yeah! sorry Camilo, here" Bruno span back around and turned slightly so the boy could walk between Mirabel and he.

"Thahanks- AH" Camilo couldn't help but laugh nervously as he walked through, then feeling a poke at his side from his prima to get a smile on his face. Camilo jumped back and blushed, covering his mouth from the yell he'd given out.

"Uh...? Are you okay Camilo?" Bruno asked, looking at the boy who was horrific looking at a grinning Mirabel. Camilo quickly shook his head between the two, then avoided looking at them all together and tried to compose himself, shaking his head.

"Uh- Yeah! Yeah, Its fine-"

"T!cklish~" Mirabel wiggled some finger at him, making him roll his eyes and try to hide a whine as he began to hate the situation.

"noho- no." Camilo couldn't help the quick response or the nervous giggle within it.

Bruno looked surprisingly between the two and smiled at his nephew, quickly remembering how when he was younger he would love the activity. "Oh yeah, like when you were younger and loved it! Are you still that t!cklish?" Bruno asked, not meaning to fluster the boy any more than he already was. Camilo looked away once more covering his face with a hand as he pretended to look annoyed- though he secretly was hiding his blushing red face.

"Ugh- No. Im not- its so babish" Camilo groaned.

"T!cklings not babish! Tio Bruno's 50 and look" Mirabel begin to poke Bruno's sides and he jumped back, giggling and laughing, gently swatting his neices hand.

"Nohoht right nohow Mirahabel!" Mirabel stopped with a smirk but still turned to Camilo.

"It's okay to be t!cklish primo" she encouraged, trying to make the boy feel better, though the whole topic was sending him to hell.

"Y-yeah- I know- obviously it's fine. I'm just not-"

"Not what exactly?" Camilo jumped out of his skin when he saw his mother walking out of her and his father's room, Dolores too surprisingly.

"I- uh- nothing mami" Camilo had accidently made eye contact with his parents, showing his blushing and embarrassed face.

"Camilo's said he isn't t!cklish" Dolores explained, oh how quickly he cursed her gift once more.

"No- well- yeah- I'm not. It's dumb- I just wanna go to my room please?" Camilo stuttered and whined, looking over to his room.

Why was this becoming such a big thing? Why couldn't he just go to his room and calm down? Why did he have to be like this?

"It's not dumb hijo, its perfectly normal" Felix explained, wanting to reassure his teenage son.

"Yeah, anyway Camilo, you used to love it when you were younger" Pepa explained, quickly remembering her son who loved t!ckles.

Camilo grunted, why did they all suddenly care now? Why remember now? He had mixed feelings about the whole ordeal.

"Yeah- and that was like almost a decade ago. I've grown up since then, matured-"

"Pfft" Dolores couldn't hold back her snicker, she walked over and began poking her brothers side, knowing fully well he was still just as t!cklish as he was ten years ago.

"Hehey!" Camilo jumped back, his face blushed as he almost bumped into Bruno again.

"L-leave off- I'm not t!cklish!" Camilo slightly yelled, feeling embarrassed- yet something within him seemed happy? Excited almost?

"You're not t!cklish?" Pepa asked, raising an eyebrow at her son as Dolores let off with a sweet smile, knowing exactly what would go down now.

Camilo was a mischievous kid. He was cheeky, playful, dramatic; and where did he get this? His parents.

Pepa and Felix were both pretty playful people, even when they were younger they would be the out going ones! It wasn't a surprise one of their kids would take their playful and teasing traits.

Camilo trued to hold back his nervous giggles and blushing face, groaning at the whole situation.

When he was younger, his parents were ruthless. He loved it, but right now he just wanted to yell or hide or anything so he didn't have to feel so trapped and flustered. It was so dumb. He hated how he wanted to run, yet also hated how his mind seemed to slowly be travelling to cloud 9. Why why why!?

"Camilo, you used to love being t!ckled! What changed?" Felix asked, slightly teasing the boy as he wiggled a finger at him. Camilo ran a hand through his hair and groaned, trying to seem confident but failing as his voice cracked.

"N-nothing- I grew up and now I just- I just wanna get to my room! So please, please move?" Oh yes. Very confident. Zero eye contact, voice breaking, asking rather than demanding, MANNERS.

"Nothing changed?" Bruno asked, rather blunt as he smiled at his nephew.

Camilo span around, surprisingly close to his uncle as Dplores had made him almost fall onto him previously.

"What?! I- no- I- oh come on! I'm 15, this is so childish and stupid-"

"Camilo, are you embarrassed by t!ckling?" Bruno asked, interrupting his rambling and luckily making him stop before he blurted something he didn't want to.

Camilo stopped and his blush grew by 50%, unable to speak for a second.

"I'm not t!cklish, so why would I?" He asked, a little defensively. Honesty, no one knew who he was trying to convince, everyone had already seen his giggles at a few pokes, his blushing face was a grand tell too.

"Oh really?" Pepa asked, mischief in her voice as she smirked at her son.

"Mami-" Camilo watched as she stepped forward a little, making him step back and walk into Bruno who just held him lightly, feeling as he shook from bubbled up giggles in his throat and butterflies in his tummy.

"Felix, I think we should test this. If Camilo's telling the truth, he wouldn't mind right?" Pepa asked her husband, hand on her hip with a mischievous smile. Her husband had the exact sane look on his face, then turned to Camilo.

"Yeah, surely he shouldn't lie to us?"

Camilo squeaked very quietly, only Bruno and Delores being able to hear it. The two let out little giggles and a chuckle as Camilo was almost frozen. Bruno wasn't holding him tight, just hands on his arms so he had a chance to escape.

Camilo's body wouldn't move though. His mind raced and raced with thoughts about how dumb it was and how he needed to escape, but he also wanted it- it had been so long and maybe it was okay? He was childish all the time right? But then again, this is something he shouldn't enjoy, he should be embarrassed right?

Wrong.

Pepa teasingly wiggled her fingers at her son and smirked as she crouched forwards a little towards her son.

"Wahait- mami-" camilo couldn't help the tiny giggles that slipped through his mouth, hands up slightly as he tried to look away and hide his blushing face but couldn't.

"T!ckle t!ckle Camilo~" Mirabel teased from the sidelines, now standing with Dolores as the two watched the scene unfold.

Camilo grunted at his cousin but yelped as hands attatched themselves to his sides and belly, beginning to t!ckle around his belly button and sides.

"WAiAhait! Wahait mAmI!" Camilo jumped backwards into Bruno who just kept camilo there, lightly holding him as he fell backwards into him. Pepa had began to attack his torso, poking and spidering, or just casual t!ckle squeezing his sides.

Felix smirked, hands on his hips as he watched the scene, "Camilo? What's wrong? T!cklish?" He teased, unable to hide the shit eating grin on his face.

"Nohoho! NO NO-" Camilo hadn't even seen where his dad had walked up and began to help his wife, both taking a side each as each of their ten digits danced around a side each, sending Camilo into hystericals.

"EEE PfFt pLEASE-" Camilo couldn't seem to say stop, just laughing himself silly. It had been years since someone had done this to him, and he wasn't complaining anymore, though he kept up his little "I'm not t!cklish" act.

Camilo didn't even try to stop them yet, just hugging himself above their hands and laughing with blush filling his whole face. Freely letting them do as they pleased.

"Aw, Amor are you t!cklish?" Pepa awed, continuing to t!ckle her son and take a hand to the side of his neck. This made adorable giggles spill from his mouth, hunching up his shoulders to make it stop.

He couldn't handle it all, his mind splitting a couple times. This wasn't even half of what they used to do to wreck him, yet he was already squeezing his eyes shut and hugging himself.

It isn't possible to get more t!cklish is it?

"Nahaha ehehehe mami mami- papi-" Felix slowed down for a second to appreciate their sons adorable, child-like giggles, but said giggles only empowered his mum to continue her assault, moving around to the back of his neck to make him squeal slightly.

"Camilo, what's wrong? You're wiggling around so much!" Felix joined in again, attacking one of the boys hips and continuing his assault on his belly.

This really made a movement for Camilo, he doubled over, now covering his torso and hiding his neck, lifting up a arm where Pepa had stopped t!ckling his side to rub the neck t!ckles away.

T!ckling did something to your mind, because obviously this was a terrible mistake.

Bruno wrapped his arms around Camilo's torso, trying to keep him from falling over but accidentally making the boy laugh harder as he expected more t!ckles from the movement.

Camilo almost fell to the ground again when his papa attacked his ribcage, skittering his fingers all over one side. Camilo try to lean away but never tried to actually escape, emjoying the moment with his parents.

"EEE PFF WAHAHIT wAhAhHHaIt!" Camilo laugh was now his casual belly laughter, laughing as his dad wrecked his ribcage and squeezing his eyes shut even tighter.

"DAD- PAPI-" Camilo couldn't talk yet, letting his laughter light up the area.

"Yeah Camilo?" His dad answered, as though nothing was going on and began to squeeze the back of Camilo's ribs, causing him to jolt up and open himself up, trying to protect himself, though it was very difficult as his mother decided to play music on his ribcage.

"Felix, look! This one makes music" Pepa teased, treating her son as a toddler again, teasing him abd pretending. She began to poke different ribs and "play music" as she called it. Felix deciding to wreck his side abd ribs once more.

"OkAY OKAY! You WIHIHIN!" Camilo began to fight back mow, very lightly of course, holding his parents wrists with a hand each.

The two stopped instantly, giving their son some breathing and regain a little sanity; but they weren't done yet. They only stopped to look at each other as they realised the position they were in.

"Camilo, I think your t!cklish-" Bruno slightly whispered, well, he tried too, but was rather loud making everyone laugh and Camilo cringe.

"No no, our test isn't complete yet" Felix teased, smirking at his wife. Camilo looked up at the two with horror in his eyes, well- joy- but still. He couldn't believe they weren't done?! Not that a part of him wanted them to be.

"Waiaiahat- nohoho-" Camilo couldn't hold back his giggling, where else were they gonna go? How badly were they gonna wreck him? Sure so far they hadn't killed him, but he surrendered?- Well not really but still!

The two quickly shot their hands into the boys armpits, making him jump and almost knock over Bruno. He squealed and slammed his arms down, shaking his head as a smile quickly carved its way onto his mouth.

"Told you he was t!cklish" Dolores smirked from a far wotb Mirabel, watching as he threw his head back and squeaked, kicking out beneath him.

"SHUHUT UPPP DOLOREHEJES" Camilo swapped between light giggling and loud hearty laughter, desperately trying to escape now but unable to because his mind just faded with an escape plan, just standing there and taking it as he was above cloud 9, a smile on his face as he tried to do anything and everything.

The boy would throw his head back, kick out his legs- though just tio was pretty strong- try to scrunch up, he even did that tiny nose scrunch to hide his face. At one point he had his arms down and forearms up, trying to hide his face as giggles slipped through his hands. His sides would try to swivel and swerve but no matter what he could still feal the t!ckling fingers under his arms.

One hand each up his armpits, each parent had another hand left, both going for rather hellish spots to wreck their boy's mind. Pepa would t!ckle the top of Camilo's belly, very gently of course, making giggles spill from his mouth, whilst Felix decided to go for a kill and use his other hand to roughly squeeze the boys hips, making him jump and yell, almost kicking him somehow.

Camilo's brain was completely I'm fractures at this point. He couldn't handle all the different t!ckling in all the different places, making him want to scream, laugh, giggle, yet his mind wouldn't tell them apart so he just died in each. Tears began to spill from his eyes now, doubling over with laughter as he let the t!ckles take over.

There was only one thing Camilo knew for certain. He wanted this. He loved it.

"Camiloooo~" Camilo heard his name, yet the t!ckling didn't crease, "Camilo are you t!cklish?" Camilo couldn't answer, nor wanted too, only shaking his head. Though everyone else thought this wad him indicating a "no".

"Wow? He's still keeping up with the act?" Bruno and Dolores questioned, surprised at it.

"It's because hes secretly loving it" Mirabel joked, wanting to see how far he would go.

"So you're not t!cklish?" Pepa asked, continuing to wreck his armpit and belly.

Camilo began to giggle as he focused on the gentle belly tickles, but squealed when his father squeezed his hip again.

"PLEHAHESSESASEEE" Camilo tried to beg, he needed it to stop, but wanted it to continue. It seemed that was no secret to anyone.

Camilo fell to his knees in an instant, Bruno letting him gently fall rather than collapse. The boy couldn't hold up much longer and continued to squeal and laugh.

"Oh come on hijo, you used to be able to take this for way longer!" Felix teased, moving to gently t!ckle the boys neck.

"THAHAHAT WAS TEHEHEN YEARS AGOOOHOHO Nooooohoho" Camilo really couldn't stand the neck t!ckles, wiggling his head around more.

"Aw, you're adorable Camilo!" Pepa awed,watching as her son erupted into child-like giggles once more, almost hiccuping with sweet laughter.

Camilo was sitting on his knees now, his parents and tio doing the same, he was surrounded by t!ckles and giggles, laughter filling the air.

"Last time Camilo; Are you t!cklish?" His mum asked, trying to sound as though this was a very important issue that they would have to fix.

"MaHAHAmI! StAhAHaP aSKinHihing!" Camilo begged, emjoying the moment but knowing whatever answer he gave would choose his fate.

"Fine mi Amor, but don't blame me for what happens next!" His parents nodded at Bruno who let the kid go, his parents t!ckling him to the ground as Pepa sat on his waist and Felix held up his arms.

They let the t!ckling stopped for a moment, giving their son a breather and a little bit of his sanity back.

Camilo whined with giggles as he let his head fall back, not even realising the position just yet. He had blush all over his face, a smile, and his hair a mess everywhere on the ground and around around his face.

But the boys smile faded as he kept his eyes closed, realising what had happened, what might happen, he couldn't stop the thoughts that convinced him he was weak and childish.

"Mahami- papi- plehease... this is so dumb and embarrassing" He whined, apparently not learning his lesson just yet...

"You're a child Camilo" Pepa sighed with a smile, "everyone's t!cklish, and if you enjoy it, don't be embarrassed" Felix bumped in, smiling at his son.

Camilo needed to be told that, parts of him still not believing it, but he still needed to hear it.

"Anyway, I'm hungry" Pepa teased, looking down at her sons belly and picking up her hands into claws above him.

Quickly Camilo realised the situation and watched as horror, looking to his sister, cousin and uncle for help, but each had a smile or smirk on their face as they waited for the show.

"Mami- mami wahait- we can talk about this? Dinner will be ready soon-" Pepa only shook her head as Camilo began to beg, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

"No no, your belly looks much nicer, and I'm hungry now. You don't mind do you? Seeing as you're not t!cklish?" Pepa teased, going in for the gold as she gently began to lift up his shirt and ruana. Camilo had already started giggling at the air and fabric that glided over his skin.

He looked to his father for support but he had the same shit eating grin, holding the boys arms above his head as he held a hand over the boys death spot, giving his armpit a gentle poke that made him dissolve into laughter.

"Mi vida, do you think he got more t!cklish?!" Felix teased, looking up to his wife as their son continued to laugh beneath them, only having a poke.

Pepa shook her head, "no, no, he can't be, he's not t!cklish!" She teased, poking her sons belly a little, making him wiggle.

"Pleheheaseee"

"Ohhh, yeah- you're right!" Felix teased, t!ckling their sons neck making him hunch up.

"Guhuhuys!"

"Anyway, I'm hungry!"

"Mahami! mahHAMII AH NOHOHO NO NO MAMIIIIIIII" Camilo screamed as his mother quickly pounced, clawing his sides and squeezing as she took a big breath, then blew a massive raspberry on her sons tummy.

"MAMI- NOHO NO YOU WIN YOU WIN PLEASEEE" Camilo lifted his back and flopped around as he yelled, screaming laughter filled the room as his dad stuck his fingers into his armpits and began to t!ckle him silly.

"PAPI- MAMI NO- WAHAIT WAITHHFDKAGAHSHAT" Camilo's words quickly mixed in with his laughter as he was free to thrash around as he was tortured. He squealed and screamed, closing his eyes tightly as tears prickled.

His mother blew another rasberry, gripping his hips and squeezing, turning his laughter silent, his dad swapped hands and he quickly began to twist and trash more.

This continued for what felt like hours. Camilo finally gave up on fighting back, limping and occasionally lifting his back as his mum would blow another rasberry.

He threw his head back, hair everywhere and blush grown way past his ears and down his neck, his smile plastered onto his face and threatened to stick forever as the wonder continued.

Pepa landed a few light kisses on her sons tummy, gently fluttering her fingers over his sides as Felix stopped and t!ckles his neck. Camilo was so done, so worn out, he just sat back as his giggles spilled from his mouth.

"Aw- that was adorable-" Mirabel stated, awing at her primo. Dolores agreed with a smile, Bruno too. Then Julieta called everyone fir dinner, the three left and explained the others might be a couple more minutes.

Felix and Pepa both let off, helping their son sit up with them. Pepa sat on her knees and Felix on a knee, Camilo was still silly with giggles and sat up with a light head. Camilo couldn't hide his happiness, both his parents awing at his adorableness. Felixed ruffled the boys hair with a proud smile.

"See, not so childish or bad is it?"

Camilo didn't answer, though his giggles did fade.

"I mean- I never said it was bad but-"

"Ah, so you do still enjoy it?" Pepa teased, smiling at her eldest son.

Camilo blushed and grunted, not necessarily agreeing but he didn't disagree.

"Why are you so embarrassed about it?" Felix asked, putting a reassuring hand on his sons shoulder.

Camilo was silent for a second but let out a sigh, he was still a little loopy from all the t!ckles so he couldn't think properly and just started talking.

Camilo explained that they knew he liked it when he was younger, but they had stopped after Bruno disappeared and never really did anything again, and after Antonio was born they would never t!ckle him and so he assumed it was something to be ashamed of or that it was only for children so he shouldn't enjoy it. Normally he would be able to shape shift to get rid of something he couldn't cope with, be someone else. But he couldn't with his mind, so he hated that he liked it and and-

He didn't finish though, broken by his parents who both leant in and took their boy in for a hug.

"We're so sorry Camilo" Pepa never wanted to do that, Felix neither. They explained it was okay to enjoy tickling, that it was okay if it was childish, many people young or old still enjoyed it.

The reason they hasn't done it was because they had been under so much stress and after Bruno left, it was just strange because he also used to like it and it reminded Pepa of him.

"We promise to t!ckle you more often" Camilo cringed and blushed at that, though they were trying to be sincere and helped him up.

"Ohokay- that- er- let's just drop it for now" Camilo laughed nervously, cringing at the promise. Felix poked the boys side, sending him jumping through the air.

"Never dropping this" he said, teasing his son yet again.

"Yeah, we should show everyone at dinner how t!cklish you are" Pepa teased, nudging her son.

Camilo put his hands up and blushed, a nervous smile on his face. "NO! Noho- no I'm okay- let's just go-"

Camilo received many more t!ckles after that.

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rae-gar-targaryen · 4 years ago

Text

loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was it.

No "I'm sorry, querida."

No "I hope we can stay friends."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance.

‘Cause I loved you, once…

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oliver here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But?" He pressed.

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you think of that one?”

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

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

Um, wow.

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

All you could do was nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel nodded.

“Do your worst, Vince.”

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

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

You rolled your eyes.

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

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

“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He seemed puzzled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly.

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

You spun back toward him before he could get up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

Cheeky.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. So she knew who you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was a hard no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took mercy on you nevertheless.

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

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

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

You felt EZ stiffen from your other side.

Great.

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

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

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

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

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

You really were doing great, weren’t you?

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

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

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

What the fuck.

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

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

That stung.

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

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

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

That was you, ever the professional.

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

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

“You got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

“Vince?” The text read.

You bit back a smirk before responding,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding.

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

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

“Boy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your phone dinged once more.

“See you then, mi reina.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel chuckled a little at that.

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

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

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

"Really?"

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

Angel held up one hand, defensively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coco's voice broke your train of thought,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Angelito, everything okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath was shuddering now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, querida," Angel gasped.

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

"Please… use your pretty mouth?"

You nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come on then, baby."

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of fucking course.

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

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

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

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

"What'd he say to you?"

You remained silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like he would, you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tagging:

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

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

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amysteryspot · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t know how to stop - Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

Prompts: 40. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you.”; 69. “What do you want me to say?” + "Don't Know How to Stop" by Halestorm

Requested by: @sighonahurricane

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Changretta!Reader

Summary: “Or what, Thomas?” she interrupted him, defiance in her eyes as she glared back at him. “We both know you won’t kill me. You want revenge, want to see me suffer or you would have already killed me that night at the warehouse, in front of my father.”

Warnings: Smut/NSFW/+18, mentions of violence, swearing, there's a very brief implied reference to rape

Word Count: 2510

A/N: Not even going to try and find an excuse as to why this is longer than it should be, all you need to know is that I was in the mood. I absolutely loved to write this, but I'm feeling anxious about what you all are going to think of it. Really hope that you like it. For reference, reader is a Changretta and this is set between season three/four. Feedback is very much appreciated as always.

(Y/N) = Your Name | (Y/N/N) = Your Nickname

English is not my first language and this wasn’t proofread by a beta.

If you want to be tagged in my stories, just send me a message.

She had been the one that faced the Devil. Down on her knees in front of him, begging for her father’s life as he held the knife to her throat.

“One life for another,” she had offered, fingers curling into the fabric of his waistcoat. “You can have me. Do anything you want with me, just spare his life.”

The deal had been made that night, for reasons that Tommy still couldn’t understand, even after all these years. He wasn’t even sure if he had really considered the possibility of killing her, despite the rage clouding his mind at the time.

Vicente walked free, dragged out of the room in tears, at the expense of leaving his daughter behind, a prisoner of war.

Tommy confined her to the guest wing of Arrow House. He didn’t want to see her and be reminded of the reason why he slept in an empty bed now. It was easier to ignore her existence if he didn’t have to see her every day.

His son had other plans though. Somehow, Charlie found a way to escape his nanny and ended up finding (Y/N). Tommy knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into his son’s room to find it empty. It was safe to say that he was seeing red as he climbed down the stairs, calling for Mary and asking about the whereabouts of the nanny and the baby.

The door to her room hit the wall with a loud bang that startled both the women in there and Charlie, who was all curled up in (Y/N)’s arms.

Tommy looked at the nanny, ordering, “Take Charlie back to his room.”

She did as commanded, quickly, even though the boy didn’t seem very pleased with the idea of leaving (Y/N)’s arms. Tommy walked straight up to her, grabbing her tightly by the jaw, and almost lifting her from the ground.

“You don’t get to talk to him. You don’t even look his way or else…”

“Or what, Thomas?” she interrupted him, defiance in her eyes as she glared back at him. “We both know you won’t kill me. You want revenge, want to see me suffer or you would have already killed me that night at the warehouse, in front of my father.”

His hold on her had gone lax but he still kept his hands on her.

(Y/N) continued, “The boy came to me, I’m not going to blame a child for sins that aren’t his.”

Tommy observed her in silence for a minute. The rise and fall from her chest, the way both her hands were circling his wrist, how she didn’t show any sign of fear even though the imbalance in power was evident. He let her go, leaving the room without another world, only to be haunted by the image of her in his dreams.

“Are you going to kill her or fuck her?” Polly’s voice got him out of his trance.

He looked up at her but did not answer, because he didn’t know what to say.

Polly continued, “Because these are the two available options with you. You are either going to kill her or you’re going to fuck her. Considering that you are mourning, I would bet on the second, or you would have killed her already.”

She took a drag from her cigarette, taking her time in exhaling the smoke, before saying, “You men start wars because of your uncontrollable ego, and in the end, is always the women who pay the price of it.”

In the end, both Polly and (Y/N) were right. He didn’t kill her. His aunt’s words have made him realize something better to put a definitive end to this war between them and the Italians: a wedding. What could be worse for Vicente than having to marry his only daughter to a Shelby?

After a year of mourning, Thomas married (Y/N) Changretta, sealing the pact she had made with him for good.

They slept in separate rooms at opposite ends of the corridor. Since she was his wife now, Tommy had to get used to the idea that Charlie would have to be around her, or people would get suspicious. He had never been one to care about what people thought of him, but sometimes it was easier to maintain the appearances than to go against the norm.

If Tommy was worried about having to see her more often now that they shared the same corridor, he was wrong. (Y/N) was like a ghost. He rarely saw her outside of brief encounters whenever he was at home at the time the meals were served, the occasions when he found her in Charles’s nursery, or when she had to accompany at events.

On those occasions, (Y/N) was the image of a perfect, dutiful wife. She was well mannered and educated, making it easy for her to hold conversations with the most different people. Her charm and beauty helped her, and Tommy was surprised at how good she was at making people believe that their marriage wasn’t a sham.

His family and the staff of the house knew better though—all (Y/N) was was spoils of war.

They were surprisingly civil to each other, posing for the public eye as the perfect couple and avoiding each other like the plague at home. When they met at home, occasionally, a polite conversation could end up in a fight. Except for that night when Tommy found Charlie in (Y/N)’s arms for the first time, their arguments never turned physical.

Until one night when Tommy was especially pissed off by something business-related and ended up pressing her up between his body and the wall of her the drawing-room.

(Y/N) had never backed away from a fight, never showed any signs that she was afraid of him. But that night, that night the way she flinched when he touched her and the look of pure horror on her face as she looked at him, made Tommy let go of her immediately.

As he watched her ran away from the room, Tommy realized what must have crossed her mind, and the mere thought of it made his blood boil. The glass of whiskey that was on his desk exploded in a hundred pieces on the wall, before he retired to his room, plagued by the sight of her running away from him.

He tried to be more careful around her after that, always seeking some kind of consent from her before getting too close or touching her. Tommy would never force her to have sex with him, not for revenge, not because she was his wife.

They crossed the line from civil to friendly at some point, maybe after she sassed him because of Lizzie in front of the whole family, making everyone laugh, but he was not sure. What he did know for sure was that he started to see her as more than someone who was there because of a casualty of war somewhere along the way.

It was hard to ignore her after that. It was hard to ignore the beautiful woman navigating the corridors of his house, playing with his son in the garden, handling the staff, helping with the business. It was hard to ignore the woman he tried to avoid for so long, the woman he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He wasn’t sure at what point he had started to consider the idea to fuck her, it just happened. One night, after they arrived from a gala, fighting about something that Tommy didn’t even remember anymore, they fucked against the vanity in her room.

After that first time, it all went downhill. It was like getting high for the first time and then not being able to control the need to take another hit. (Y/N) was warm, soft, willing, and available, and Tommy decided that he wasn’t going to deny himself or his needs searching for other options when he had her right there.

Things escalated quickly and they developed some kind of silent agreement, another deal. During the day, they acted like old acquaintances, respectful, and civil to each other. But after dawn, they would seek each other out, drowning together in a desire that seemed to have no end.

That had been a long time ago, so long that he didn’t remember how it was not to have her around. Long enough for some unrequited feelings to show up.

He did his best to ignore the guy talking to (Y/N). They were hosting a dinner at Arrow House, the man talking to her was some rich bachelor from London that was being a little too friendly to Tommy’s liking. He downed the whiskey in one gulp and noticed Polly watching him, but his attention is quickly drawn back to his wife.

At the end of the night, after all the guests either left for home or to the guest wing and all that is left are the Shelby’s at the parlour, Tommy revels in the feeling of (Y/N) sitting beside him, reclining against the arm he rested behind her shoulders. From the other side of the room, Polly looks at him and smiles, like she knows something that he doesn’t.

It happens the week after the gala. They’re both getting ready for a family meeting. His room became their room, unofficially, because her things were scattered all over the place—her perfume and jewelry on the bedside table, dresses on the wardrobe, lingerie on the drawers, even the sheets smelled like her.

“Tommy,” she exclaimed in a reprehensive tone, as he pressed himself against her back, arms sneaking around her waist and preventing her from running away as his lips trailed down her neck. “What are you doing?”

“Giving some very due attention to my wife,” he answered, casually, walking them both closer to the bed.

“In broad daylight?” (Y/N) gasped, something between surprise and a protest, although she was doing very little to resist his advances.

“Want to see you,” he stated, before turning her around to kiss her.

“Your family is downstairs waiting for you,” she warned against his lips, breath uneven and fingers clutching onto his shirt.

“My family is downstairs waiting for us,” he corrected, nibbling her earlobe and smiling because of the sound she made. “Let them wait. They’re probably too occupied drinking, anyway.”

Any pretense of resistance from her part vanished when Tommy started to unbutton her dress. He was desperate to feel her skin against his, to taste her, and be inside of her. When they were both finally naked and pressed against each other on the bed, it felt like some kind of miracle.

Tommy drank her in, from the blush on her cheeks to the way her toes curled when he touched a sensitive spot on her body. All the scars, the birthmarks, the dips and curves, the softness of her skin, the heady taste of her on his tongue, and how wet she could get for him. He wanted it all, needed all of her.

He was tired to fight against it, tired of pretending that this feeling gnawing on his chest was something else.

“(Y/N/N),” he breaths against her skin, the feeling of her short nails scratching his back driving him crazy. “I love you.”

Her eyes open to stare right into his, something between surprise and uncertainty on her features. Tommy kisses her, gripping her tights a little harder to dive deeper into her.

The whimper of need that comes out of her lips makes him wild. All he can think about is how she feels, how good she feels, how right she feels. Here, underneath him, crying out his name, welcoming him into her body, scratching his back as the both of them get lost in pure pleasure.

All it takes to make her unravel is for him to press the engorged nub at the apex of her thighs. (Y/N) comes undone and brings him down with her, just a few trusts later, her walls milking him from his orgasm, his seed taking place deep inside of her for the first time in a long time because they were too lost in each other to care.

One more time they pretended, dressing in silence and walking down the stairs as nothing more than acquaintances. If his family suspected of something, they didn’t show it.

The meeting went uneventful, as planned. (Y/N) found a way to sneak out of the parlour before him and when Tommy went upstairs to his room—their room—he found it empty.

Sighing, he made his way to the other end of the corridor. He knocked one time, before letting himself in. (Y/N) was sitting in front of the vanity, taking the pins out of her hair. She was already dressed to sleep, the silk nightgown revealing her legs and a bit of the lace underneath. Their gazes met through the mirror as Tommy closes the door behind him.

“I wasn’t lying when I said that I love you.”

(Y/N) takes a deep breath, still not turning around to face him.

“Tom…”

“We’ve been dancing around this for too long, it’s time to face it.”

She sighs, a hand running through her face as she says, “What do you want me to say?”

He is in her in a heartbeat, pulling her up and pressing her against the vanity, just like the first time they had sex. Tommy takes her face in between both of his hands, nose brushing against her as he mumbles against her lips,

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Tom, I can’t. We can’t,” she protests, weekly, eyes closed and hands holding his wrists.

“A little too late for that because I don’t know how to stop this.”

“Your brother blinder my brother, Tommy. Your wife was killed because of that. I’m only here because you wanted my father that and I made a bargain with you. How this is supposed to work. What people will think?”

“Fuck what people think. We are already married, (Y/N). What happened, happened. We can’t change it. But this thing between us, this thing is real. I’ve denied myself that long enough, not going to keep pretending anymore. I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time now and I know, I know that you feel the same, so stop fighting against it and say it.”

Tommy’s lips brush against hers as he repeats himself, half plea, half command, “Say it.”

“I love you,” she whispers, eyes closed tightly as if the words will be less real if she can’t see him.

“Say it again,” he commands, nose bumping into hers while his thumbs caress her cheeks.

“I love you.”

“Again,” the sound is music to his ears and Tommy just can’t get enough of it.

(Y/N) opens her eyes, looks him in the eye, and professes, “I love you, Thomas Shelby.”

He smiles, for what feels like the first time in years, and confesses, “I love you too, Mrs. Shelby.”

Taglist: @stressedandbandobessed7771 @internalmess3 @theshelbyclan @giowritess @captivatedbycillianmurphy

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poesparakeet-fics · 4 years ago

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Read it here or on AO3!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Caleb Widogast Characters: Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss, Beauregard Lionett, Jester Lavorre, Caduceus Clay Additional Tags: Shadogast - Freeform, dunamancy, Empire Siblings - Freeform, Prank Wars, Tickling, rib tickling Summary:

What happens to a ticklish wizard when he manages to piss off too many of the people who love him? Allies are made and lessons are learned.

FIC

“Caleb Widogast!” Caleb jumped as he walked into the kitchen of the Xorhaus, unsure of what he could have possibly done to upset anyone this early in the morning. He was even more surprised when he saw who. “Essek?” Caleb stammered, taken aback. The drow was perched on a large kitchen chair with a cup of Caduceus’ tea in his hands and a pinched look on his face. “Schatze, I’m sorry, were we to meet? I hope you weren’t waiting long, I--” “No.” Essek corrected him sharply. “I am here to have tea with Mr. Clay at his request, to discuss the situation in Savalierwood. But he just told me that he healed some pretty distinct injuries for you, yesterday?” Caleb felt a guilty cringe fold his stomach in half. He sighed, looking at Caduceus. “So that just came up, ja?” “Yeah,” Caduceus responded, “thought it might be why you slept in.” “Ja, I had a bit of a fall--” “A fall? From where?” Essek’s gaze was intense. Caleb dropped his eyes to the floor. “Oh just, you know, clumsy--” “Really? You clumsily practiced dunamantic phasing on your own and fell through the floor?” “I think it was three floors, actually…” Caduceus mused quietly. The cringe came to the surface and showed, unbidden on Caleb’s face. “Essek, I--” “I have never limited you. It was the one thing I asked.” “I know, I--” “Caleb.” He froze when Essek cut him off, meeting the elf’s gaze once more. Essek stared him down hard before continuing. “I had… better masters than you had, when I was a young wizard. Infinitely gentler, certainly. But they would have whipped me for practicing phasing magic by myself. Truly. You could have cut yourself in half, dismembered yourself, crushed yourself, suffocated in a wall--” Essek seemed to cut himself off with a wave of his hand. “The point… the point is it would cause me a great heartbreak if irresponsible use of the magic I taught you led to your demise. Please promise me again, and keep it this time.” Caleb ducked his head, feeling like a rightfully scolded school child. “I will, ja. I am sorry.” Essek gave him a look that said he didn't entirely believe him. “I do trust you. I do not trust your curiosity. It’s only a virtue if it doesn’t get you killed.” Caleb laughed softly, nodding as he sat down at the table with them and accepted a teacup from the still-silent Caduceus. He winked at Essek. “I think I could say the same to you, but fair enough. If I do it again, I’ll let you whip me.” Essek smiled back, but the doubt didn’t leave his expression. ... “CALEB!” Beau’s voice thundered from upstairs, and Caduceus almost dropped the knife he was using to prepare vegetables for dinner. He spun around to see the wizard in question with his hands in his component pouch, running as fast as he could through the kitchen and out the back door. Beau’s quick steps followed, but by the time she was in the kitchen they could both hear the familiar woosh of a misty step from outside. She stopped stock-still in the kitchen, hands clenched into fists, looking… different than Caduceus had ever seen her. What was it? “Uh… hey. Did you get some new clothes.?” Beau turned to him silently, eyes burning holes in his head. It was pretty scary, actually. “Oh! Uh… is that what this is about?” Beau’s clothes were bright magenta where they had once been her usual cobalt blue. She was still staring at Caduceus with her fists clenched. Veth and Fjord were creeping wearily into the kitchen behind her. “I think it looks nice--!” Veth offered, only to choke off in a scared squeak when Beau rounded to face her. Beau reached out to yank Fjord’s hat off his head and put it on. “Hey!’ Fjord protested, before clamping one hand over his mouth to hide a smile. “Oh. I see.” As it perched on Beau’s head, the hat instantly turned the same bright magenta of her robes. When she handed it back it returned to its usual color. The whole room was biting lips to keep an amused smile off their face, lest they become the new target for her fury. Beau took a deep breath before bellowing again. “CALEB!” She spoke into the air, her voice loud enough to hear throughout the house. “I KNOW THAT SPELL DOESN’T GO FAR. I KNOW YOU’RE HERE, AND I AM GOING TO FUCKING GET YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME? I AM GOING TO DO DOPE MONK SHIT TO YOUR NERVOUS SYSTEM, TIE YOU UP AND FEED YOU TO A ROOM FULL OF TIEFLINGS. You will FUCKING SUFFER! THINK OF A NEW NAME, CAUSE CALEB WIDOGAST IS A FUCKING DEAD MAN! ” At the end of her tirade Beau took a deep breath and started to walk upstairs again, but not before spinning around and jabbing a finger at everyone in the kitchen. “ANYONE caught harboring the wizard will share his fucking fate!” … "...CALEB WIDOGAST IS A FUCKING DEAD MAN! ” Caleb was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his hiding place in Fjord’s empty bedroom when Beau finished her threats, but by the time she was climbing the stairs again he had disappeared with a crackling pop. When the disorienting suck of the teleport spell faded he was standing on a clay path in a dimly-lit garden next to a trio of small towers made of iridescent grey brick. An arcane weather-vane creaked in the darkness. He started toward the door. “Caleb?” A head of pale curls popped up over the top of a bush of dark purple flowers, a frown of concern on the face beneath. “Essek, hello. Ah… may I spend the night?” Essek walked toward him as he pulled floral gardening gloves off of his hands, eyes narrowed wearily. “Of course, I am always happy to have you...” He reached Caleb and placed a distracted kiss on his cheek. “... did something happen at home?” “Yes.” Caleb answered, only to stutter as Essek’s worry grew, “Oh, ah, nothing bad. Well, nothing very bad. I just need to avoid Beauregard for a bit.” Essek’s worry immediately evaporated to be replaced with amused annoyance. “I see. What did you do this time?” They both started to stroll through the garden toward Essek’s back door. “Oh, just some illusion work. It will go away by morning. She deserves it, after stealing my spellbook while I was sleeping.” “Mhmm.” Essek hummed, linking his arm with Caleb’s. “But wasn’t her stealing your spellbook revenge for…” “The magic spiders, ja, but I had to do that! She--” “--the disappearing ink, yes, I remember. Are you sensing a pattern here, chathtiu?” Caleb sniffed and turned his nose up. “I have no idea what you mean.” Essek’s smile turned indulgent as he pulled Caleb into his home. “I’m sure you don’t. Beauregard does have a way of pushing your buttons, hm?” “She is the expert.” “I should ask her for advice, one of these days.” Caleb only laughed, pulling the smaller man into his arms. “You have your own way of pushing my buttons, don’t you schatz?” Essek smiled back. “You’re right, of course. I do.” ... Caleb stalked through the library of the Xorhause, circling it room by room. While his books were sitting on the desk he’d been working at the night before, their holsters were missing. He shifted the papers on his desk, panic rising in his chest. Where were they? “Caleb?” Jester was standing in the doorway, his holsters dangling from one finger. Caleb let out a sigh of relief. “Jester! Danke! Where were they?” “Sorry, I think Sprinkle must have stolen them.” Caleb shook his head, the tension in his chest easing. “That’s alright. I’m just glad they are found.” He reached out for them, stopping short when another figure entered the room. It was Beau, her clothes now back to their normal deep blue. Their eyes met for a moment, but the monk just breezed past as though she didn’t even notice Caleb was there. It had been a week since the incident with her clothes with no revenge or further threats, and Caleb was starting to wonder if he’d finally won the war. He shrugged his holsters on as the two women sat down on the sofa. He missed Jester’s giggle until it was too late. “Hey Caleb?” Beau asked. “Uh, ja?” Caleb cringed a little, turning around. Beau’s look was positively predatory. “Fuck you.” Caleb was about to respond when the sensation of fingers digging into his ribs flushed all the air out of him in one squeal. He spun around clumsily, hands flapping, but nobody was near him. He craned his neck to look down, his arms helplessly hugging his own ribcage while his knees buckled. That’s when he realized where the sensation was coming from. “Wh-what? No, I-- ah! Please!” His fingers fumbled with the buckle of his holsters to try and escape the traitorous leather trap, but the buckle was trapped under a magical seal of iridescent purple wax with the image of a skeleton key pressed into its surface. “Fuck!” Beaureguard was grinning like a gnoll. “What’s that buddy? Fuck you?” “Aah!” Caleb’s whole body convulsed and hit the carpet as the tickling escalated, even more invisible fingers reaching out from the leather to stroke delicate bones under pale skin and plain cloth. “No no! Please!” “Can I try?” Jester asked, giggling. “Nein!” “Sure, go for it.” “Fuck yooooou Caleb!” Caleb couldn’t answer her with words, he could only wail wordlessly. He writhed on the ground, trying desperately to resist the currently useless instinct to lock his arms at his sides so he could try and pull the holsters off over his head, but it was no use. All he could do was paw uselessly at the leather before Beureguard hissed the trigger word again and all he could see was stars. “Uh… everything alright in here?” Fjord’s voice came from the direction of the door. Caleb couldn’t see him over the sofa. “Fjord!” Caleb screeched. “Plea-hee-se! Evil!” It was all he could get out before his voice cracked and his laughter turned silent, his head thrown back against the carpet. “Huh?” Beau answered in an exaggeratedly casual tone. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just getting a little payback for my pink phase. Stole his holsters and Essek cursed ‘em.” A wave of betrayal strong enough to overpower his ticklishness gave Caleb just enough breath to shout “WHAT?!” before the laughter overtook him again, tears building in his eyes. “I helped with the ruse!” Jester piped up. “Uh-huh.” Fjord nodded, “can he breathe?” “Hmm? Oh, I guess we can check. Good boy, Caleb.” The sensation stopped all at once, and Caleb rolled flat on his back to gulp in air. “See? He’s fine.” Caleb sat up, hands held out in supplication even as he struggled to catch his breath. “Beau, please, I’m s-” “Fuck you and your apology.” Any strength Caleb had recovered melted away as he squealed and flopped back down on the carpet, limbs curling uselessly against his body. The tickling fingers coming from the inner panels of his holsters might as well have been sucking his very life-force out. Fjord lets out a sigh. “If you’re going to torture him for a prank, you at least have to let him apologise. Good boy?” Caleb didn’t get up this time, too scared to trigger someone’s wrath or sense of mischief. He was still giggling, partially from phantom sensation and partially from the panicky tension of knowing that any of them could trigger the curse at any moment. “I’m sorry! Bitte!” There was a beat of silence before Beau turned to Fjord again. “There, I let him apologise. Can we go back to the torture now?” “Wait!” Caleb squeaked, rising unsteadily to his knees. “Please Beau, we can talk about this--” “Oh, you wanna talk now? Cause when it happened you were happy to teleport away to your fucking boyfriend’s. So… you know,” she finished with a grin, “fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU.” “Nein!” Was all Caleb could manage before his laughter stole his voice away, only to crack and go silent once more a moment later. Tears leaked from his eyes to roll into the fluffy carpet beneath him as he crumpled. “Oh, he’s so cute when he cries, I love it!” Jester clapped her hands while she watched from the sofa. “This is the best curse ever.” Fjord made an agreeable sound. “I wonder if Essek could make something more remote? Then we could tickle him wherever we are. That would be fun.” Caleb couldn’t respond to the idea with anything more than pained wail through his hysterics. The others pretended not to notice. “Yeah, I do worry that he goes without when we’re gone.” Jester cooed. “Pfft. Yeah, I don’t think Essek is letting that happen.” Beau snorted. Caleb started to beat at the floor with one hand, hiccups punctuating his laughter. “Aw, alright. Good boy.” The sensation stopped again, but Caleb couldn’t stop his laughter. “Please, pleaheese, *hic* bitte--” “Focus on catching your breath.” Fjord suggested, “It’ll do you more good than begging will.” Caleb let out an exhausted little sob before obeying, his lungs working overtime to suck in air. He wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to make the hiccups go away with little success. When his breathing finally evened out Fjord gave him a reassuring smile. “See, that’s better.” Fjord soothed. Beau’s grin got wider. “Hey, Caleb?” “No!” “Fffffffffff…” “Mercy!” “...uuuuck you!” “Aaii!” Caleb let out a little yelp at the sound of the words, then… nothing. He’d clenched his eyes shut in anticipation, and when he slowly opened them Beau was glaring at him. “Hey! How come it didn’t work?” Caleb let out a huge sigh of relief. The curse must have expended all of its energy. “Is it done?” Jester questioned. Caleb was wondering the same thing. He tried to examine the buckle of his holsters as subtly as possible. The seal was still there, which meant whatever the curse was, it was not over. He needed to get out of earshot as quickly as he could. “I thought it was supposed to last longer than that. Can you message Essek?” “Sure!” Caleb started to cast for misty step as subtly as he could, hoping he was close enough to his lab to lock himself inside. “Hi Essek, it’s Jester! So, your awesome curse thingy is SO great, but like, but it ran out of tickles? Do you know why?” Whoosh. Caleb hit the stone floor of his lab with an oof, dragging himself to his feet and transmuting the door of the lab into stone for good measure. As he groaned he saw that the room looked quite different compared to how he had left it the night before. The large chalkboard he used for calculations had been moved into the centre of the room. In one corner someone had drawn a symbol-- a skeleton key, like the one on the seal trapping him in his holsters. Next to it someone had written in familiar, looping script: I will not practice phasing unsupervised. X100 Caleb whipped out the enchanted little book he and Essek used to send messages between them, only to find a new one waiting for him. You have 30 minutes. Caleb was glad nobody was there to watch him gape like a fish between the chalkboard and the book. Essek couldn’t be serious. He frowned and grabbed up a quill. You are a traitorous snake! There was only a single silent moment before the page shimmered and revealed another message under Caleb’s. Noted. Now you only have 25 minutes. Caleb took a moment to say every curse word in every language he knew. Then he stood up, snatched the chalk and started writing.

#caleb widogast #essek thelyss #Shadogast #Tickling #Tickle Fic #Critickle Role #beauregard lionett #Empire Siblings #Prank wars #Rib tickling #Ticklish Wizards #hot boi essek #TK fic

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halcyonstorm · 4 years ago

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@levihan-drabbles Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoë, Levi Ackerman & Hange Zoë Characters: Levi Ackerman, Hange Zoë Additional Tags: Jealousy, LeviHan Drabble Week, Choking, Praise Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Anniversary, Switching, Smut, I haven’t written smut in a long time please bear with me Series: Part 7 of Short Fics Summary: He keeps staring at Hange. Hange doesn’t notice. Levi does. Hange and Levi were out on a date for their one year anniversary on a beautiful Saturday night. They sat outside in a fancy restaurant. Small fairy lights wrapped around the perimeter of the property. A pianist was playing a song in the main lobby, softly making its way to the outside area where the couple was dining. Everything was going swell, until Levi happened to look to his right. When he did so, he saw a man staring at his girlfriend. At first, he thought his eyes were deceiving him. It wasn’t until Hange had stood up to go to the bathroom when he noticed this man gawking at her, looking her up and down. She looked absolutely ravishing; she wore a beautiful, silk, ruby red dress with a slit exposing her right leg that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her matching red heels accentuated her toned quads and calves. He knew she wasn’t one to dress up, but her extra efforts didn’t go unnoticed. Levi almost got hard just looking at her for the first time that evening. Levi decided to take matters into his own hands. He left his jacket at their table and started walking over to the man. This man was definitely taller than Levi with a broad chest and slick blonde hair. “Are you eyeing my girl?” Levi sneered, his eyes piercing through the blonde man. “So what if I am? With you being so short and all, do you have the goods to compensate? Is that why she’s with you? I’m just thinking about all the ways I can please her that you can’t.” the blonde replied, his hearty voice chuckling. Levi discreetly kneed the man in his crotch, causing him to buckle over, his head at Levi’s height. “Oh, you wish. I’ll make sure I fuck her in ways you can’t even imagine with your pea-sized brain. Have a good fucking evening.” Levi saw his girlfriend approaching him so he gave her a small smile and they interlocked arms. As they walked away, Levi flipped off the blonde man. Levi went to the table to grab his jacket before they left the restaurant. ��Levi, thank you for everything. Happy one year,” Hange said softly. Her voice was sweet and seductive. “No need to thank me, four-eyes. Happy one year.” “I can’t believe you still call me that.” “You still wear glasses, don’t you?” Hange laughed at his comment, her laugh almost taking his breath away. When they got to Levi’s car, he opened the door for her. She nodded her head before getting inside. Levi shut the door, ran around, and got in the driver’s seat. “Levi, you look so handsome tonight,” she said, admiring her boyfriend. “God, I am so lucky.” He visibly smiled at her. Hange knew he didn’t smile very frequently, so she always savored the moment whenever she got the privilege. As Levi drove them home, he started to become insecure. Maybe he wasn’t enough for Hange. Maybe he couldn’t please her. Maybe he was lacking in different areas that she wouldn’t say. He didn’t understand why he let that man get to him; he decided it was because he was staring at his girl. He was broken out of his trance when Hange placed her hand on his inner upper thigh. The warmth of her hand sent blood rushing to his dick instantaneously. She secretly loved the power she held over him. He moaned ever so softly when she did this, and she noticed. “Hange,” he said sternly. “I need to focus.” He didn’t want to be persuasive though. “We’re on our street, silly.” He parked the car, trying not to look too eager as he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. He already had his keys in his hands once they entered the apartment building. Getting to his room, he quickly unlocked the door, allowing Hange to enter first. She quickly kicked off her shoes, as did Levi once he shut and locked the door. “Hange, you-“ Her hands were already untying his tie as she passionately kissed him. His hands were placed at her waist, feeling the silk fabric beneath his fingertips. He squeezed slightly, feeling the soft skin of her belly underneath. They didn’t break the kiss as they entered the bedroom. Levi was already unbuttoning his top. She pushed him onto the bed with a slightly forceful shove. It turned Levi on instantly. He loved when she pushed him around. He felt his face flush as he became flustered. She knelt on the bed, crawling towards him. He got a revealing view of her boobs and cleavage. He reached out to touch her right one, squeezing it. It felt soft, too soft. “No bra tonight,” Hange mentioned, winking as she straddled him. Levi let out an overwhelmed sigh. He cupped it, squeezing firmly again. He loved how soft they felt in his hands. How they were small but perfectly so, fitting in his hands. They slightly overfilled his hands which he loved. His other hand slid up her smooth, freshly shaven thigh. “No panties either?” he asked, kissing and nipping her collarbone. “Why don’t you find out?” she teased, wrapping her hand around his neck, choking him. The sensation of her hand on his neck made his dick throb harder underneath her. She giggled. “You like that?” she asked, starting to kiss her way down his neck to his muscular chest and abdomen, not giving him a chance to check if she was bare underneath. She brushed her fingertips over his abs. She felt extremely lucky. “Yes,” he moaned, starting to unbuckle his belt. He melted whenever she touched him; He needed her. One of the straps of Hange’s dress was hanging off her shoulder. Levi did the honors of pulling the dress down to her stomach, exposing her round breasts. The sight made Levi sit up on his knees, pushing her onto her back. He kissed her lips sloppily before beginning to suck on her nipple. The feeling caused Hange to start throbbing too, aching for him. He choked her as he kissed and bit his way down to her throbbing, soaked region. He enjoyed how she got so confident when touching him, but once he lays a hand on her, she is a horny mess. He pulled the dress off her torso, leaving her bare. She was, in fact, wearing a black, lacy thong. He began to kiss over where her clit was, warming the area. It caused her to squirm underneath him. “Levi… fuck!” she moaned. “Please touch me.” ��I am touching you,” he retorted, licking the inside of her thighs. His warm, wet tongue caused her to shiver, her legs opening wider. He moved her thong to the side, exposing her pussy. He could see her clit and opening throb. I did this to her, he thought. I guess I’ve still got it. “Y-you know what I mean,” she panted, pulling her panties off entirely, Hange’s legs pressed together in the air to do so. He respectfully pulled her thighs apart, gripping the inside of each, soft thigh. He put his tongue on her clit, drawing small circles. He attempted to write his name in cursive with his tongue. Her moans sounded like one from a goddess. His fingers almost slipped into her opening since she was so wet. “Why are you so wet?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “It’s your fault, Levi. Now, clean me u-“ She didn’t even need to finish speaking before he shoved two fingers inside her, still working his magic on her clit. She was moaning louder now, on the verge of screaming. “Fuck, Levi. Fuck!” she exclaimed, her back arching. “I need you inside me now.” Say no more, Levi thought. He instantly stopped, pulling his boxers down. His dick popped up and out of his underwear, already dripping. He was going to push it inside her when she placed both her hands on it, pumping at a fast and consistent pace. The sight of her drive him fucking crazy: her legs spread in the air as she jerked him off, her blushed and sweaty face, her sexy body underneath him, her tits jiggling with each pump of his dick. He let out moans of pleasure, which encouraged her to grip him stronger. “Get off me,” he commanded, pulling her legs closer to him. She let go, allowing him to put his dick inside her. As he entered, her name slipped out of his mouth. It was so soft, tight, and warm, he was almost sent to the edge. He grabbed her waist, slowly but consistently thrusting his long throbbing dick into her pussy. Each thrust allowed a moan to escape each of their lips. Levi mentally flipped off the blonde man at the restaurant. “You like it, baby?” He asked, starting to pick up the pace. “Yes… yes… yes,” She answered. Her eyes rolled back, causing Levi to put his hand around her throat. She was his. He felt himself getting close, and with some damn good will-power, he took his dick out. He kissed her passionately, teasing her opening. “God, you’re so fucking good to me,” She panted, sitting up. “Let me ride you. Let me thank you.” She whispered this in his ear, sending chills down his entire body. She placed her hand on his chest, pushing him supine into the bed. She crawled on top of him, straddling but facing him. He took a moment to admire her body. Her round breasts, her slightly curved waist, the skin growing wider on her hips when she straddled him. She grabbed his dick from behind, slowly easing down on it. She placed her hands firmly on his strong chest, beginning to grind her hips forward and back, and up and down. He was getting close. Whenever she rode him, just seeing her in and of itself made him horny. Whenever he jerked off alone, this is what he thought about every single time. She looked so hot when she rode him, it couldn’t be helped. The sound of the skin slapping together and each of their moans filled the room. “I’m all fucking yours, Levi!” She exclaimed, starting to pick up her pace. He placed his hand around her neck, pulling her face towards him. “I don’t think I heard you correctly,” Levi whispered in her ear, her body shaking on top of his. “Who are you talking about?” He began to thrust his hips upward, thrusting into her. He needed just a little more convincing “You…” She panted. He pounded harder and harder, causing her to moan louder. “Yours, Levi! I love you. I’m all fucking yours!” She continued to chant this a few more times before Levi placed his fingers to her clit, pressing a bit and rubbing in a circular motion. She opened her mouth to speak, but only cries came out. Suddenly, Levi felt her pussy contract around his dick, warming to an extreme. When he looked at her beautiful, pleasured face and her round, perky breasts and as she orgasmed on his dick, he came too. “Fuck, Hange,” he exhaled, filling her up. She slowly rocked her hips forward and back as he came inside her. Her body fell atop of his, her head next to his. Both of them were panting loud. She slowly sat up and got off his dick. She lay next to her lover. “Oh my fucking God,” She sighed, looking at Levi. She admired his side profile for a moment. His beautiful slightly-turned-up nose; his pink, swollen, wet lips; his messy raven hair. “What got into you?” He took a deep breath before responding. “Well, if you let me finish my sentence earlier, I was going to tell you how beautiful you looked.” “Would you prefer it if I didn’t interrupt?” “No.” Hange chuckled softly, interlocking their fingers. “You know at the restaurant I saw you. Right?” Hange asked, looking at Levi again. He furrowed his brows, then his face relaxed. “Oh.” He realized she did just appear as he kneed that bastard in the crotch. He huffed. “Did you get jealous?” She asked. “…No. Of course not.” Hange kissed his shoulder, knowing the opposite was true. “I just wanted to remind you of how much I love you. How no one else can have you.” Hange chuckled, using her elbow to prop herself up to look at him head on. She placed her hand on his cheek, their eyes fixed on one another’s. “I love you, too. If you need me to prove it to you, just say the word.”

#levihan #levihan smut #levihan fic #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #hange x levi #levi x hange #levi x hanji #smut #aot fic #snk fic #aot smut #snk smut #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin

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metalbvcky · 4 years ago

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Back in May, I made my first Stucky Ficrec post and months later, I’ve decided to make another since this fandom is hella talented. There’s a little over two dozen fics down below ranging from 10k-100k+ and everything’s categorized.

Do note that lot of these are Modern AU’s (I love those) and most of them are smutty. (yes hello, an asexual here who enjoys smut so very much) Also heed the tags once you click the link(s). Other than that, enjoy!!!

Key: ♥ = My personal favorites, S = Smut, DS = Dom/Sub

a) CANON UNIVERSE

If You're Reading This, Steve Rogers by fallendarlings Words: 39,273 | Post/Canon Divergence 2012 Avengers/TWS, Recovery, Slow Burn

Nobody tells Steve it's okay to cry.

Nobody touches him.

Nobody remembers Steve Rogers is a person under the mantle. It's okay. He hasn't felt like a person since he watched Bucky fall.

don't threaten me with a good time ♥ by canistakahari - Words 10,106 | Post-TWS, Sick!Fic, Sick!Bucky, Cabin Fic

Steve's taken him on vacation to a cabin in Canada in the middle of winter, so it's obviously the perfect time for his body to go haywire. Bucky is determined to stick it out, though, partly because he's a stubborn bastard, but mostly because he feels some kinda way about Steve.

Higher Ground by EmilianaDarling - Words: 13,002 | Post-TWS, S, DS (undertones), Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve

“S’okay,” Bucky murmurs quietly, and Steve sucks in a sharp breath at the brush of Bucky’s lips against his ear, his breath hot against the side of Steve’s neck. There’s a hint of a grin in Bucky’s voice; amused affection and confidence and something heated beneath it all, a familiar tone from so long ago that makes Steve’s heart clench and his cock twitch helplessly in his jeans.

“S’okay, Stevie,” he says again, and Steve can feel the curl of Bucky’s lips against his throat when he smiles. His metal thumb is rubbing circles on Steve’s shoulder. “M’gonna take care of you.”

A year and a half after the events of The Winter Soldier, Steve's been acting recklessly. Bucky deals with it as best he can.

The Simple Life ♥ from The Simple Life Series by howler32557038 - Words: 114,329 (Series Total: 337,273 + ongoing) | Canon Universe, MPreg, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

"The simple life."

"You'll get there one day."

"I don't know. Family, stability...The guy who wanted all that went in the ice seventy-five years ago. I think someone else came out."

Bucky wants to be part of Steve's life. He wants to be an Avenger. He wants to be a good partner. Unfortunately, sometimes that means not telling Steve everything.

a road less traveled by Claudia_flies, cyclamental art (cyclamental),maichan, zilia - Words: 75,396 | 2012 Timeline AU, Post-Avengers 2012 (Endgame Divergence), Domestic Avengers, Recovering!Bucky

Steve wakes up on the cold stone floor of the foyer. He scrambles up; there’s glass shards everywhere and they crunch under his gloved hands. People are staring, holding themselves back. They must have seen the fight, must have seen two of him.

His own voice rings in his head.

“Bucky is alive!”

Kept Safe by Whendoestheshipsail (restricted to AO3 users only) - Words: 54,419 | S, DS, BDSM

Steve and Bucky are friends. Best Friends. If asked, Bucky would say he knows absolutely everything about Steve. Except when it comes to sex. Steve lives such a monastic existence that Bucky doesn't know if he likes girls, boys, or none of the above. For all he knows, Steve may have no interest in sex whatsoever.

But then a mission goes wrong, Steve is bleeding out from a wound to the femoral artery and Bucky is trying to stop the bleeding when his hand brushes against metal. Where there most definitely shouldn't be metal. Or a padlock. And most definitely not a torturously small cage.

48 hours by Whendoestheshipsail (restricted to AO3 users only) - Words: 25,894 | Post-CW, S, DS, Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve

Steve is keeping it together. No one would say he's keeping it together well, but he's getting by. Mission after mission, he goes back to his apartment in Wakanda and breaks down. Then he watches Bucky sleep and tries to not notice how everyone looks at him like he's the saddest bastard that ever lived.

But, this time is different. This time, Steve goes back to his apartment post-mission and Bucky is awake, out of cryo and making them dinner in Steve's kitchen. The breakdown is still happening. Bucky isn't pleased, but he does have a plan. For 48 hours after every mission, Steve is going to let Bucky take care of him or he's going to be on Steve's next mission. He can't risk losing Bucky again. Which should make the decision simple.

It isn't simple.

The Sex Therapist ♥ by Whendoestheshipsail (restricted to AO3 users only) - Words: 179,941 | S, DS, DKink, Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve, Current/Past Steve/Sharon

Sharon has given him an ultimatum- either go to sex therapy or it's over. Sex therapy sounds like normal therapy but more humiliating and expensive. It's total BS. He will go because she's making him, but he will also make everyone's lives miserable (Yeah, including his own) and never return again.

Do they have a lot of sex? No. Does Sharon want more sex? Yes. Does Steve do his best? Yeah, actually, he does. He can get it up, he just needs time. Alone. There's... preparation involved. It's not like one just 'is' aroused.

He can't explain it. And he won't. He definitely won't tell Bucky what exactly he thinks about to get worked up enough to screw his girlfriend.

Found My Place in Time - Cap_D, humapuma - Words: 12,492 | Post-EG (Divergence, duh) S, Fluff, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

“Buck,” he heard Steve say, “wake up. We’re here.” Bucky opened his eyes and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension out of his back. When Steve’s words sunk in, though, he turned and leaned forward, staring past Steve’s chest to look out the window. Beyond the wing of the plane, he found a beautiful coastline with white sand, blue waters, and palm trees, as well as rows of bungalows on the water. “Wow,” he murmured. “We’re staying in one of those, right?”

In which Steve invites Bucky on a trip to Fiji and they discover something a lot more than beautiful vistas and friendly locals.

Total Institution ♥ from the Institutions of Love and Incarceration series by thelittlestpurplecat - Words: 94,303 | Canon Universe AU, Prison!AU, Guard!Steve, Prisoner!Bucky, Unrequited Love, Slow Burn, WS Trial

The Winter Soldier has been sentenced to life without parol. His entire world had been condensed to a hot, cramped cell that he hasn't seen the outside of in the four years since his apprehension. It's hell. He has no means of escape, no means of terminating his suffering, and no means of distraction...that is, until he's assigned a new guard. Steve Rogers is assigned the Winter Soldier as his singular charge. He expects a sadistic, violent murderer. What he finds instead is a broken, tormented man with no memory of his past life, and no control over what had been done to him. He's a victim. Not a monster. And Steve won't stand to see him pay for crimes over which he had no control.

Raise Your Glass by minkeys - Words: 10,008 | Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve, Light DS, S, DKink

Bucky knows Steve in ways that his 21st century friends could never even begin to imagine. Or at least, they couldn't until tonight. It's about time somebody corrected all those historians that painted Steve as a straight-laced, God-fearing soldier, and what better way to do it than over a harmless game of "Never Have I Ever." What's the worst that could be said?

b) SHRUNKYCLUNKS

Waking Up Slow ♥ by odetteandodile - Words: 44,638 | Dad!Bucky, Kid!Fic, Hurt/Comfort

In 1945 Steve Rogers crashed the Valkyrie into the Arctic Ocean and was never recovered.

In 2019 Bucky Barnes is walking along the beach below the decommissioned lighthouse where he lives with his sixteen month old daughter when he finds the body of a man washed up in the surf, half frozen but miraculously alive.

Bucky manages to revive him, but finds that the stranger has no memory of who he is or how he got here aside from a name: Steve. Snowed in by a blizzard soon after and unable to get Steve a medevac, Bucky discovers that the funny, good-hearted man slips into the fabric of his and Alice’s life faster than he would have thought possible. The two are undeniably drawn to each other, but as their feelings grow so does the looming possibility that the answer to the question “who is Steve?” might be much more complicated than either of them realized.

Isn't It Ironic? (Don't You Think?) ♥ by HeyBoy, Huntress79, imhereforgaysuperheroes - Words: 33,342 | Jewish, Dad!Bucky, Kid!Fic

Bucky is used to his daughter bursting into tears in the middle of department stores. What he isn't used to is someone braving the wails and actually being able to stop Becca's tantrum in its tracks. Oh, and he's also not used to that someone being Captain America.

AKA, how Steve Rogers calms a screaming kid in Target and falls in love with two more Barneses than he had bargained for.

in my condition love's the best physician by aniloquent - Words: 9,177 | Pharmacy!AU, Russian!Bucky

“This situation is a little more delicate because I don't even know if he speaks English and I'm tired of going down to the pharmacy for constipation medication and allergy pills when I haven't sneezed since 1941.” Steve shouts.

The room falls silent, and he turns back around to find four pairs of stunned eyes watching him.

Tony, as always, speaks first. “He?”

Or the one where Bucky is a hot pharmacist and Steve keeps making up bullshit reasons to go see him.

c) MODERN AU

Home Is Wherever I'm With You ♥ by cydonic - Words: 88,570 | Neighbors!AU, Slow Burn, Parent!Steve, Kid!Fic

This is what happens when you buy a house to flip having only seen the online images: you get more than you bargained for. Bucky Barnes brings all the tools to handle a dilapidated home, but he's hardly prepared for a smart-mouthed child (with poor aim), a crying baby, and the hottest dad he's ever seen in his life living right next door.

That House-Flipper!AU.

if only you could see me (for the pie that i am) ♥ by bitelikefire (theoleo) | Words: 35,121 | Baker!Steve, WeddingPlanner!Bucky

In which Steve is the proud owner of Frost; a semi famous local bakery in D.C. And despite the overwhelming insistence that it’s about time he start dating, Steve swears up and down he isn’t ready for that.

Or as of recently, just doesn’t have the time because of Mr. Barnes. The highly demanding wedding planner on the phone who keeps asking for nearly impossible deliveries and maybe Steve would like to personally strangle him. Maybe.

(There is pie. And misunderstandings. But a lot more desserts and eye rolls.)

So Alive ♥ from the Brooklyn Heights Books Series by GottaSaveBucky (Cosmic_Entity_1of4) - Words: 109,074 (Series Total: 165,440 + ongoing) | Bookstore!AU (sort of), Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky, DKink

A man wearing a light denim jacket over a dark blue shirt came into the shop, a box tucked under his right arm. Despite it being late afternoon, he was wearing sunglasses with bright blue lenses, and his long, dark hair was pulled back in a messy little bun. A few strands had escaped, framing his strong, unshaven jawline. The man looked into the café, smiled widely, and waved in Clint’s direction as he kept walking into the bookstore, and Steve’s mouth went completely dry.

Beautiful, was the only word to describe that smile; straight, white teeth framed by full, lush, red lips, bracketed by laugh lines and an adorable dimple in his right cheek, a charming little chin cleft just visible under the light stubble—Steve was struck literally speechless. And that was before he got a glimpse of the man’s backside. Slim hips and a round, firm-looking ass led to long, lean legs that were encased in snug, dark blue jeans.

“Guh,” Steve said, watching the dark-haired man continue on to the back of the store.

The Penthouse Suite ♥ by elle1991 - Words: 15,873 | S, DS, BSDM, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky, Happy Ending

Bucky Barnes has the chance to earn $5,000 in one night. All he has to do is go to the penthouse suite of a luxury hotel and spend the night with his client, one enigmatic Steve Rogers.

The catch? Steve is a massive pervert, intent on using this one night to satisfy every single one of his many debauched kinks.

Even ignoring the big box of sex toys on the bed, Bucky should have known he was in trouble the moment Steve opened his mouth and said his first words: "My name is Steve Rogers, but you can call me Sir..."

Burnin' For You by GoldBlooded - Words: 15,753 | Firefighter!Steve, Detective!Bucky, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

Steve Rogers is Fire Captain of Brooklyn’s very busy Station 118. He wants three things out of life: People he can count on, for everyone to get through their shifts safe and sound, and for Sergeant James Barnes to get the hell off of his arson scene.

James Barnes is Detective Sergeant of Brooklyn’s very busy 107th Precinct. He wants three things out of life: A decent cup of coffee, good leads to chase, and for Captain Steven Rogers to get the hell off of his arson scene.

Everyone knows to steer clear when these two have to deal with each other. Everyone knows about their mutual dislike and sometimes hatred. But what everyone doesn't know? How they got to be like that in the first place.

Collar Full of Chemistry ♥ from the Rich People Are Wild Series by 2bestfriends - Words: 188,437 (Series Total: 219,519) | Heavy BDSM, DS, S, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

Steve is very rich and desperate to feel in control of his life again after a recent divorce has left him feeling bitter and lonely. When he keeps crossing paths with a disaster twenty-something, an unconventional solution presents itself. Steve's always been one for following his instincts.

Bucky is very broke and can't seem to catch a break, especially after some asshole fires him for one fucking mistake. So of course, it follows that he should sign a contract agreeing to do everything and anything that same asshole wants for a whole year in exchange for a payout that could finally change his life for the better.

Toothpaste Kisses ♥ by buckybees - Words: 18,736 | Dentist!Steve, Patient!Bucky, Amputee!Bucky

Sitting in the horribly antiseptic gateway to hell, otherwise known as the waiting room, Bucky was deeply reassessing his life choices. Maybe if he didn’t eat ice cream for every meal this wouldn’t have happened.

Steve's a dentist, Bucky's a patient. You know the drill.

Out of the Blue ♥ by IsabellaJack - Words: 37,564 | PreSerum!Steve, Detective!Bucky (and Sam!), Mystery!Fic

“Does she have family?” Barnes asks again.

Steve tries to remember. “I don’t know.”

“You sing her praises and don’t know a simple info like that?” Barnes huffs, looking irritated.

Love Is An Ocean Wide by fancyh - Words: 29,009 | Shapeshifter!AU, Orca!Bucky, Marine Biologist!Steve

When marine biologist Steve Rogers helps to rescue an injured orca from the marine traffickers Hydra, he has no idea how his life will change. Once rehabilitated, the orca is released and disappears, and a despondent Steve throws himself into his work, only to feel a spark when a new volunteer arrives, a man with one arm and curiously familiar blue eyes.

Bucky has lived in the ocean his whole life. But when his family is killed and his sister captured by Hydra, he is forced to turn to humans for help. One human in particular intrigues him, a man by the name of Steve. As Bucky comes ashore to search for his sister, he finds himself falling for the man, but dangerous secrets still stand between them.

Includes clueless-about-humans Bucky, heart-eyes-Steve, and lots of Very Important rocks.

Innocent Until ♥ by L1av - Words: 136,866 | Lawyer!Bucky, Defendant!Steve, DS, BDSM, Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve

Bucky Barnes made a name for himself as the attorney who could get anyone off, but he still lives by the saying, "Innocent until proven guilty." Steve Rogers finds himself on trial for multiple homicides but he swears he was only trying to protect a girl. Bucky's been in this business long enough to know when someone's innocent, and Steve is innocent. Steve already feels like a monster and Bucky's worried this guy's going to lay himself on the sword come his trial. So Bucky offers up another course for punishment:

Turns out, chains and whips really excite Steve.

Brooklyn Syndrome ♥ by lordelannette - Words: 158,350 | DARKFIC, Dark!Steve (VERY DARK, heed the tags, you have been warned) Doctor!Steve, Writer!Bucky, Kidnapping, Slow Burn, Graphic Violence

Bucky's back was pressed against the cold floor and he stared through blurry eyes as Steve stood over him. He was trying to push himself as far away as he could, using his hands and bare feet to slide himself out from between Steve's legs but he couldn't find purchase against the wooden floor. Steve's legs were locked on both sides of his hips and Bucky couldn't move, couldn't get away, and the room was swimming before his eyes and he couldn't focus, couldn't think straight. All he could make out was the hazy figure of Steve towering over him and he lifted his arm to push uselessly at Steve's shin.

"P-please," Bucky whispered. His voice was weak, like him, and his jaw trembled as Steve reached down.

Steve slid down onto the floor and effortlessly gathered him into his strong arms, cradling Bucky to his chest as he leaned against the wall. "Bucky," Steve breathed. One of his large hands slid gently into Bucky's hair, the other curving against his spine and pulling him even closer. "You're mine now, remember?"

Steve's grip tightened then it all went black.

lay me down (tell me i've been found) by coffeeinallcaps - Words: 25,188 | Modern!AU, DS, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

The collar is a little on the heavy side, and incredibly soft against Bucky's skin. Even softer than he thought it would be. It seems to fit snugly, and for a second he feels like he can't breathe. Then, Steve slides two fingers under the collar and runs them along the inside, almost all the way around. Bucky shivers. Goose bumps spread down his back, his arms. "How does it feel?" Steve murmurs, hooking his fingers into the ring and giving a gentle tug on it. Bucky swallows. Nods.

(In which billionaire businessman Steve shows up and turns Bucky's life into an improbable fantasy.)

All Those Things You've Always Pined For by LavenderProse - Words: 92,142 | Family Man (2000) aka the Nicholas Cage movie AU, Domestic, Kid!Fic, PreSerum!Steve

“Steve Rogers. I haven’t thought about him in…God, at least ten years. Probably longer." “Who is he?” Sharon asks, and perches on the corner of his desk, hands folded in her lap. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Bucky clears his throat, tosses the sticky note onto the desk. “Steve was…my college boyfriend. We almost got married.”

It's been fifteen years since Bucky Barnes left Steve Rogers standing in a New York airport and never saw him again. Those fifteen years have brought him wealth and stability; everything his lower middle class Brooklyn upbringing had not provided. He is happy. He doesn't want for anything. He doesn't need anything. That's about to change.

Karma's A Fake Orgasm ♥ by daisymondays - Words: 51,637 | College!AU, Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, Slow Burn

There’s another abandoned mug, festering with mould in the living room — Steve offically has the world's worst roommates. And complains about them. Often. Bucky, tired of his lack of action, decides it’s time to avenge Steve's sleepless nights and unsanitary conditions once and for all. They’ll pretend to be the world’s most annoying couple: excessive PDA, loud fake sex, and general repugnance. The plan sounds easy enough; it will be strictly platonic. Or will it?

I'll Be Your Shield by 17 pansies (17pansies) - Words: 23,332 | Bodyguard!Steve, Rich!Bucky, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

"If he's just minor nobility, why does he need a bodyguard?" Steve shoved the folder which held Barnes' details towards the middle of the table. "He's not exactly prime kidnap material."

"His parents aren't worried about kidnapping," Fury said. "They need someone to steer him away from the dumb ass situations he keeps getting into."

"You mean he needs a babysitter." Steve sat back and folded his arms. "Seriously."

I think this is a pretty diverse list :) There’s a good sample of everything here, some old fashioned post TWS recovery fics, some good dom steve/bucky, slow burns, fake pretend relationships and so forth!

PS: I’m on AO3 with more bookmarks plus my own hurt/comfort fics if anyone is interested :P

#stucky #stevebucky #bucky barnes x steve rogers #shrunkyclunks #stucky fanfiction #stucky fanfic rec #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction rec #stucky fic #stucky fic rec #modern au #canon divergence #marvel #my reclist #long post for ts

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literaryfic · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 3/? Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, vincenzo leaves, set five years after he left sk, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, vincenzo and cha-young are exes, they were in a relationship before, Fake/Pretend Relationship, jealous!vincenzo, Jealousy

THANK YOU SO MUCH TO @trynatalktou FOR BEING THE BEST BETA I COULD’VE ASKED FOR. THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO HER!

Summary: Time stops, or so it seems. Vincenzo is petrified, beautiful statue of a man turned into stone. Her eyes follow the high bridge of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw and the curves of his slender hands gripping the coffee mug. Ah, she thinks. This is how Pygmalion fell in love with Galatea.

listen to this spotify playlist while reading if you want to suffer

Cha-young doesn’t dream that night; she barely sleeps 5 hours before she finds herself knocking on Vincenzo’s door at 6 am. She can’t help it, being in a room just underneath his, so close after all those years apart. Yet, she doesn’t want to show him mercy. She’s here to torment him, the way his absence had tormented her for years. Maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly, maybe she probably shouldn’t seek him out first, or at all.

In reality, Cha-young knows damn well that she’s trying to find an excuse to be with him, not that she would ever admit it to anyone.

So there she is, pounding on his door at 6 in the morning. He stands there, wearing one of his expensive pyjama sets, dark circles sitting under his eyes. She can’t quite tell if she’d woken him up or if he hadn’t slept yet.

“Did you even love me?”, she greets him. Good morning is overrated anyway.

He sighs, letting her through. “You know that.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything anymore, Vincenzo.”

She stops in her tracks, the world suddenly spinning around her. He’s standing behind her, a mere arm length away. She’s stuck in his gravitational pull, a planet orbiting around its sun. The sharp sensation of her nails digging into her palms is enough to get her moving. She sits on the couch, the same one she’d sat in just a few hours ago.

“I did. I do.” He clears his throat, looking away. “Love you, I mean.”

She nibbles on her lower lip, trying (and failing miserably) to ignore his use of the present tense. He loves her, still. She shakes her head.

“Well, you seemed to be living well without me.”, her expression turns sour. Was it love to hope he’d grieved her loss as much as she had grieved his?

Vincenzo finally settles in the chair facing her, running a hand through his hair. “There was a point where I wasn’t sure… I wasn’t sure if I would make it.” He winces. “During that time, my only salvation was knowing each day brought me closer to death.” He looks at her, gaze so intense it pierces right through her heart.

She scoffs, “And I’m the dramatic one, huh?”

That gets a laugh out of him, and suddenly they’re back where they first started, complicit smiles and knowing looks - them against the world.

“Coffee?” he asks, eager to keep up the pleasant atmosphere. There’s still a lot that needs to be said, but she relaxes her shoulders, welcoming the lighter turn their conversation is taking.

“Yes, please.”

He busies himself with the instant coffee, that same yellow brand he’d gotten hooked up on while they worked together. “So what have you been up to, exactly?”

“Jipuragi Law Firm just opened a new office in Busan, things are going well. It’s nice, we get to help people who need it. Probably not as exciting as being in a mafia war or whatever.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he gives her a cup of coffee and sits down next to her on the couch. There’s a safe distance between them, but there’s no point trying to shush the deafening beat of her heart. “Your father would be proud of you, Cha-young-ah.”

“You think?”, she sips on her coffee. She looks up from her mug, only to find him examining her face. His lips curl in a soft grin, and Cha-young thinks that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad if she kissed it.

The loud ringtone startles her out of the daydream, and she’s not sure if she’s supposed to be annoyed or thankful. She picks up the phone. “Mmh. Okay. See you soon,” she drags out the last word, using the endearing tone she reserved for those closest to her. Mr. Kwon, her assistant, was asking her to eat breakfast with the team.

“I have to go.”, she tells him, getting up from the couch.

He takes her mug from her, “I didn’t realise you were here with someone.”

She hears it loud and clear, in the way he fakes nonchalance and keeps his voice cautious. He’s asking her if she’s with someone and part of her wants to reassure him that No. There is no one else beside you. But then she thinks of the countless times where she’d cried herself to sleep, memories of them echoing into her mind and his absence carving a hole into her heart, and she can’t help herself. He had wounded her fatally and it was her turn to injure him.

“Mmh.”, she’s not lying, technically. She’s there with someone, with people actually, just not in the way he means.

Time stops, or so it seems.Vincenzo is petrified, beautiful statue of a man turned into stone. Her eyes follow the high bridge of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw and the curves of his slender hands gripping the coffee mug. Ah, she thinks. This is how Pygmalion fell in love with Galatea.

The empty mug drops to the ground and the spell is broken. Brought back to life, Vincenzo collects the shattered pieces of the cup, and of his heart, too. “Is he a good person?”. Unlike me, he means.

Cha-young has to remind herself that he deserves this, that this is his fault. “Mmh”, she repeats. “He is.”

He’s back to the coffee station, his back to her. “I’m happy for you.”, his voice is tight.

“Thank you.”, she’s almost at the door when she stops. “Maybe...Maybe we could be friends.”

He turns around, finally facing her. The distance between them, from one side of the room to the other, feels insurmountable.

“Perhaps. If that’s okay with you.”, he answers.

She doesn’t know what to say, so she stays silent. Is it possible for them to be anything else other than a tragic ending?

“Perhaps. If that’s okay with you.”, he answers.

She doesn’t know what to say, so she stays silent for a while. Would it ever be possible for them to be anything other than a tragic ending?

She finally settles on a simple, “See you around.” An open ending, then.

She’s cursing herself out the moment she leaves the room. What was she thinking? Cha-young had just lied to Vincenzo about being on holiday with her imaginary boyfriend. No, she corrects herself, she had simply misled him and he should’ve known better.

She could picture it already; his aggravating smirk, raised eyebrows and insufferable “Oh, is that so?”, after she’d have to inevitably come clean. If only she hadn’t been so impulsive. Vincenzo would figure out her motivations the moment she’d admit to the lie; she wanted to see him jealous, to make him think she was doing better without him, that she was over him. He would see through the façade she had worked hard to maintain.

Flushing at the thought of the colossal humiliation she would suffer, Cha-young scolds herself. Focus. This was a war that she needed to win. Like a general preparing for battle, she squares her shoulders and summons her most loyal soldier.

“Hey, it’s me. I have a favour to ask. Can you be my boyfriend for the next two weeks?”

At 37 years old, Kwon Ji-hwan considered himself to be a resilient man with a good head on his shoulders. In the four years he has been working for Ms. Hong, carrying out tasks outside of his job description was far from rare. Those included, but were certainly not limited to: picking her up after she’d drunk too much, infiltrating a yoga class to seduce a corrupt official’s wife, impersonating a law enforcement officer and hijacking an ambulance. In Ms. Hong’s vocabulary, a “favour” almost always meant something illegal. Despite her… methods, Ji-hwan enjoyed working for her greatly. The hours might have been long but the satisfaction of winning against the odds of powerful corporations made up for it. Also, the pay was really good. Still, as used to her antics as he was, he would’ve never expected her to ask something so absurd of him.

Sitting there, in Ms. Hong’s hotel room (which, by the way, was way nicer than the regular ones she’d gotten for her employees), Ji-hwan cannot believe what he’s hearing.

“Let me get this right,” he says, adjusting his glasses with his index finger. “You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend in front of your ex, who you’re obviously still in love with even though it’s been FIVE years—”

“Yah!”

“—because you want to make him jealous. Did I miss anything?”

“That pretty much covers it.”, his boss replies, not even bothering to look ashamed. He looks at her, shaking his head. “So, will you do it?”

He sighs, “What did this guy do to you for you to be so hung up on him after all this time?”

He was not expecting the sorrow on her face as she answered, “He was there for me during the worst times of my life. We went through hell and back for each other. And then, one day, he left without saying anything.”

“Wait, just like that? He didn’t even break up with you?” Ji-hwan raises his eyebrows.

“Nope”, she accentuates the ‘P’. “He simply wrote ‘Live well.’ on a napkin and I never heard of him again. Until now.”

He scratches the top of his head, “What a fucking jerk.” She laughs, it’s rare to hear Ji-hwan swear. Finally, he rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’m in.”

“Yes, I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She’s doing her little victory dance now, shaking her hips in the least graceful way possible. Like every time his boss convinces him to blur the line of what is morally acceptable, Ji-hwan is regretting this already.

“If I said no, you would have threatened to fire me anyway.”

“You know it.”

#vincenzo #chayenzo #chayenzo fic #my fic

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fictionalabyss · 4 years ago

Text

Colder than a witches tit.

Pairings : Alpha!John x Omega!Reader

Word count : 1,279

Written for : @spnabobingo

Square : Firewood/Cinnamon/Pine

Warning : Snowstorm, freezing, fluff, intimacy, pregnancy.

Written for & Beta’d by : @iflostreturntosteverogers

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

SPN A/B/O Bingo Round 5 Masterlist.

You’re so buried deep under blankets it’s almost comical. Two of them, and it’s almost not enough. They’re tucked under your feet, pulled up almost over your head, anything to keep out the chill in the air. It’s the dead of winter outside, and apparently that means it needs to be winter in here too.

Fucking cheap motel.

It takes what feels like forever before you finally fall asleep. Soft snores falling from parted lips, your face the only thing currently exposed to the cold of the room. A blast of cold has you pull tighter together in your sleep, balling yourself up as you search for more warmth. You can only just register the door close as you get pulled out of a dream. You hear boots on the floor, a string of curses as your eyes fight to open, and when you do, you see a boot roll to a stop just in your field of view.

“Colder than a witches tit..”

You’re about to smile but the blanket lifting behind you has you squeezing your eyes shut and groaning. Cold hands hit your skin and you all but yelp, pulling away.

But just as he pulls you back, you find yourself wrapped in the scent of him. Firewood, cinnamon and pine. John Winchester smells like warmth, like Christmas by the fire with hot cocoa.

“Heater still broke?”

“Mhm.” you hum in answer, John’s body quickly warming up to match your own body heat. “I told him again this morning but… he said it’ll be a while. On account of the snow storm.”

“Bullshit.” John muttered, burying his face in your hair and scenting you. “I got here fine in the damn snow.”

“You practically drive a monster truck, John.” you chuckled, turning your head to glance back. “You okay?”

“You feeling better?” John asked, ignoring your question. “Sorry I had to run off on ya-”

“I’m fine.” you chuckled, rolling in his arms to face him and cupped his face. “What’s going on, Alpha?”

“Just making sure you’re okay.” he whispered into the space between you, his eyes closed as he leaned into your touch.

“I promise you, I’m fine.” You smiled softly at him. “But you…” You had hoped he’d open his eyes, but he didn’t. “How’d it go?”

John shrugged in response. “Hunts a hunt.” he muttered. “Just glad to be back home to you.”

“Not home. Not yet.”

John opened his eyes at that, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion. Watching as you pulled away from him, until suddenly he was hit by cold air. “Hey! Woah!” He tried to grab for the blankets, but you giggled as you slipped out of bed, wrapping them around you tight. “It’s fuckin’ cold!”

“Then join me.” you smiled slyly as you sprinted to the bathroom.

John couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, begging to be seen. “Little minx.” he muttered to himself, jumping up from the bed and following quickly.

By the time he joined you in the bathroom, the shower was already running. You had cranked the hot water to make sure you wouldn’t step into an ice shower, then tossed the blankets aside and quickly started to get undressed. John chuckled at how you scrambled out of the layers, bouncing from one foot to the other to get pants, and socks off. The second you were bare, you bolted into the shower, snapping the curtain shut and relishing in the heat as you adjusted the temperature.

John stepped in behind you a moment later, naked and smiling, and you pulled him under the spray. You watched his shoulders relax, his head dip down to enjoy the feel of it on the back of his neck. When his eyes opened, he saw you smiling softly at him. “Turn.” the command was gentle, and you obeyed, turning your back to him.

He reached for the face cloth that had been hanging on the rack at the back of the tub, and wet it. You felt the cloth against your back and hummed softly at how good it felt. It was warming up in the bathroom, the room filling with steam, and his hands had always felt good rubbing you down.

“I had an idea.” you broke the silence. John didn’t answer, but you knew he was listening. “I was thinking.. He never drained the pool out front.”

“So? Don’t know if you noticed lately, darlin’ but it’s fucking winter out there.” John chuckled. “Ain’t the time for swimming.”

“Not swimming.” you laughed. “Skating. The water’s gotta be frozen, right?” you turned to look back at him. “We can just take the cover off and skate on it.”

“I don’t know- I ain’t much of a skater.”

“But it’ll be the most romantic cheap date you ever had in your damn life.” you smiled brightly up at him.

“We don’t got skates.”

“We can get some. Please, Alpha?”

You gave him a pout and he found himself giving in before he even let out the groan. “Fine.” Your smile was so brilliant and breathtaking, it reminded him of that very first moment he realized just how damn much he loved you.

“Turn.” you commanded, and he obeyed, handing you the face cloth before turning his back to you. You quietly washed his back for a minute or two before you spoke. “You didn’t ask.”

“Didn’t ask what?”

“What it was. What made me sick.” John was about to open his mouth and ask when you answered. “I’m pregnant.”

John spun around, eyes wide as he looked down at you. Had he heard that right? He couldn’t have, that can’t be what you had said. Pregnant? He’s too damn old for that, too damn old to start all over again. You didn’t say anything, just stared straight ahead at his chest and started washing in small circles like you had on his back. You started to get nervous, he could tell by the way you bit at your bottom lip, your teeth tugging at the skin of it. What did he say to that, though?

“I got tools in the truck.” he started, watching as your eyes flickered up to his with a hint of confusion before looking back to the expanse of his chest. “Fuck waiting for that idiot. I’ll fix the damn heating myself and make him buy your skates as payment for it.” That had your eyes shooting up to meet his, searching them for an answer he wasn’t sure he had for you yet. “You’ll get your ice skating date. And some fucking heat, because this isn’t good for you.” he couldn’t help the way his eyes drifted down to your stomach. He couldn’t see any signs yet, and he didn’t really expect to, but in his mind's eye, he saw it perfectly. Large and swelling with his pup. Beautiful. “Not good for the pup either.”

You smiled at that, visibly relaxing again before using your hands to turn him so his back was to you once again. “Throw an extra 40$ on top of the price. I’m craving burgers.”

John smiled softly at that as you started washing his shoulders. “You always know exactly what I need.” John whispered quietly.

“Of course I do. You’re my Alpha. Sometimes you need me to take care of you. But sometimes, sometimes you just need me to need you, to let you take care of me. There’ll be a whole lot of that with me pregnant, you know.”

“I know. Like I said, you always know exactly what I need.” he felt a soft kiss between his shoulder blades and sighed happily.

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Tagging : SPN - @sandlee44 @just-another-busy-fangirl @mrswhozeewhatsis @deanandsamsbitch @deans-baby-momma @thebescht @67-chevy-baby @supraveng @musiclovinchic93 @holyfuckloueh @ksgeekgirl @hobby27 @maddiepants @roxyspearing @onethirstyunicorn @fandom-princess-forevermore @kalesrebellion @deanwanddamons @thoughts-and-funnies

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itsjustmyfantasyroom · 4 years ago

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Red Stranger

Thank you @detective-giggles for reading over this for me and supporting me like always xx

Warnings: A great twist and Smut.

WC: 1825

Enjoy x

Sonny sat at the bar resting a drink, his mind running a thousand miles an hour thinking about everything, his ADA position, the latest case, still second guessing his decision to leave SVU and everything to do with his family. He hoped a drink would help his mind settle but it made it worse. But he ordered another drink drowning his sorrows, hoping this next one would numb his thinking. That was until he heard a happy squeal and a group of laughter.

Sonny turned his head and you took his breath away. He took a sip of his drink as his eyes racked over your beautiful form. The red Spanish style thin strapped dress that hugged around your breast and around your middle, the top of your cleavage poking out. The hem frill starting from your hip going down to criss crossing over each other at the knees and flowing down to the back of a high low look. Your hair in a perfect pony tail curled running down your back, your make up perfect and your heels giving you perfect height showing off your legs.

He watched as a group of people hugged and kissed you hello and you all stood there trying to talk to each other over the music of the bar. Sonny watched you, he was in awe of you. Everything about you was perfect, you’re eyes, you lips and your skin. He hadn’t had the wind knocked out of him like this in a long time. But surely you had to be taken. There was no way someone as beautiful as you would be single.

Sonny ordered another drink watching you from across the bar, the first time all night his mind was empty from everything and he felt relaxed just looking at you. Just then a friend of yours grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the bar, you both coming to stand right next to his chair. You were standing that close to him he could smell the floral scent of your perfume. He listened to you put in your drink order, some cocktail he had never heard of, even your voice was perfect,

“So how was Australia? You look amazing Y/N, still single?”

“Thank you. Yep still single” you chuckled “I loved it, 2 years wasn’t enough” you sighed

“Are you back for good now? The office has moved here right”

“Yep, back for good” you smiled.

Sonny watched as the bar tender handed you your drink. You had just wrapped your hands around the glass going to walk away when a drunk guy bumped into your friend, which in turn made her bump into you and then you bumping into him. Sonny moved like a flash to grab your hips to hold you steady, your drink slipping out of your hand falling to the floor, the glass smashing and the drink covering your feet in sticky liquid. You spun in Sonny’ grip resting your hand on his arm, his hands still on your hips,

“I’ am so sorry” you squeezed his arms.

“That’s alright, it’s not your fault” Sonny grinned giving your hips a squeeze before letting his hands drop away from your side.

You smiled at Sonny, stepping back away from him, your hand going to his knee. Sonny’s cheeks blushed and you grinned at his reaction,

“Please let me buy you a drink” you blurted out.

“There really is no need” Sonny tried to object.

“Please” you squeezed his knee “I would have been flat on the floor if it wasn’t for you”

Sonny nodded and you turned to the bar to order another for both you and Sonny.

“Y/N Y/L/N” You held out your hand to Sonny.

“Sonny Carisi” Sonny grabbed your hand shaking it back. His large warm hand sending a shiver down your spine.

“What’s a handsome man like you drinking by himself Sonny?” You raised an eye brow.

“What’s a beautiful women like you doing being single?” Sonny shot back with a smirk.

You giggled and lent closer to him,

“Well clearly you heard my conversation so you know why” you winked back.

“No love down under then?” Sonny had one eye brow raised and you chuckled.

“The Aussie accent has nothing on a Staten Island one” you purred. The bar tender handed both you and Sonny your drinks “Enjoy the rest of your night Sonny Carisi”

Sonny watched you walk back over to your friends and he watched how you asked your friends to shuffle around so you could sit in his direct eye line. Sonny caught you starring more than once, even when you were addressing your table of friends your eyes were on his. After a while you stood up from your seat, walking towards the bathroom’s, swaying your hips as you walked and Sonny took a deep breath as his body heated up with arousal. Sonny seen you go to walk down the hall to the bathroom, but you turned around beckoning him with your pointer finger before you disappeared.

Sonny took another deep breath, sculling down the mouth full of beer left, getting down off his stool making his way to you. As he walked to hall way that lead to the bathroom he saw you leaning up against the wall. Sonny’s breathing hitched and he walked towards you, seeing a smile pull to your face,

“Y/N Y/L/N” Sonny walked to stand in front of you, and you stood up resting a hand on his chest.

“Sonny Carisi” you looked up at him through your eye lashes.

Sonny dipped his head slightly, his lips almost touching yours,

“Would you mind if I kissed you?” Sonny said almost shyly.

“Handsome and a gentleman. Where have you been my whole life?”

“In Manhattan while you were in Australia” Sonny grinned.

You giggled and stood up straight on your tippy toes. Sonny felt your lips landing on his. Sonny moved one of his hands to rest on your neck and he wrapped the other around your middle pulling you into his body. Sonny felt your arms move to wrap around his neck and you pulled him closer to your body. Sonny tilted his head and you followed suit, the kiss deepening. Sonny felt your tongue slip into his mouth and moaned into your mouth, pulling you in tighter wanting so much more.

Sonny was shocked when you broke the kiss and pulled away for him. He watched as you did a quick scan of the hall, then you grabbed his hand in yours pulling him into to empty handicapped bathroom locking the door behind you both.

Sonny was surprised when you pushed him up against the door, getting back on your tippy toes, your lips crashing on his again. Sonny opened his mouth and your tongue darted into his. You both moaned into each other as Sonny tasted the cocktail on your tongue and you tasting the beer on his. Sonny rolled his hips into your thigh, and he felt your hand run down his chest to cup him through his slacks and he thrusted his hips forward into your hand,

“Always this forward” Sonny panted out running his hand over your body up to your breasts.

“Not always. But when I when I see someone I want” you bit your bottom lip, running your hand up to his belt buckle undoing it.

Sonny hands were back on your hips again spinning you around quickly to push you up against the door instead, his hands running down your thighs, gathering your dress up to bunch your dress up to your hips, one hand went to your panties, his pointer finger running along the hem of them and you gasped, Sonny’s lips at your ear, his hot breath making you shiver,

“You’re not wearing a wire are you?” You shock your head no and Sonny slipped two fingers into your warm wet core “Better make his quick then, keep your eye on the window babe” Sonny groaned feeling how wet you were.

“Oh Son-“ your mouth went slack as he started to pump his fingers into you fast.

You had to will yourself not to close your eyes so you could watch for the window for when it would slide open from the alley. You went to move your hand down into his pants and he nudged it away,

“You can do that when I get you home” Sonny kissed from you ear down to your jaw.

You grabbed onto Sonny’s arms as you felt your coil wind tighter and he moved his thumb to circle your clit. Your mouth dropped open and you tried not to moan too loud as you grinded your hips down on his fingers, your whole body filling with pure bliss. You were undercover after all, and knew the others were just outside the door waiting to move in. Sonny moved his fingers out of you bringing them up to his lips sucking them dry and giving you a wink.

“Can’t wait to get you home Counselor” you cooed pushing your dress back down “You better settle that down though” you looked down at his crotch and he chuckled peaking you on the lips and quickly done up his belt.

Just then you saw the window slide open, so you lent forward kissing along Sonny’s neck pretending not to see the perp climbing in through the window holding a baseball bat. You tapped Sonny’s chest twice and you reach for your thigh holster drawing your weapon, stepping around Sonny quick, pointing it at the perp walking towards you both,

“Stop Police” you yelled.

The perp went to swing the bat, but you were faster lifting your leg to hook your foot behind his knee and tugging, making him lose his balance and he fell to the floor, you kicked the bat out of the way and held your weapon on him. Sonny opened the door and Amanda, Fin and Kat stormed in for backup, Kat and Fin cuffing him, picking him up and leading him out.

The bar tender of the bar had been targeting people hooking up in the bathroom. Climbing through the low window from the alley, knocking out one and attacking the other. Liv knew you and Sonny would be best to go undercover for this being able to pull off a flirty couple, you disclosing a couple of weeks ago.

“Guess you won’t be getting your tips tonight” Sonny snarled as they led the perp out of the room.

“Well done Y/L/N, Carisi” Liv came in patting you and Sonny on the shoulder “Amanda and Kat can take questioning, you guys can go, the other undercovers have left. See you both tomorrow.”

Sonny walked over to you wrapping his arm around your shoulders bending down to kiss you deeply, pulling back winking and smirking at you,

“Let’s get you home so we can finish what we started.”

Tags: @thatesqcrush @beccabarba @witches-unruly-heart @permanentlydizzy @averyhotchner @infiniteoddball @fandom-princess-forevermore @alwaysachorusgirl

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi x you #sonny carisi smut #sonny x reader #sonny carisi x reader #ada sonny carisi #ada carisi #law and order svu #SVU fanfiction #SVU FANDOM #svu fan #nbc svu #svu smut

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starlightinhumanform · 4 years ago

Text

24/7: Chapter One

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Loceit, Platonic Demus, Platonic Logicality

Summary: James (aka Janus) works the graveyard shift at a open-all-night convenience store. Logan is a college student who stays up way too late, way too often. While pulling all-nighters, he often visits the store James works at. As time goes on, James begins to care about Logan as more than just a customer.

Warnings: Moderate Language, Some suggestive jokes, Mentions of ignorant/negative sentiments regarding vitiligo, Mentions of intoxication— some implied to be underage (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: College AU, Coffeeshop AU but weird (that’s literally the best way i can think of describing it), Mutual Feelings, Fluff

A/N: — Janus’ name in this AU is James (mostly because when I began planning this, his name hadn’t been revealed). I may still include his name by writing in a name-change but we’ll see lmao — I do not have vitiligo and do not personally know anyone with vitiligo; Janus’ experience with the condition is based entirely on my research. That being said, I did my best to give an accurate representation but I do not claim that it is flawless in anyway. If there are any improvements you think I can make in this area, please please let me know 🖤🖤🖤 Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Fic Masterpost Fic Request Info

James’ first shift started normally. That is, as normally as he could assume 24 hour convenience store shifts could be. It’s not like he had much experience with it.

Being his first day, he had assumed that the manager would’ve at least stuck around for a while. Instead, the woman had pointed out the bathroom plunger— advising him to not let anyone steal it— told him how to use the slushie machine, and said that if someone tried to rob the store, let them take the money; she even showed him the quickest way to open the cash register. Then she left within the first hour of James’ shift.

James didn’t mind being alone but he couldn’t fight down the frustration at his manager for abandoning him without actually telling him anything useful. He kept worrying that someone would ask a question that he couldn’t answer. What if the customer got angry and then he got reported and lost his job on the first night? Not to mention every time someone walked in, he was ready to bargain for his life with the $225.67 and a random condom in the cash register.

The adrenaline was getting to his head, stirring up usually dormant worries. He couldn’t stop glancing down at his hands. They were warm tan, patterned at random with lighter splotches. He had a condition known as vitiligo which made areas of his skin lose their pigmentation. For the majority of the time, it wasn’t a big deal; the worst part was the weird looks people gave him and even then, he could usually brush them off. Still, there was always the occasional idiot who felt the need to say something rude or inform him that he showed signs of demon possession. He hoped beyond everything that one of those incidents didn’t occur while he was alone in the store.

Thankfully, the only customers for the next few hours were a couple groups of teenagers at varying levels of intoxication and a traveling family made up of two parents suffering from highway-hypnosis and a small child who tried to climb into one of the drink refrigerators.

By one in the morning, the flow of incoming patrons had completely stopped. By that point James had already thrown back an entire 5-hour Energy drink and reorganized the chip rack— twice .

When the entry bell finally rang again at around two, James’ head was buzzing so badly he wasn’t sure if he had imagined the sound or not. A young man walked in— college aged with messy hair and glasses. He disappeared into the rows of brightly coloured plastic bags without a word and so quickly it made James once again question whether or not he was hallucinating.

It wasn’t until the man had made his way back to the counter, setting down a bag of chips and a couple energy drinks, that James was sure he existed. The man’s hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in two days and his dark circles were so deep they could be seen from beneath his squared glasses. Yup, definitely a college student.

Despite the obvious signs of exhaustion, the man was undeniably pretty. Counter to his tired scowl, his eyes were bright and alert, framing a sharp nose. The way he kept his strong chin tilted slightly upwards and walked with purpose gave him the appearance of someone who actually knew what he was doing with his life— so basically, the opposite of James.

James was hardly ever self conscious about his appearance but this man— this stupidly pretty, oddly perfect man— made James squirm just a little bit, made him wonder if he was living on one side of some scale while the customer lounged on the other side. James tried to shrugged it off, focusing on the items in front of him instead.

The man spent the entire interaction at the counter muttering to himself and never once making eye contact. It was a little strange, but he was cute and James was bored so he decided to just appreciate the entertainment while it lasted.

It wasn’t until James went to hand the man his receipt that he seemed to even become aware of James’ existence. James held out the thin slip of paper, apparently causing the man to flinch backwards. His reaction was strong enough to make James wonder if he was one of those people— the type that thought vitiligo was some sort of deadly, contagious disease.

His eyes darted up quickly, his gaze sharp as it scanned over James’ face, “You’re not the normal cashier.”

He was taken aback by the accusing tone in the man’s voice, “No, I guess I’m not? I just got hired; the other guy got let off… something about trying to steal the plunger.”

“Oh,” His face transformed into a noncommittal scowl that James simply could not read, “Expect me regularly.”

The man turned on his heels and walked briskly to the door as James stood frozen and mystified behind the counter, “Oh, uh… see you soon then.”

——————

James woke up to the smell of something burning. He didn’t even remember dragging himself home and collapsing in his bed but based on the smell bothering him he evidently had made it back. No one could burn food quite like his roommate.

“Remus what the fuck are you doing?” James shuffled out to the kitchen where his roommate was poking at something on the stove.

“Making lunch.”

Based on his bed head and near-complete lack of clothes (Remus always slept in booty shorts and nothing else) James could guess that he had woken up only a few minutes earlier himself, “Dude that does not smell like anything humans should eat.”

Remus gave him a wicked grin and James decided not to push the subject. He walked out of the room with a sigh and hoped that the smell would clear up soon.

He made his way into the living room, sitting down and flipping open his laptop. James groaned at the lack of new email notifications. No new emails meant no new job acceptions.

“Guess I’m working the night shift again.”

James was grateful he got the job at the convenience store— no question. Getting a job as a college dropout was both necessary and nearly impossible at the same time. He was lucky to get a job at all and being a graveyard shift, he got paid nearly double the normal wage for his position. For now, his sleep schedule would just have to suffer.

——————

The weeks drifted by and James fell into a dull, but easy rhythm. He would go to work every night, spend the hours rearranging chip bags, guarding the plunger, and— if he was lucky— the pretty college boy would come in for a few minutes to grab salty food and a caffeinated drink.

James wasn’t sure when it became “lucky” for the man to come into the store. Maybe it was lucky because he was entertaining, always preoccupied and wandering around the store like his mind was a hundred miles away. He had this odd sort of duality— somehow both spaced out and intensely focused at the same time. It was like he was concentrating on the dimension beyond the one James was living in. He floated through this world, always preoccupied with world in his head. It was endearing and intriguing and James found himself looking forward to seeing the man. James wanted to see the world inside his head, to know what was so captivating that he had no use or interest for what was outside of it.

The student was quickly becoming his favourite customer— something James never thought he would have— and he genuinely enjoyed having a chance to talk to the other guy. He was handsome, obviously intelligent, and, if given the chance, James definitely would’ve asked him out for a drink.

As it was though, James looked awful in his uniform so he would never have the confidence to make a move the only times he ever saw him.

James started to watch for him. The man came at least once a week, always between midnight and four in the morning. He must have lived nearby because he always walked over instead of taking a car like most of the other patrons. Either that, or he lived further away and walked all the way just for a bag of chips and an energy drink.

It was a Thursday like any other when he walked into the store and James’ curiosity got the better of him.

“So,” James leaned across the counter as the man sat his items down, “you come around here often?”

He tilted his head quizzically, “Yes? I do come here often? You’ve seen me.”

“No I— it was a joke,” James resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was… not going the way James would have hoped, “What’s your name? We might as well get on first name basis since we see each other all the time.”

“I’m Logan,” Logan seemed surprised by the question.

“I’m James.”

Logan gave a curt nod, “I know.”

“But— how? I—“

“It’s on your name tag,” And with that, Logan turned and marched out of the store.

——————

Logan laid on his back, arms and legs spread over the entirety of his bed. The only leftover space of the bed was occupied by Patton, one of his housemates.

“So how did the all-nighter go?”

Logan groaned, “Well… it sure as hell did go all night. I’m so fucking tired.”

“This is what you get for viewing the entire American university system as a challenge.”

He squinted up at Patton. With his blond hair and round, smiling face he looked like the direct inversion of whatever pale little zombie Logan currently felt like, “I gotta stop staying up so late.”

“I don’t know, you kind of seem to like it,” His housemate patted his leg and stood up to walk out of Logan’s room, “By the way, where do you keep going? I hear you leaving the house, like, super early all the time.”

Sunlight was streaming through his partially open blinds. It was probably quite pretty but to Logan it just looked like a headache-inducing glare. He threw a pillow over his face, muffling his voice as he answered, “Booty call.”

Patton laughed as he stopped walking, “Yeah right. The day you answer a booty call is the day I will shave my head.”

Logan shifted the pillow slightly to look at Patton again. The man’s hair was his prize possession, like a curly fluffy cloud that he kept as a pet on top of his head. Logan didn’t know how Patton could afford the time and money he put into his hair. What he did know, however, was that Patton would never risk its safety. Logan frowned in (mostly) fake insult, “You really think there’s not a single person who would send me a horny text at three in the morning?”

“Nah I think there are quite a few people who would do that. I just doubt there’s anyone you’d actually find worth answering.”

Was there anyone he would actually answer? Logan stared up at the dark fabric above him. The pillowcase was a deep navy blue and if he really squinted, he could see the weave of the thread, a thousand random threads coming together to make a greater whole. The way the individual pieces created something far larger than themselves was fascinating to Logan. He had never given it much before, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find a random individual worth making something together.

In the darkness covering his eyes, a vision of the convenience store cashier flashed across his mind. The face he saw was light brown and across that warm canvas, lighter portions sprawled. For the first time, Logan began really thinking about that face. He had sharp features, tired eyes, and when he smiled with lips sloped upwards at a lopsided angle. His skin reminded Logan of the glossy photos of nebulae in his astronomy textbooks— bright splashes breaking up the sameness of the night sky. How had he never noticed that before? What was his name? James.

He heard the creak of their old floors beneath Patton as he walked out of Logan’s room. He probably thought Logan had fallen asleep as he lay there in silence. He was far from asleep, though. His mind was racing, trying to find the missed connections and continually finding new ones in the process. His eyes flickered as previously unrecognized thoughts began surfacing. And they didn’t stop. How had he never noticed?

“I’ve been going to that convenience store down the street,” Logan called as Patton walked away.

James.

Maybe there was someone for him.

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist just send me an ask or reply to this post :)

General Sanders Sides Taglist: ~ @centimeter-tries-to-communicate @bee-syndrome @fandomfan315 @cas-is-a-hunter @reggieleigh07 @endless-rain-of-words@mossdeemo @im-actually-ok @softnic@catolicabuena @queer-disaster106 @lunawolf89 ~

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galli-writes · 4 years ago

Photo

(Click here to read on Ao3!)

fandom: Teen Titans

pairing: BBRae

genre/warnings: AU - Canon Divergence; Implied/Referenced Abuse, Abusive Parents, Childhood Trauma, Graphic Depictions of Violence

additional tags: Angst, Family Issues, Friendship/Love, Protectiveness, Slow Burn, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions

summary:

There are a few things that Beast Boy knows for certain:

He’s 21….and a total lightweight. He’s a vegan (but not like…a pretentious vegan). He’s not going to be single forever.

And the Teen Titans are the only family he’ll ever need.

a/n: Hello everyone! I am finally back--though in a way I guess I never really left. I've been working on this fic on an off since I last posted, but things have been so busy that it's been rather slow going. I'm going to try REALLY hard to keep to a more consistent schedule going forward. The fic is entirely written, but needs some pretty heavy editing. I'm going to shoot for an upload every other Friday from here on out. Thank you all so much for being patient!

Chapter 5: A Helping Hand (words 6,264)

It wasn’t often that Beast Boy played hooky. At least, not when he thought there was a good chance Robin would catch him. Skipping practice was a serious no-go, outside of a few exceptions. Beast Boy knew he wasn’t a good enough actor to feign sickness. The ‘family emergency’ excuse existed strictly as a formality for obvious reasons. Reasons that were starting to seem less obvious now.

The letter in his drawer was already old news--at least to him. Beast Boy knew the contents of the note by heart. The memorization wasn’t intentional, but the words swam around in his head constantly nonetheless. A symptom of a much larger disease, as Raven might have put it. So he’d moved on to obsessively deconstructing and reconstructing the many packages that still littered their living room. Not that doing so had given him any more insight into who Nicholas Galtry was. Or why he had had possession of all of his parents’ things. Or why they were here now. Among the many disjointed thoughts that rattled in his brain, one consistently nudged its way to the top of the pool. That one was also tucked neatly away in a drawer in his room. Though he hadn’t dared to look at the picture since first putting it there.

Beast Boy glanced behind him at the clock in the kitchen. He’d been here an hour already--someone was probably already out looking for him, Robin’s orders. He quickly shut the box he was currently sorting through. It had been the same as all the boxes before it--filled with priceless, nameless items from another place and another time. He felt like a thief, searching his own belongings, not knowing what exactly he hoped to find among them. Each time carefully packing the boxes back as he’d found them. Like a thief, hoping to cover his tracks.

“There you are.”

Beast Boy flinched, instantly shrinking back from the box in front of him. He turned around to face Cyborg looming over him.

“Man, I’ve been lookin’ for you everywhere ,” Cyborg said, a twinge of frustration in his voice. “What the hell are you doin’ up here?”

“Nothing,” Beast Boy said, anxiously getting to his feet. “Just...hanging out.”

Cyborg frowned. “Well maybe you should come ‘hang out’ at training.”

“Training?” Beast Boy repeated automatically.

“Yeah, you know...the thing we have scheduled every single afternoon? At the exact same time? Every day?” Cyborg said, cocking an eyebrow at him. Now he seemed more confused than frustrated—a switch that was very typically Cyborg.

“Right. Training. I was wondering where everyone else was,” Beast Boy answered. It was a poor excuse, but it wasn’t actually a lie.

Cyborg sighed, but there was a hint of a joking smile on his face when he spoke next. “Let’s just get down there before Robin kicks both our asses, okay?”

Beast Boy nodded, and for a moment it was as if the boxes behind him ceased to exist. It currently felt like there were two worlds jammed under one roof, and now that he’d been pulled out of the one behind him, he saw just how much he preferred the one in front of him. Even if it meant getting his ass kicked.

The training field had come a long way from the public school playground it resembled when they’d first settled into the Tower. It was Robin’s ongoing project--adding another ropes course, integrating fully automated sparring dummies...there were even obstacles designed with each of their abilities in mind. Beast Boy was sure that Robin had a Pinterest board dedicated to the fiasco for all of the crazy things he was constantly adding to it.

Which is why Beast Boy was confused to find that none of it was being used.

“Oh no. Don’t tell me--”

“Yep,” Cyborg said, walking the opposite direction of Robin’s martial arts art display.

“Dude, I suck at hand to hand.”

“Probably why Robin thinks you ditched,” Cyborg shrugged.

In the distance, their three remaining teammates were gathered in a clearing at the opposite end of the field. Starfire stood leaning against a tree on the sidelines, water bottle in hand. In the center of a well-worn patch of grass, Robin and Raven circled each other in what seemed to be a never-ending dance.

“So when you said Robin was gonna kick my ass...you meant that literally, didn’t you?” Beast Boy said with a frown.

“Well it might not be Robin who kicks your ass,” Cyborg smiled. “It could be Star, or Raven, or yours truly.”

“Wow, thanks,” Beast Boy grumbled. He knew Cyborg was only teasing, and Beast Boy had been the first to admit that the skillset wasn’t exactly his strong suit. But the remark lingered in his mind a second longer than he knew it should have.

“Okay, so maybe it’s not really your thing, but hey,” Cyborg said, placing a hand on Beast Boy’s shoulder. “Practice makes perfect. You’ll get there.”

“Dude. I turn into animals for a living. Most of which don’t even have opposable thumbs,” Beast Boy said, flexing his own in front of his friend. “I don’t need to be good at something I’m never gonna use.”

Cyborg merely shook his head dismissively. “Never say never, man.”

“Okay, Robin ,” Beast Boy replied with a smirk.

As if on cue, Robin and Raven’s dance came to a halt as soon as the words left Beast Boy’s mouth. He had figured they were still out of earshot, but maybe he’d been wrong.

“There you two are,” Robin said as the two of them stepped into the loosely defined dirt ring. He glanced down at his watch and then directly at Beast Boy. “Beast Boy, you’re twenty minutes late. Practice starts at four. You know that.”

Any trace of teasing Cyborg had expressed instantly evaporated when Robin spoke.

“Uh...four-twenty blaze it?” Beast Boy said with a shrug and a terribly awkward smile. The one that always appeared on his face whenever he didn’t know what else to say--which was more often than he would have liked to admit.

Robin closed his eyes, raising a hand to his temples.

Raven’s facepalm was much less subtle.

“Starfire are you ready to go?” Robin asked, shaking his head slightly.

“Mmm hmm!” Starfire hummed in response.

“Great. Then I’m gonna have you and Beast Boy up next.”

“Uh…” Beast boy shot a glance at Starfire, who was practically the living portrait of an Instagram athlete. “Shouldn’t I warm up first or something?”

“In a real fight, you won’t always get the chance to ‘warm up’ beforehand,” Robin said, crossing his arms over his chest. Which was definitely his way of saying ‘that’s what you get for showing up late’.

“Don’t worry, Beast Boy,” Starfire smiled. “I will try not to injure you too terribly.”

Beast Boy certainly began to feel warm now, to the point where he was sure his face was turning red.

In his peripheral, he saw that Cyborg had cleared the training ring and was now standing beside Raven on the sidelines. She leaned in slightly to her left, whispering something into Cyborg’s ear with a devious smirk.

Beast Boy felt his stomach drop. He didn’t know what was worse. Starfire’s complete sincerity or Raven’s total lack thereof.

But he didn’t have much time to dwell on the thought before it was overtaken completely by a harrowing sense of panic. He had been posed for a fight, staring head on at his partner. But it was only now that his vision snapped back into focus, just in time to catch a whirling ball of green energy headed directly toward him.

He quickly swerved out of the way, trying to regain his balance. But before he could find his footing, another blaze shone at his feet, knocking him straight to the ground. He squinted, eyes beginning to water from the dust cloud that now surrounded him. He wanted to open his mouth to say something--make some complaint that he hadn’t been ready, that there had been no signal to start. But he knew that wouldn’t buy him any sympathy in Robin’s eyes.

Of course, vying for Robin’s attention was even less of a no-go once the sirens started blaring.

Without so much as a nod from the leader in question, everyone took off in the same direction. Everyone except Beast Boy, who was still on the ground.

He pushed himself to his feet, the palms of his hands stinging against the soil. He knew it wasn’t personal. None of this was personal. Kind of like how the sense of isolation and strangeness he’d felt around his friends since the reading that letter certainly wasn’t personal .

But as he watched them disappearing now--not one of them looking back to see if he had followed--it sure felt that way.

So what if calling shotgun was more important than helping him up? He shook his head, now unable to hold back a self-satisfied smirk. No matter how much of a head start they had, no one was going to outrun a cheetah.

Within seconds, the ground flew under his feet like a treadmill set on max speed. When the garage came into view, Beast Boy was relieved to find that it was already open--and more importantly empty. In a flash, he transformed back, and with the same proud smile lingering on his face sauntered over to crack open the passenger door.

His smile instantly disappeared when he saw who was behind it.

“ Raven ?”

Even at her name, she didn’t so much as shoot him a glance. Raven just sat there, comfortably nestled in the passenger seat with her feet kicked up on the dashboard. She scrolled through her phone with a bored expression--like she’d been there for hours.

“How the hell did you beat me?” Beast Boy blurted out, feeling irrationally annoyed as Raven continued to sit there, chewing a piece of gum in silence.

“Want a piece?” she said absentmindedly, materializing a pack of DoubleMint from the locked glove box. There were dozens of other flavors inside--so many packs that they filled almost half the compartment. “It’s Cyborg’s secret stash--but I won’t tell.”

Beast Boy ignored her. “There’s no way you could have beaten me here. I took a shortcut even you don’t know about,” he said curtly.

“Weird, huh?” she said, turning her attention back to her phone. “It’s almost like magic. ”

Beast Boy frowned. “That’s cheating.”

“And you turning into a cheetah clearly isn’t,” she said plainly. Then another sly smile crept onto her face. “Get it? A cheetah ?”

Beast Boy’s face scrunched up in even further annoyance. Without a word, he shut the passenger door, opening the one behind it. He already knew which seat he’d be directed to sit in. Though even calling it a seat was a bit generous. Nevertheless, he’d occupied it since day one because, of course, ‘he was the shortest and it just made sense for him to ride in the middle because if they were ever in a crash the height of the headrest wouldn’t do anyone else any good blah blah blah’. As if something as normal as a car crash would really be enough to injure a bunch of superheroes.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” Cyborg said, swinging open the door to the driver’s seat and hopping inside.

As the doors on either side of him opened and closed in perfect sync, Beast Boy was struck with another harrowing consequence of his seating arrangement.

It was true that Robin and Starfire were relatively tame as far as couples went--at least in terms of explicit PDA. It was only once in a blue moon that you actually caught them exchanging so much as a kiss on the cheek. But there was no denying the magnetic force between them. And it was times like these that Beast Boy felt less like a person and more like a glitch jamming the radio signal.

“Okay,” Robin said, flicking open the communication device on his wrist. A small holographic map appeared above it, marking several heat signatures as they traversed the grid on the screen. In an instant, an identical image appeared on a screen in the center console of the car.

“Looks like they’ve already hit Gorman street,” Cyborg said, glancing at the center console.

“They’re moving fast,” Robin added, adjusting something on the device. “But only because they’ve sacrificed numbers for speed��.

“Well let’s just see if they can outrun this, ” Cyborg replied, revving the engine in response. Within moments, the Tower was far behind them.

Beast Boy leaned forward slightly to look out the window on his left. They hadn’t been driving long at all, but he had no idea where they were. Left and right, worn down warehouse buildings lined the streets as far as he could see. Overhead, a thick gray fog swallowed the entire sky.

“Starfire, I want you and Cy to go after the group of three heading west,” Robin continued, pointing to several figures on the map as he spoke. “I’ll go after the solo. Raven, Beast Boy—you two track the pair heading in the opposite direction.”

Raven didn’t outwardly protest, but her agitated sigh was enough to send its intended message.

After what seemed like only a second later, the car skidded to a halt at the edge of a narrow alley. And without missing a beat, everyone else took off in their respective directions at full speed. This time Beast Boy could confidently blame the middle seat for keeping him a step behind.

“I’ll race ya,” Beast Boy said, throwing a competitive smile at Raven, who had surprisingly seemed to be waiting for him.

“Just hurry up,” she said plainly, looking to the sky.

The streets seemed even more bleak from above.

Every other street light flickered as if choking out its dying breath. Cracks ran down the sidewalks like jagged scars, and chipped paint and graffiti adorned the walls of the decrepit buildings. Beast Boy found himself wondering where everyone was--there were barely even any cars on the streets.

“Ow!” Raven exclaimed suddenly.

Simultaneously, Beast Boy felt his wings crumple under him as he crashed into her from behind. He screeched involuntarily, trying to regain his balance.

“Why are we stopping?” he asked--or rather squawked--momentarily forgetting he was still very much a bird.

Luckily, Raven seemed to get the idea. Without a word, she pointed to two shadowy figures slipping around the corner of a nearby building. She started to open her mouth to say something then, but Beast Boy was already locking in on the figures below.

Without a second thought, he dove sharply down toward one of the shadows in his sight. Talons poised, he only managed to graze the top of his target’s head. Or at least what he could think of as being the thing’s head, as the action felt more like skimming a silhouette than an actual person.

At the very least, the surprise of his attack was enough to knock the figure off balance and trip on some debris below.

Beast Boy landed nearby, skidding onto the asphalt. Back on two legs, he whipped around and morphed once more. A rhino was always a solid play when you didn’t quite know what you were dealing with. He kicked up the rubble under his front foot and ducked his head, preparing for a running start. Then he let his momentum carry him forward--feeling the power of an entire stampede in his muscles--which turned out to be much more than he bargained for.

It was like the wall came out of nowhere. Or maybe he just hadn’t looked before leaping. Though his horn mdulled the impact slightly, Beast Boy felt every shard of cement as the crash sent a shocking ripple through his entire body. When he opened his eyes, he was back to his usual self again. But unlike a moment ago, his head was spinning, and he was on his back watching the dark clouds rolling above. His vision had doubled, even tripled, and he shook his head wearily in an attempt to focus on anything at all. Instead, he saw the shaking image of someone approaching him. And his gut told him it wasn’t one of the people they were after. It was something much worse.

“What the fuck was that?” Raven said, leaning over him with a disapproving pout on her face.

“Rhino,” was all Beast Boy could manage, his head still spinning.

Raven scowled, but extended a hand out to him regardless. When she yanked him to his feet in one swift motion, the gesture suddenly felt less sympathetic.

“We’re supposed to be working together , moron,” she said, her tone biting. “How the hell are we supposed to do that if you knock yourself out before we even catch up to the bad guys?”

Beast Boy didn’t have an answer for that. So he didn’t give one, which probably didn’t help his case any more.

“God, you’re useless,” Raven said, grabbing his wrist and dragging him behind him. “Come on.”

They continued down the natural path of the alleyway uneventfully. And that was what worried Beast Boy most. If he wasn’t going to die at the hands of their enemies, he was sure he’d die of embarrassment knowing he’d let them get away. Again.

Luckily for him, if Raven had any more thoughts on the matter she kept them to herself.

When they reached what seemed to be the end of the narrow street, Beast Boy was somewhat relieved to find that it wasn’t the dead end he had been expecting. Rather, the space before them now opened dramatically into something resembling a large courtyard. The entire perimeter was lined by walls of surrounding brick buildings--the only other entrances and exits to the pavilion being opposing alleyways much like the one they’d just emerged from.

But the courtyard’s strange location certainly wasn’t the most interesting thing about it.

In the very center, shrouded by a cloud of steam trickling through a nearby grate, two figures turned abruptly to meet their gaze. Even though Beast Boy could hardly make out the eyes looking back at them, he knew their stare was a threat.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Raven said quietly, lingering in the shadows for a moment longer.

The words echoed in Beast Boy’s head, this time in his own voice. Then a wave of panic suddenly passed over him. He wasn’t actually sure he knew the difference between what was considered brave and what Raven would consider stupid. And he didn’t exactly have the time to mull it over.

Raven stood next to him, arms outstretched, as a flurry of flying rubble began to swirl around the two figures like a vicious tornado. Everything pulled toward them like scrap metal to a magnetic core--everything from the pebbles on the ground to full sized wooden beams and crates that littered the edges of the arena.

Beast Boy searched desperately through this mind for something to do--something to be. A mouse? Small enough to go unnoticed, but way too slow to bridge the gap between the opposing sides in such a short time. He thought to the opposite end of the spectrum. A gorilla or a bear could give him a boost of much needed strength if he cut back on speed. But maybe that was too on the nose. Just like the rhino.

He bit his lip nervously, catching Raven in his peripheral again. They were supposed to be working together after all--and she had clearly taken the lead. But he had no idea how she expected him to follow.

And suddenly, it occurred to Beast Boy that that was the secret to the riddle. The one way he could truly and certainly ‘not do something stupid’ was by not doing anything at all.

For a moment, he was almost proud of himself for finally cracking the code. But the false sense of pride evaporated as soon as he realized what it implied. Maybe his only use was...being completely useless? And just like that, he felt his stomach twist in a knot again as a familiar sense of embarrassment washed over him.

“Hellooo?” Raven’s voice rang out suddenly, snapping Beast Boy out of his daze.

He turned to look at her, finding her in the same position, teeth clenched and arms shaking ever so slightly as she held her pose.

“I said not to do anything stupid ,” she snarled. “Not ‘don’t do anything at all’!”

Beast Boy blinked hard, absorbing her words--the hint of need in her voice, however faint. And suddenly, miraculously, his feeling of uncertainty disappeared as quickly as it had come.

In a flash he was a mighty T-Rex, half as tall as the building behind him. Charging forward, he reached down and fished out one of the criminals from the fading cyclone. Grabbing the figure by the arm, he swung them into the adjacent wall with ease, a cloud of dust gathering upon the point of contact. A hit that would probably kill the average person; but Beast Boy knew that right now he was just buying time.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the second figure starting to pull out a small radio, shielding it from the winds as they spoke into the device.

But before they could utter more than a sentence or two, Beast Boy spun around, sweeping them off their feet completely with his enormous tail. The person went flying at a ninety degree angle from the last, and he watched as the body hit the crumbling wall with a ‘definitely unconscious’ crash.

Morphing back, Beast Boy stood tall, admiring his work.

Raven appeared beside him a moment later, surveying the scene.

“Not bad, huh?”

“I warmed them up for you,” Raven said matter-of-factly. But Beast Boy couldn’t stop himself from brandishing another self-satisfied smirk.

Raven automatically went over to the first fallen figure, pushing directly past him as she went. Beast Boy took the hint and headed the opposite direction, preparing to inspect the second wreckage site hound dog style.

Bombarded by a multitude of different scents, he realized that he wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for. He hoped he would know it when he came across it. And he did--when something cold and metallic brushed up against his nose.

With an obnoxious sneeze that sent his floppy ears soaring, Beast Boy took a step back from the dust cloud he had created in front of him. He squinted, coming back up on the area after the dust had settled to find a small coin-like silver disc buried in the ground. But it looked incomplete somehow, like it was only one half of a whole, given several small divots on the surface of the disc. And there was something else mixed in with the scent of the cool metal. Something thick and tangy. He followed the scent further until he found its source.

“Uh...Raven?” He hesitated, instinctively pulling back from the spot it had led him to.

Directly at his feet, the second figure lay face down in the rubble. Their clothing made it difficult to tell what kind of injuries they sustained, but there was blood. Lots of blood.

At the top of the neck, just under their hairline, a perfect silver circle was embedded in the skin--a corresponding piece almost identical to the one on the ground a few yards away. Except this one was covered in miniature circuits and drenched in the dark red liquid oozing from underneath it.

Beast Boy quickly turned back to pick up the first piece and compare the two. He was certain they had once made a single whole. But the half he inspected in his hand seemed to be no more than the covering to the blood caked battery beneath. There was some writing on it though--and maybe that could tell him something .

In a moment, Raven was beside him again, abandoning her less interesting finds at the other end of the courtyard.

“What is it?” She asked, leaning over to try and get a better look at the item in Beast Boy’s hand.

“I don’t know,” he replied, squinting at the object as he tried to make out the markings engraved on its surface. “A...R...S…,” he read slowly. “It looks like there’s more but I can’t make it out.”

Raven extended her hand, and Beast Boy automatically dropped it into her palm for a second opinion.

“Whoever these people are, they must have something to do with that break in,” she said, flipping the silver piece over in her hand. “I guess Robin was right.”

Beast Boy looked down at the body again with a frown.

“Okay, but we still don’t have any more of an idea what they’re after.”

Raven didn’t say anything. She just stood over the body, staring at it intently--in a way that suggested more than just superficial intrigue.

Suddenly, the small metal badge embedded in the figure’s skin was enveloped in a purple haze, and Beast Boy watched in horror as it began to peel away from the flesh underneath like a perfect silver scab. Leaving behind a gruesome red ring of skin, it slowly floated up and over into Raven’s open pocket.

Beast Boy swallowed hard at the sight, a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. For a split second, he was worried he was about to revisit breakfast in the worst way.

“Dude...what the fuck ?” he said, eyes darting between the site of the impromptu surgery and Raven’s slightly blood stained pocket. “That’s nasty.”

Raven didn’t even blink. “Yeah, well so are you and Robin still keeps you around so...”

Beast Boy took a step back from the scene, the scent still of blood still lingering a little too strongly for his liking. And after watching Raven pull off something like that without so much as a moan or a grunt from the disc’s owner, he wasn’t so certain the victims were just napping anymore. He tried not to think too much about the potential fate of the person at his feet. He hated the possibility of pushing that boundary--even if they were ‘the bad guys’.

“You know, that actually wasn’t too bad,” Beast Boy said suddenly. His laugh was stifled and unconvincing, but he knew Raven wouldn’t likely acknowledge his discomfort, which was a bit of a relief in its own right. Regardless, he turned on his heel and made a purposeful decision to start walking away from the scene in hopes that she would naturally follow. Luckily, she did.

“The fight? Or having to be alone with you for more than five minutes?” She said, overtaking him by a step or two. “Because if you’re referring to the latter I’m gonna have to disagree.”

“I mean, but it works. We work. Sometimes,” Beast Boy said, though he was unsure why he was still talking. “It’s like...you know,” he droned on as they walked. “Like oil and vinegar.”

Raven noticeably began to slow her pace. “Like what ?”

“Oil and vinegar. You know. It’s like our flavor ,” Beast Boy said, making some attempt to clarify with a hand gesture.

It was here Raven stopped completely, turning to face him.

“ This ,” she said gesturing between them in return, “is not a flavor .”

Beast Boy shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well I still think it’s a good metaphor.”

“Why? Raven replied, mimicking his pose. “Because we can’t stand being together and naturally repel each other?”

“Buuuuut,” Beast Boy added pointedly, “sometimes when you put us together you get an affordable and delicious salad dressing.”

Raven paused. She closed her eyes, raising her hand to her temple in a deep, meditative stillness before opening her mouth to speak. “You know, sometimes I really wonder how I haven’t killed you by now. Even accidentally.”

Beast Boy frowned. “Just to be clear, you’re the vinegar in this situation.”

The two began to walk again, but Beast Boy only made it a few steps before Raven thrust a hand out in front of him, stopping him mid-stride. And this time it didn’t seem to be because of anything he’d said.

“What?” he blurted out stupidly. At least this time Raven would be able to understand him.

Raven was completely still for a moment longer, her eyes slowly scanning the area around them. “You didn’t hear that?” she said quietly.

“Hear what?” Beast Boy said, again the words feeling stupid and redundant the moment he uttered them.

“Something other than the sound of your own voice,” Raven said under her breath.

Beast Boy looked all around them, just as Raven had. But he didn’t see anything. Let alone hear anything out of the ordinary.

“You’re just being paranoid,” he said, lightly pushing her arm back down to her side. “There were only two of them. You saw on Robin’s map.”

Raven didn’t seem too comforted by the reminder.

Beast Boy moved slightly to meet her gaze, which was focused somewhere far off in the distance. “I’m tellin’ ya. Oil and vinegar.”

Then, with a little more force than he expected, Raven pushed pushed past him and began to walk again.

“Where are you going?” Beast Boy said, somewhat startled.

“Home.”

“Didn’t you wanna sweep the area first?”

“Not if it means twenty more minutes of this,” Raven said, waving her hand dismissively. “Besides, I’m just being ‘paranoid’.”

“Okay, well so much for working together then I guess,” Beast Boy said, rolling his eyes.

Raven shot him a look over her shoulder. Then, in an instant, she froze, eyes growing wide as she opened her mouth to say something.

But Beast Boy beat her to it.

He wasn’t sure the noise he made was completely human, even if the small blade twirling in the dirt just past him hadn’t completely hit its mark. He bit his lip to keep himself from another outburst. It had only grazed the side of his calf, but that was enough to bring him to one knee. He knew that if it had hit him the way it had been intended, he’d be on the ground.

Suddenly, everything around him was engulfed in shadow--and Beast Boy wondered if this was what people meant when they talked about ‘blacking out’. He really hoped that wasn’t what was happening. Not in front of Raven of all people. And not over a glorified paper cut .

A moment later, finding he was still very much conscious, Beast Boy was relieved to find that Raven was the source of the shadowy dome that now surrounded them on all sides. But the relief didn’t last long.

Beyond the opaque screen of darkness, there was a ceaseless blur of motion. Hundreds of tiny silver sparks rebounded off the outer edge, like hail raining down in a terrible storm.

Beast Boy glanced up at Raven from where he knelt on the ground. She was gritting her teeth, brow furrowed and eyes aglow. She didn’t so much as blink when he looked at her, which wasn’t a good sign.

He looked around frantically. Every direction depicted the same terrible scene. Every direction—except for one. It was only now that he noticed how soft the earth was underneath him. How the asphalt of the alleyways seemed to melt away as they worked their way toward the center of the courtyard. And that gave him an idea. An idea Beast Boy didn’t allow himself to think through.

There was something reassuring about being so close to the ground. But the transformation into a badger probably hadn’t been the best for his wound. His leg was starting to ache even more now, and he realized that would probably make digging all the more difficult.

But before he could test his hypothesis, a voice rang out over the crackling of bullets, clear and strong and demanding to be heard.

“Do you have a death wish?,” Raven yelled, her voice cutting above the static.

“What do you think?” Beast Boy said, instantly morphing back. The words came out as sharp as the blades whirling around them.

“Well I guess it’s a good thing gophers are bulletproof ,” Raven said with a laugh dripping with anything but humor.

“ Badgers . It’s a badger .” Beast Boy could feel the adrenaline pulsing in his veins like wildfire--even though he knew the reaction was unwarranted, especially given the more concerning matters at hand.

“Really bad time for an argument, Beast Boy. Really bad time,” Raven bit back.

For a split second, Beast Boy thought of going ahead with his plan anyway. Then it occurred to him that he’d probably already used up what little luck he had for the day.

“Okay, so what’s your bright idea?” he said, struggling to hide the growing annoyance in his voice. But all things considered, he really hoped she had one.

“Not dying. That’s my plan,” she said, shutting her eyes tightly.

Beast Boy looked around nervously--though he wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

“Can’t you just...teleport us out or something?” he said, biting his lip.

“Teleportation or force field. You get one .”

The second Raven spoke though, she was interrupted by a noise that overtook even the hammering of the bullets around them. The short metallic pings were swapped for one firework-like explosion, the ground beneath them trembling just enough to make Beast Boy second guess his balance. From the looks of it, their attackers hadn’t been so lucky.

The bullets raining down on them slowed to a drizzle--then seemed to stop completely after a few stray shots. But not because the remaining gunmen had ceased fire. Rather, the firing now seemed to be directed somewhere else entirely.

Before Beast Boy could figure out where everyone else had turned their attention, his own focus was redirected again as he felt something cold on his wrist. A hand, gripping onto him with what felt like an unnecessary amount of force.

Beast Boy felt the ground sway beneath him again uneasily until it disappeared completely, the hard dirt and asphalt replaced by rough gray concrete. When the scene before him came into a clear focus, his stomach lurched. With a primal desperation, he reached out, searching for the hand that had just let go of him. Now he was the one holding on like his life depended on it.

In front of him now was a perfect aerial snapshot of the pavilion. They had to be at least ten stories up, given the size of the figures below them.

“Um…”

Beast Boy looked up, heart still pounding, though he wasn’t sure the vertigo was responsible for the anxiety he felt now.

Raven was staring at him--or rather their hands intertwined--with a clear level of discomfort. What kind, Beast Boy couldn’t tell.

“You can let go of my hand now,” she said slowly.

Beast Boy flinched, releasing her hand from his own as quickly as he had grabbed it. His knuckles were stiff, flushed by the strain of his grip.

An awkward beat of silence passed between them, broken only when Raven turned to grab something from her pocket.

“What are you doing?” Beast Boy asked, terribly conscious of the slight crack in his voice.

“Calling Robin,” Raven replied, an audible ring echoing from the blood-spotted comms device now resting in her hand.

The two waited for another excruciatingly long moment until the ringing came to an abrupt, unanswered halt.

“I guess he’s busy,” Beast Boy shrugged. But something snagged in his stomach at the thought. Robin probably was very busy. But Beast Boy wasn’t sure he really believed that was why he hadn’t picked up. He took out his own pager anxiously, already flipping through the contacts on the main screen. “Lemme try Cyborg.”

The dial tone cut off after the first ring.

Raven paused for a moment then looked up at him. “I don’t even have a signal.”

Beast Boy looked down at the device in his own hand. Neither did he. “Huh. Well that’s...weird.”

“Yeah,” Raven said, a definitive frown forming on her lips. “And that’s not the only thing that’s a little weird.”

As she spoke, Raven stared down at the pavilion below them, unblinking. She seemed intently focused on...something. But Beast Boy wasn’t entirely sure that it was the fight happening on the ground. A fight that was becoming increasingly hard to follow, even for someone who was trying to keep up with it.

Beast Boy scanned the turf once, then again through the eyes of a hawk, hoping for a better view. Squinting beyond the cloud of dust, he finally was able to hone in on the action--and more importantly, their attackers’ new target.

The man stood out like a current rolling on a still sea. Rather than trying to dodge the attacks of his pursuers, he danced through the waves with an impossible accuracy, almost as if he were intentionally trying to attract their shots. And he did--like hungry flies to a show horse. Only he never seemed to get bitten. The flies bit themselves. They bit each other. Falling one after the other around him as they continued to follow him further and further away from the center of the pavilion.

Just before the man disappeared into the shadows of the opposite alleyway, Beast Boy finally caught a glimpse of his face amongst the swarming insects--his shiny black hair and toothless grin glistening in the artificial night.

#bbrae #bbrae fanfiction #beast boy teen titans #raven teen titans #dc #i still don't know how to properly use tags lol

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