#only ever gave me rooms where she either knew the resident was out of the room Or she knew the resident was very calm and easy. sighh

[nomaishuttle]

hi guys

#afternoon break timeee. yay. everybody cheered #i still have nearly an hour tho i think ill prolly go do liberty #its gonna be so weird doing liberty without nicha tho shes like my guid 4 liberty 😭😭 bc she knows all the residents over there and she #only ever gave me rooms where she either knew the resident was out of the room Or she knew the resident was very calm and easy. sighh #liberty rooms r way way easier than normal rooms but theyre also more stressful bc like. well basically the cleanings way easier bc the #rooms r very simple + the residents dont like. flip their lid if you dont dust behind the tv every week. yk. <- obv not saying we dont put #effort into the liberty rooms just like. theres less arbitrary cleaning things its all pretty barebones. all laundry make the bed clean. #easie. but the hard part is that if the resident is in the room u have t be paying a lot of attention to making sure they arent getting #stressed out or anything. that + a lot of them are very chatty which is so sweet i love talking to residents hoeever i dont like talking #while cleaning bc famously i like to turn my entire brain off while cleaning and only pay attention to whatever im listening to. esp rn bc #im super super invested in im glad my mom died. its rly rly good. im nearly done with it and im like. kinda sad bc its like..so good #Also listening to the audiobook rly is a good idea with this one its rly good t hear it in like. her voice. yk. + #shes only gotten choked up once but it was like. genuinely i got choked up too. its so different from just reading it

[evandarya]

Prompt fill from the Discord server. This one is courtesy of @tourettesdog

Prompt where Danny keeps showing up like a stray cat at various hero's houses. He just comes and goes and they never know when he'll show up next. He's just this like pseudo-adopted child who will come over for dinner, crash on the couch, and he's gone by morning. No amount of research will tell them who he is past the limited information he's given them

The various heroes are unaware that his stray cat range wanders so far until someone mentions him at a JL meeting and all hell breaks loose.

There's eventually an intervention

Stray Cat Danny

Clark had just got home when he noticed the heartbeat on the fire escape two floors above him. As far as he knew, that apartment was empty, so it couldn't be the residents going out for a smoke. It was weird, very strange, and not his business.

He tried to leave it alone, but the heartbeat stayed on the fire escape for a few hours. Every now and again Clark would hear whoever it was shift, but other than that they stayed quiet. Again, weird, but not his business.

Until it started to snow right when Clark was about to start dinner.

He was just going to make sure whoever it was had somewhere warm to stay. Maybe direct them to a shelter. Clark opened the window and looked up, there was a dark bundle, worryingly still, on the fire escape.

"Excuse me?" Clark called. The bundle shifted but whoever it is didn't respond. Clark grumbled and made his way up to them, squatting down a few feet away.

"Are you alright?"

The bundle shifted, revealing one blue eye and a tuft of back hair.

"''m fine" a young male voice answered. The blue eye closed.

"You know it's going to snow tonight. I'm sure you'd be more comfortable in a shelter than on a fire escape."

"They're full." The boy answered. "All both of them."

Only two shelters for all of Metropolis? That can't be right. Clark looked up to the sky, the snow was starting to come down and he could swear it had gotten colder since he'd been out here. He couldn't leave the kid out here to freeze.

"How about you stay the night at my place? My couch is pretty comfortable, and I'm making beef stew for dinner, Ma's recipe." He let a bit of his Kansas accent show through. Hoping the country accent would put the boy more at ease. He was watching him now with both eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Did your Ma ever teach you about stranger danger?" The kid asked.

"Not exactly. She taught me to help people out if they need it. Did your Ma teach you stranger danger?"

"No," the boy said, "my mom taught me to put a full-grown man on the ground if I needed to."

That surprised Clark into laughing. "Well, you won't need to with me. What do you say you come inside?"

The boy watched him for another second before shivering violently and glaring at the sky.

"Yeah, alright. Just one night."

"I'm Clark, by the way," Clark said as he closed the window behind the kid.

"Danny." The kid said. He was rooted to the spot just a few steps into the apartment, eyes scanning the room.

"It's nice to meet you, Danny." Clark held out his hand to shake, but Danny didn't take it. After an awkward second Clark cleared his throat. "Uh. The stew is going to be a little while. You're welcome to the laundry and shower if you need it." Danny was pretty clean, but there was visible dirt on his face and clothes. "I might have some clothes my nephew forgot that you're welcome to." Dick was bigger than Danny for sure, but he was closer to Danny's size than Clark was.

Danny gave him a long look, before shrugging off his backpack. "Sure. Might as well."

Clark left to go get the clothes while Danny loaded some of his clothes and blankets in the washer. Once he presented the tee shirt and sweatpants Danny disappeared into the bathroom. When he reappeared he was scrubbed clean, his cheeks rosy either from the hot water or scrubbing.

Danny was even smaller than Clark was expecting. He was downright scrawny. Dick's shirt hung off Danny's shoulders, and Clark could clearly see his collarbones. This kid was not getting nearly enough to eat. Well, he was going to tonight if Clark had anything to say about it.

"The stew should be ready in about half an hour. Feel free to make yourself at home." Clark said. He expected Danny to sit on the couch and watch TV, but instead, Danny found his home office. it wasn't more than a desk with his work laptop on it and some of Clark's better pieces and awards framed and tacked to the wall above it.

"You're Clark Kent, the reporter?" Danny asked, eyes switching between the wall and Clark.

"That's me," Clark said. "You know my work?"

"I read your piece on metahuman and alien rights last year. It was good."

"Thanks. I really liked working on that piece."

"Did you always want to be a writer?"

"uh. No. When I was a kid I wanted to be an astronaut." Clark said, stirring the stew. Danny snorted. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," Danny said, taking a seat at the little kitchen table. "I wanted to be an astronaut, too."

"Yeah? You still could." Clark said.

"Nah. It's hard to be an astronaut without a high school diploma. What made you change to writing?"

"I went through a few different career paths before I landed on journalism."

"Do you like it?"

"I do. I like uncovering the truths people try to hide." Clark said. "You'd make a decent journalist, I'd think. Half of it is just asking the right questions."

Clark served up the stew into two bowls and brought them over to the table with some rolls and butter. "I don't have much in the way of drinks, is water okay?"

"Water would be great, thanks."

They ate in relative silence, Danny was too focused on his food to ask more questions. After they ate Danny nodded off on the couch almost as soon as he sat down. Clark couldn't bring himself to wake him up, so he just covered him with a blanket from the linen closet and headed to his own room.

Maybe in the morning he could make Danny pancakes or waffles and get him some new gloves and a jacket. The question was what to do after that? He didn't want to drop Danny off at a shelter, and taking him to the police would only destroy whatever trust he had gained with the boy. At the same time, he only had a one-bedroom apartment. He couldn't keep Danny here. Clark sighed. He'd have to talk to Danny in the morning and see what he wanted to do.

When Clark woke up he was greeted by the silence of the apartment and it took him a few minutes to figure out why that was wrong. There should be another heartbeat. Fearing the worst, Clark rushed into the living room to find it empty.

The blanket and clothes Danny had used had been neatly folded and placed on the back of the couch, along with a handwritten thank you note.

How did Danny leave without him hearing? Moreover, how'd he leave with the doors and windows still locked?

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dc comics #dp x dc #crossover #fanfic #clark kent #superman #dc x dp #evandarya writes #stray cat danny fenton #stray cat danny

[munsonsduchess]

Teenage Kicks

summary: it's 1993, you and eddie both work at the mall and have a friendly not so friendly rivalry going on, really you're just messing with each other until someone calls chicken w/c: 2,777 warnings: kissing, swearing, public make outs, mentions of shitty parents a/n: so i've had two weeks from hell but i should be back on track, i actually really loved writing this because 90s nostalgia is my jam (even if i was only a wee thing in the 90s). as always if you enjoyed this please leave a comment, a reblog, come into my inbox and say hey, whatever floats your boat

(moodboard by me)

Hawkins Indiana in 1993 was not that much different than the same town in 1983 Eddie thought to himself as he packed out tapes and CDs. All that's really changed in the last ten years or so is how the youth buy their music, when he'd been little it was all vinyl records and tapes had only just started to appear on the market. 

He remembers his uncle calling them a fad and saying that nothing would ever come close to experiencing music on a 12 inch disc. Now it seemed as though vinyl was on its way out once and for all as more and more people wanted tapes they could play in their cars or on their portable radios. Granted the battery life in those kinds of radios was nothing to write home about but still it meant not having to drag a whole record player with you whenever you wanted to go someplace and listen to music with your friends. 

The mall too had gotten busier in the last ten years, sure there'd been an outcry from residents and small business owners when the place first opened, but now the place was full of customers from every facet of life in hawkins. 

Hawkins Indiana was split into two sides, ask anyone who lived there and they'll tell you  the same. There was the affluent side of the  town, huge houses with more rooms than inhabitants, monuments to capitalism, kids who shopped exclusively in the Gap and wouldn't be caught dead wearing anything from the sale or clearance ailes. 

Then there was the other side of Hawkins, modest working class family homes, folks struggling to pay the rent or their bills and of course Forest Hills Trailer Park where the so-called dregs of society wound up. Eddie himself being one of those 'dregs' but he'd been called worse and most of the insults that got thrown at him tended to bounce right off the almost impenetrable armour he'd built around himself. You do what you can to survive in a small town when you're markedly different from your peers. 

The only person who ever managed to get under Eddie's skin and stay there was Hot Topic Girl. She had a name of course and Eddie knew her first and foremost by that name, especially since he was accustomed to hearing it screamed from a trailer window at ungodly hours of the day and night. What got under his skin about her was that she seemed to find it so easy to push his buttons and rejoiced in doing so. 

➽───────────────❥

It was shaping up to be another day of selling N'Sync and Backstreet Boys CDs to Yuppies for Eddie when a woman about the same age as his uncle walked into the store and made a beeline for him,

"Is your name Eddie?" she asked seemingly breathless, "I was told to ask for Eddie" 

"That's me, how can I help ma'am?" Eddie was approaching this conversation with trepidation, people usually didn't ask for him by name unless they already knew him. Either from buying music before or from his band,

"The girl in Hot Topic said you could help me find a record" the woman said, "I've been looking for it for months for my sister in Idaho and I was told you'd have it" 

"By the girl in Hot Topic?" Eddie asked, just to be clear on who he was going to hold responsible for this when the transaction was over. He gave some descriptors to the woman to make sure they were talking about the same person,

"Yes that's her! She told me to come straight here and ask for Eddie and that you could help me" 

Eddie grit his teeth and balled his fists by his side. No doubt this woman was going to be a nightmare customer and it was yet another way for Hot Topic to screw with him,

"What record are you after ma'am and I can see if we have it" 

"It's Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn live in Nashville in 75" 

Of course it was. Fucking country music. 

➽───────────────❥

Sometime that afternoon while you were folding shirts left in disarray by the horde of teens who'd passed through earlier that morning you were alerted to someone clearing their throat, and older man probably slightly older than your mother was standing at the counter with a sour expression on his face,

"Do you work here?" he asked sharply, "because I have been standing here for twenty minutes and no one has come to help me" 

"My apologies sir, I didn't realise you needed my assistance" you smiled sweetly, falsely, at the man and made your way back over to the counter, "how can I help you?" 

"The boy in the music store said you would have something I require" 

"The boy in the music store huh? Let me guess about yay high, curly hair, looks like a degenerate?" Eddie was getting his revenge it seemed for the woman you'd sent his way earlier, "what is it you require sir and I can certainly check?" 

The man went on to explain in great detail exactly what he was looking for and you did your best to school your features so he wouldn't see how irritated you were by his presence alone. You had to give it to Eddie,  he had picked the most annoying person on the planet to send your way.

When you eventually did get the man the items he required and sent him on his way it was time for your shift to end. Good riddance to the mall and shitty customers for another day, as you passed the music store on your way out you made sure to flip Eddie off knowing full well he could see you through the windows.

➽───────────────❥

It usually went on like that, you and Eddie making each other miserable with customers or ragging on each other when you passed in person. Some people just didn't seem to understand the relationship you had with the metalhead, sure you were both in the 'alternative' category, you listened to similar music although you tended to skew more punk or grunge as opposed to Eddie's metal although there was no denying that stuff like Metallica, Korn, Guns N Roses and especially Rage Against the Machine went hard. 

You just enjoyed getting under Eddie's skin to tell the truth, there was something adorable about him scowling at you over the food court or plotting as he stocked out CDs. Sure you had a massive crush on the guy, probably since middle school when he'd played in the school talent show but that didn't mean you couldn't mess with him a little. Or well a lot. 

➽───────────────❥

You didn't usually work the evening shifts, needing to be home before dark most days for reasons you'd only disclosed to the manager who'd hired you. You didn't want anyone pitying you or worse if they knew that the reason you wanted to be home before your mother was so you could ferret away as much cash as you could without her or her boyfriend of the hour noticing. You were saving to get out of Hawkins once and for all, to live a better life somewhere. 

However it would seem that the gods laugh at the plans mortals make because not only was your mother and her boyfriend aware of your stash they'd taken it all and simply left you nothing but a few dollar bills and some loose change. They'd run off to get married somewhere and taken both your money and your car with them. 

So you'd agreed to do as many double shifts as you could to try and rebuild your nest egg up to something close to what it used to be. Which was where you currently were, the closing announcements were playing over the Mall's PA system and any last minute stragglers were making their way out, parents headed home to their families, teenagers heading to a party, carefree with no responsibilities to hold them down. So you went about your closing duties, counting the register, putting stuff back in its proper places where someone had picked something up and discarded it somewhere else, you really hadn't expected the phone to ring and so when it did you almost jumped out of your skin,

"Thank you for calling Hot Topic Hawkins, we're currently closed - " you didn't even get to finish before a familiar voice came down the line,

"I thought that was you, what's up? You never close" 

"We all have our reasons for the things we do, Munson, what's it to you?" 

"Bite my head off why don't you? Can't a guy ask a question?"

You sighed into the phone, you hadn't meant to be so snappy with him, you were just exhausted from everything that was going on recently. Eddie was probably the one person who'd actually understand what you were going through right now,

"My mom and her stupid boyfriend took all my savings and went to get married somewhere, and they took my car so I had to get the bus this morning" 

"Shit that fucking sucks. Did they get everything?" 

"Apart from like five bucks and some change, yeah they cleaned me out. Everything I've been working for gone" 

There was silence on the other end of the line and then Eddie spoke again, 

"You need a ride?" 

You could have jumped for joy. The buses didn't run this late at night after the mall closed and you really really didn't want to walk the ten or so miles in the dark,

"Yeah, Eddie, that would be great. Just let me finish up here" 

"Oh I see how it is. It's Munson until you need something then it's Eddie" there was no malice to his tone and you couldn't help but laugh,

"I mean if it's too much trouble I could probably ask that Hargrove guy in the sports store. He lives in the trailer park too" 

"Absolutely fucking not. That dude is just as likely to try and date rape you or some shit. I'll finish up here and wait on you" 

You both hung up, which gave you time to fly through your closing duties and at least attempt to fix your appearance in the little mirror hanging in the back room for employees before you saw Eddie. He was giving you a ride because he was heading the same way that was it you were sure of it. Still you didn't want to look entirely awful sitting next to him.

Pulling the shutter down as you left the store you saw Eddie leaning up against the wall next to you with his keys in his hands, 

"You ready?" 

"Yup, if the place burns down now it's not on me" 

"Cool, you hungry? I was gonna swing through McDonalds on the way home" 

"Eddie I - " 

"On me, since you're broke and all" 

The way he spoke left no room for arguments so you simply followed him out to the parking lot where his van was sitting. Eddie made a show of opening the door for you and clearing out some of the trash. His over the top spiel kept you laughing the entire ride, he was charismatic and funny and so easy to talk to. 

When you'd both collected your food Eddie drove for a while before coming to a stop at a cliff top overlooking the town, it was a pretty popular make out spot and lovers lane for teens so it wasn't like you were the only ones there. As you both ate you laughed at the squeaking backseat of cars and the steamed up windows around you, the windows of the van themselves steaming up from the food. 

It was so easy to talk to Eddie, even though this was your first full conversation that didn't include name calling or worse, it felt so natural like you'd known each other all your lives. You talked about music, about culture, about everything, admittedly with some arguing thrown in for good measure,

"Kurt Cobain is a hack!" 

"You take that back!" 

"As if! The guy can't play for shit and his lyrics make no fucking sense" 

"Oh ok because exit light, enter night makes so much fucking sense" 

"The song is called Enter Sandman! It makes total sense" 

"You're so wrong Munson like on a fundamental level" 

"Oh so it's back to Munson now? What happened to Eddie?" There was a shift in the atmosphere of the van when he said that and suddenly the conversation wasn't about differences in musical taste anymore, if it had ever been. 

Eddie grinned at you as you rolled your eyes at him, if that's the game he wanted to play then you had no problem following his lead,

"I dunno, maybe if you're super nice to me it'll come back" you said leaning over the centre console to steal one of his fries

"What if I'm not nice?" Eddie watched your mouth as you spoke his eyes not leaving your lips for a second,

"What if I don't want you to be?" 

That was all it took before Eddie grabbed you by the front of your shirt and pulled you against him. Lips crashing against each other in a frantic kiss. Your hands buried in his dark curls, tugging on them every so often eliciting a groan from Eddie and allowing you to lick into his mouth. 

It was all tongues and teeth, hands grabbing onto anything they could reach, time seemed to move slowly, almost as if it had stopped completely and all that mattered was the feeling of Eddie's lips on yours and his broad calloused hands sneaking under your shirt, caressing the expanse of your stomach.

You broke apart at the sound of a loud bang on the drivers side window, as Eddie rolled it down you were both met with the face of Hawkins Chief of Police Jim Hopper shining his flashlight into the van,

"Evening Chief" Eddie grinned, "how can we help?" 

"You can pack it up and move along. I don't care what you're up to but it can't be here" 

"We were just having something to eat, just got off work" you explained batting your eyelashes at the older man, "closing shift in the mall really takes it out of you" 

The Chief just sighed. He knew you both worked in the mall, you'd seen him with his daughter and her friends enough times to know he knew exactly what you both did for employment,

"Well I'm sure you're both ready to get going then, looks like you're all done to me" he gestured with his flashlight to the empty wrappers and drinks, "y'all get home safe now" 

"Of course chief" Eddie smiled before throwing the van into drive and making sure to give the chief a wave before leaving the spot altogether. 

The closer you got to the trailer park the more your mood fell. You'd had an amazing time with Eddie but now you had to leave, your mom and stepdad as you had to call him now were probably at home already which meant they'd be drunk and you'd end up pushing everything you could think of in front of your door to keep them out while you looked for a new hiding place for your money.

As Eddie pulled up outside his own trailer he leant over again and grabbed your hand in his own,

"It's gonna be ok" 

"Thanks but you don't know that" 

"Yeah I do, you're my girl now. I'm gonna make sure you're ok" 

"Your girl? That's awfully presumptuous of you Munson" you laughed, you really hadn't expected him to say that. One time making out in his van and now you guys were dating? Is that really all it took,

"Don't act like you haven't been flirting with me this whole time" he grinned, "I know you weren't just messing with me" 

"Hmm maybe" you returned his grin with one of your own, "but I'm not telling" you hopped out of the van and made your way back to where your own trailer was sitting, "you'll have to stick around and find out" 

"Oh you are never getting rid of me now sweetheart" 

"I'm counting on it" 

That night as you lay in bed and listened to the sounds from outside your window you thought to yourself for the first time in a very long time that, yeah actually, things might actually be ok from now on. Now you had Eddie. 

Taglist: @eddiesmutson @eddiemvnsonss @pillow-titties @prettyboyeddiemunson @hellfireeddiemunson @that-lame-ghoul9000 @xbreezymeadowsmunsonx @boomhauer @flashyourgreeneyesatme @ches-86 @jobean12-blog @shenanigans-and-imagines @anxiousstark @ruinedbythehobbit @winnifredburkleismyhero @slytherinintj13 @inluvweddiemunson @wheaty-melon @lucciaa9 (if you've been striken out it means tumblr won't let me tag you properly)

If you want to be added/removed from the taglist or I've forgotten to tag you please let me know 💖

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things x fem!reader #stranger things x fem reader #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #duchess writes #duchess.txt

[bastetwastaken]

Another WIP? From me? Who'd have thought it.

This time it's not romance though, so there's that, right?

........

She put me in the worst spot imaginable. The woman who appears to run this…place.  

She put me right in the corner of the window which faces out onto the street, under an old item of some sort of clothing which I'm sure is a hat…it probably smells dusty. 

I think this place is some sort of shop, I know that people come in here and exchange money for goods, so it must be. 

I wonder if I have a price. 

I hope I’m expensive. I certainly feel as if I should be. 

Anyway, I digress. My point is that I'm sitting in the least advantageous spot in this entire world and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. 

I used to be worshipped. I used to be adored. I led an entire civilisation to prosperity and for them, I gave my life. That much I have gathered over the years with the help of the occasional receptive host. 

My journey has not been a glamorous one by any means, but it has led me here and I must hope that it means something if I am to get through this. 

I was taken from my homeland hundreds of years ago by tomb robbers. They disturbed my sleep with their harsh words and actions, they desecrated the sanctity of whatever place I was residing in. They shoved me into an old sack and carried me to some other place I didn’t quite get to see before I was packed tightly into a box of other stolen artefacts and moved once more. 

I travelled for a long time, I’m unsure of exactly how long, but eventually I came to the home of a very stuck up man who mistreated many of those around him. He was receptive to me but I could not use him as my host fully. 

He wasn’t right. 

His dark soul wasn’t open enough to sharing a body with another. So I gave up on that pretty quick. Instead I tried to focus on his housekeeper. 

She was a lovely woman, too pure and kind hearted to be working for someone like him, but she did a great job…and if I helped her by occasionally using her boss to increase her pay little by little then it is what it is. 

Not that she ever knew that was what had happened. She only knew that her bank account suddenly looked significantly healthier and she could suddenly afford to live much easier. However she never heard my pleas, never realised I was trying to talk to her. 

Perhaps she was too pure to be receptive to someone like myself…

I wish I could have done more with that man's fortune but he was stubborn. I could only maintain control over him for short periods of time…but luck was on my side it seemed when he was found at the centre of a million dollar fraud scheme and lost everything. 

His possessions were taken from him and I was among them. 

It was a relief honestly when the kind housekeeper stopped by the box filled room I was being kept in and decided to take me with her. I thought she had finally heard me, that I could use her as my host. 

I was wrong. 

The kind housekeeper took me to another place where a balding man inspected me. He opened the container I reside in and tipped out the contents. I felt as if my soul lay scattered across the table before him but all he saw was a complicated puzzle, a mess of shapes which made no sense because he was not the one I was looking for. 

He told the woman I was a worthless trinket. Just some strangely complicated and expensive jigsaw that no one had bothered to solve. He told her that he could only offer her a small sum of money to take me off her hands. 

I begged her not to accept, to keep me with her instead of leaving me there but she either didn’t hear me, or didn’t care. 

She left me there and the pieces of my soul were scooped up roughly and dropped back into the box I still reside in now, placed upon a shelf and never looked at again. I slept for a long time, I spoke to no one, I didn’t even bother trying to feel out my surroundings. 

I suppose you could say I was moping, but in my defence, thousands of years with no real meaning to your existence and no idea what to do will wear a spirit down. 

I continued to wallow in silence, embrace the darkness I found myself in and told myself I was perfectly content with that. 

That was until the woman who put me here found me. 

She paid for me with a handful of coins and took me away from that place but I never tried to speak to her. I didn’t feel like it after so many years of disappointment. 

Now here I sit, in the corner of a window of some sort of shop for lost things. 

I have no idea how long I've been here, no idea how much longer I may have to sit and wait…for the right person, someone perceptive enough to hear my plea.

So I wait. 

Each day I watch people pass, some stop to look, but none of them hear me. I have no idea how much longer I can do this, but somewhere inside me I know that I must. 

I know that I will find that person one day, that I will once again have a purpose to fulfil, that the world will need me once again. 

But until then I must wait.

#ygo dm #atem #yugi mutou #fanfic #what if Atem was just a kind of sentient haunted puzzle Yugi found in a charity shop and decided to take pity on? #another strange AU from the mind of Bastet #But its not actually a ship thing?

[softlenaluthor]

I had a weird but quite fun dream just now, so I’m writing it down here so I don’t lose the memory of it, I guess. It’s one of those dreams that you kinda want to get back to, and it’s a little sad too. But to me it was a fun dream. It was better than dreaming about people I miss.

So me, in my personal life, I’m in assisted living. It’s something I’m struggling to share irl if it ever comes up. I’m constantly confronted with a feeling of “I don’t belong here”. But then again, I also don’t feel like I belong in a house alone. I feel like I’m an adult, but not really. It’s a mental institution, but not really. The other people who live in the house also have their own issues and reasons as to why they live here. I have to say I’ve been living here for nearly two years and I don’t feel anything for anyone. I feel like an outside here just like I feel like an outsider in the “outside” world.

One of the goals of this institution is to train to eventually live on your own.

So in my dream, my coach told me that I had to enroll in a program along with the other residents, a mandatory program in “how to be normal”. So I went to a special facility where I would take my test. I went into the room and saw all the other residents taking their test already. One particular man, I noticed, struggling with it quite verbally. I peeked at his test and noticed the question said something along the lines of “whenever I feel wooqusuwwiwudbsuskir I will then quauwkjsusaowiwh”. So I personally couldn’t figure out what the question was saying, either.

My coach stopped me when I wanted to sit down and take the test. She told me that they have a special assignment for me. There was a woman living nearby who I needed to interact to in order to pass my test. I was quite baffled that I was the only one with a different test, but I was like “sure”.

So we went over to her house, it was a very dark neighborhood, but the house lights were on so someone was clearly home. With all the curtains closed I couldn’t do much besides see some faint silhouettes in the room. My coach immediately retreated into the shadows when we approached the house, clearly indicating that I was to do the initial contact alone. I was nervous about it, but there wasn’t much else I could do besides accept.

As I approached the door, I noticed that the woman was sitting in front of the tv. I debated where to knock on the glass or the wooden frame of the door, and opted for the glass: I attempted three decently loud knocks. As the woman’s gaze shifted from the tv, through the hallway, to the door, I raised my hand in greeting as to appear friendly, and not like a crazy stranger knocking on people’s door in the dark.

Much to my surprise, she had no qualms about getting up and approaching the door. As she swung the door open, I was surprised to see that she wasn’t some “sad old lady” like I expected when my coach told me about my assignment with her. She was just a little taller than me, but young, around my age I would say, and quite pretty. It felt comforting knowing that I wouldn’t be forced through a social interaction with someone I didn’t feel like I had anything in common with. It gave me the strength to speak up. I knew I had to work hard to sell my story, because who would let a random stranger in just to talk?

I said, “excuse me, I-”

She was quick to interrupt me. “You’re here for your normalcy test. I recognized you from last year as I approached the door.”

Another weight fell off my shoulders the realization sunk in that I must’ve met this woman before, that she didn’t seem to blame me for not recognizing her earlier, and that this would make my assignment a whole lot easier and somehow, my coach forgot that I had already done this test with this woman.

The woman was definitely approachable, and I felt all the tension drain from my body as she moved to open the door further to let us in. I felt myself shift on my feet teasingly, as I leaned in a little to whisper conspiratorially: “How fun would it be if we went in and pretended we didn’t know each other, just for a little while?”

The woman was game for that, the smile she returned just as playful as my smirk. I thought to myself, this would look like I’m doing good so far, as my coach looked on. I also thought to myself, I like this woman, I wish we could be friends. As I thought that, I also heard a sad voice in my head supply: but you’ll never ask her that. The other part of me agreed, I would never ask her that. Maybe, at most, I’ll follow her on social media.

In my dream, I thought to myself, “it’s just nice to feel like you want to be someone’s friend.”

And then I woke up.

#dream #long post kinda personal you can read you can ignore it’s whatever #oddly enough I just didn’t want to forget about this dream #and as I finish writing this all down I’m realizing I’m feeling quite sad about it too #I guess I’m just lonely but that’s nothing new

[esthermitchell-author]

An Aftermath, in 3 POVs

The following three scenes are taken from my work of original Science Fiction, Mind Killer. You can find out more about the book and entire series (including where to purchase, HERE).

Rover Bay, Underground Command Post, Manhattan -- 11 November 2118, 0700 Hours

The Rover's doors were barely open before Matt caught sight of her standing on the concrete bay floor, trying -- and failing -- to look calm.

Aw, fuck.

He shoulda known she'd be all up in his grill before he even got a chance to take a piss or shower. Pasting a wicked grin on his face he was far from feeling, Matt caught the edge of the door frame and tried to head off Hurricane Jen at the pass as he called out, "Hey, Catwoman! Miss me?"

Fucking baitin' her right now was a fucking dumb idea, and he realized it half a second too late. The second his feet hit the concrete, she was across the space between them, her small, capable hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt as she snapped, "Don't you ever goddamn do that to me again, Matthew James Clipper, or I swear to Almighty God..."

"Hey," he murmured, covering her hand as much in comfort as to hide its shaking from the rest of the team as he dropped his bullshit just for her. "I'm okay, baby." Then, louder and for everyone else's benefit, "Jesus, Catwoman. Don't go all psycho on me."

Her gaze narrowed on him. "Shut up and get your ass to the infirmary for a med check." Her gaze flickered past him for a moment. "You, too, Frank."

"Later." Frank's muttered word, on his way past, was so flat Jen nearly took a step to stop him.

Matt gave her hand a warning squeeze, drawing her attention, before he murmured, "Let him go, Jen. His head's all fucked up, right now. He needs time."

Her gaze shot back to his, and the worry he read there cut like a knife across his soul. "What about you?"

He forced a shrug and a crooked grin as he gently peeled her hands free from his shirt front. "Me? I'm fine, Catwoman. You know me. I'm fucking indestructible."

Her gaze narrowed on him, before she stepped backward. "I'll be the judge of that. Straight to the infirmary."

With a quirk of his lips to cover his twisting emotions, he sketched her a playful salute. If letting her check him over killed the fear in her eyes, he'd suffer through it. Though honest-to-fuck, right now he didn't want her poking and prodding at him. He just wanted to cuddle the shit outta her and be grateful he'd survived to see her again. Except...

Matt frowned as he followed Jen through the connecting door between the Rover Bay and infirmary. Their relationship hadn't left room for intimacies like hugs and cuddling since South Africa. The only way they came together was either as comrades, combatants, or fast fucks that were both momentarily satisfying, and ultimately empty.

He hated it, but he couldn't fucking change it. Not as long as he was going to be hitting the goddamn streets again -- and the streets were his job. They were the only thing he knew how to do right. Right now, though, they cost him a lot more than they were worth. And that was just too fucking bad for him.

*****

Residence of Calli Malone, East 83rd Street, Manhattan -- 11 November 2118, 0835 AM

Honey, I’m home.

His usual teasing quip died, unspoken, as the door slid shut behind him and his go bag slid to make a heavy thump on the floor at his feet. He hadn't even stopped to drop it off in his quarters before leaving the Underground. He'd been on autopilot since they left Rio, and the only thing on his mind was here.

Her.

"Frank? Honey, is that you?" Her sweet voice carried through the apartment, preceding her appearance as she floated toward the front door.

That's what Calli did. She floated, like an angel. Years of walking runways gave her a soft step, and her pure heart gave her that beautiful smile on her lips and twinkling in her dark, mocha eyes. The smile he thought, in the instant between explosion and impact, he'd never see again.

Suddenly, it was all too much. His head dropped forward, chin to chest, and the tremors of fear, rage, and sorrow took him down, an anguished sound ripping from his chest as he sank to his knees.

"Frank!" Calli's frightened cry was followed by the race of feet on the hardwood floor, then her soft hands on his head, his face. "Oh my god. Frank. Talk to me, honey."

Only, he couldn't. He couldn't show her the horror in his head. The fresh scars on his body would frighten her enough. All he could do was cling to her -- to the precious peace she offered -- his arms banding around her, his large, battle-roughened fingers grasping fistfuls of her silk blouse as he buried his head against her shoulder and neck and released his pain in huge, body-wracking sobs.

****

Blake-Leads Apartment, West 135th Street, Harlem -- 12 November 2118, 0230 Hours

"Kelly?" The sleep-softened voice reached her as she tipped the beer bottle to her lips and took a drink, then sat it back on the fire escape step beside her.

Moments later, light footfalls clanged across the metal platform and soft, pale hands slid over her shoulders, becoming arms that wrapped gently around her neck as Carrissa's soft voice teased against her ear, "You're cold, baby. Come on inside."

Kelly turned to smile at the beautiful woman who made her heart sing, but the smile slipped as shadows crossed her memory.

"My beautiful C'rissa," she whispered, reaching out one hand, almost engulfed in darkness until it touched a satiny cheek growing pink with the cold before sliding through sandy-blonde hair so soft it was like touching a cloud. "I love you so much."

A smile tipped up Carrissa's lips as she picked up the abandoned beer bottle and took a sip of her own. "How many of these have you had?"

Kelly shrugged, ambling to her feet as she looped around the rail of the fire escape, backing Carrissa into the side of the metal steps. Sometimes, she let herself forget how lucky she was this woman agreed to be her wife. That Carrissa had agreed to be hers at all, even knowing she was staring down a bullet that would end her one day.

"Enough to be glad you're mine, love," she whispered as she pressed soft kisses to Carrissa's throat. "But not enough to forget what I saw."

Wrapping an arm around her wife, she drew them both back in through the window to the warm kitchen. Sorrow tugged at her as Hell rose before her mind's eye again. A Hell she felt guilty bringing home to her C'rissa.

Carrissa was studying her with hurt eyes, full of tears, when Kelly surfaced from her thoughts.

"Ah, sweetheart, I'm okay," she murmured, locking her arms around her wife's waist.

"I know you can't talk about what you do." Carrissa's voice was soft between them. "But I don't like that it hurts you. Maybe you should quit now."

A heavy sigh pulsed from Kelly as she rested her forehead against Carrissa's. "You know I can't, love. My dragon's still out there."

A tear rolled free of Carrissa's eye, tracing her cheek as she muttered, "You're going to let that damn superstition kill you, Kel."

Kelly's hollow chuckle hung in the room, unchallenged, before she whispered, "Ah, love, we both know I'm a dead woman anyway."

Before Carrissa could argue the finer points of medicine, Kelly forestalled her argument with a consuming kiss, backing Carrissa toward the bedroom. If she was to sleep with ghosts, tonight, at least she wouldn't be alone.

#original fiction #science fiction romance #romantic suspense #my writing #writing fiction #writing #fiction #writing community #military futuristic suspense #Pardon me but I thought it was time for something not fanfic

[jangmi-latte]

࿐ “If Malleus had given you anything in the form of gold or diamond. You must prepare yourself. That’s a sign. You may not bear his kids just yet, but once his heat comes, it will be inevitable to stop him.”

�� warnings: nsfw w/ a mix of fluff, breeding kink intensifies, vaginal penetration, clingy mal mal, rough sex, cunnilingus, just malleus going all out 

➻ comments: it’s going to go back and forth between fluff and smut so be aware. minors, do not interact! this is The Dragon’s Temptation part two so enjoy! 4.4k words and fem reader <3

"Lilia…" you called, concerned, "...why are you laughing so much?" With no signs of stopping, the old fae continued to holler in laughter. His whole body shook as he continued to take in deep breaths in between chortles. You were growing even more concerned. It wasn't maniacal laughter, neither was it sadistic, it was just Lilia laughing in… joy if you would put it.

Silver— who was staring at Lilia and is currently half-awake—nudged his father to catch his attention; it didn’t work. Scratching his head with the same concerned expression on his face, he said, “Father. You know how laughing out of nowhere makes me nervous.”

The old fae shimmered down into small chuckles, wiping a tear or two as he laid back on the couch. Out of breath is he, he looked at you and chuckled again. His shoulders mockingly shaking before letting out a loud sigh. “It’s happening again.”

“What’s happening again?” both you and Silver asked simultaneously. Lilia looked over at the second-floor balcony of the castle they resided in. In silence, he caught Malleus, who stood and was staring at nothing; or at you. He was deep in thought, and neither you nor Silver noticed. Lilia asked Silver to give you and him some privacy, and the young man respectfully obeyed. He left you with the older fae and your husband, who now descended down the stairs, yet hid behind the wall. He avoided you, much to his dismay, and you have yet to notice the distance he has been placing.

“y/n, dear.” He sat upright and gestured for you to sit down beside him. You obliged and listened attentively. Lilia’s tone was soft, fatherly— or grandfatherly— like. Your thumb caressed the small black diamond that adorned your wedding ring whilst you glanced around in hopes of looking for Malleus. With half your attention situated in your surroundings, you looked back at Lilia, who held a knowing smile.

“Has Malleus given you anything yet?”

You pondered; it wasn’t your anniversary or was the day anything special. You replied, “Uhh... “ you bit the joint of your index finger in thought, “Give me anything like what? Be specific, please…” In the back of your head, you knew the answer. You have been married to and living with Malleus for five years now, it’s not unusual for Lilia to act like something was going to happen.

“Oh, you know what I’m talking about, dear.” There go the shaking shoulders and the suppressed laughter again.

Knew it.

You took a deep breath of air and leaned back on the couch. Your hands covered your face in embarrassment as you remembered the night before. Malleus gave you a pair of 24-carat gold earrings last night. Additionally, he was very lustful and clingy. He would sniff your neck while you’re in the kitchen, he would kiss your knuckles while you’re at the garden, he would hold and grip your thighs while he handled royal duties, and he would kiss and lick your breasts while you slept.

“Those earrings surely are beautiful.” Lilia grinned and stretched, before continuing, “Looks like I have to tell the gnomes to be ready in nine months again.”

“No, wait, Lilia! I’m not even pregnant—”

“Yet.” He cut you off with a wink.

“How would you even know I would get pregnant again this time?!” you whisper-yelled, face flushed in red. Unbeknownst to you, Malleus has been itching to touch you again as he stayed behind the wall. As each day passes by, he keeps on touching you, making sure to stay close to you at all times. It was only today that he kept his distance. He knew he would break any second and just fuck you on the spot.

“Is Faye enough of an answer for you?”

“Mama!”

Speaking of the devil, a little girl, no older than four, ran inside the castle’s lounge and wore a big grin on her face. She stopped just as your legs caught her from toppling to the ground. In a fit of giggles, she climbed onto your lap and kissed your cheek. “Hi, baby,” you cooed and rubbed your nose against your daughter’s cheek.

“Mama, mama. I found...i-i found—” she spoke, too hyper and giddy to finish her sentences as you tried to calm her down while rubbing her back.

“Deep breaths, sweetie.”

Obeying, she took a deep breath and exhaled. She then continued with her statement, “I found a mama duck with her…” she stopped and looked at her fingers, mumbling the numbers as she lifted each finger, “...four—” she showed you four fingers, “—baby duckies, and they were going for a swim! I want to touch one, but Silver told me not to.” Faye pouted.

You grinned, giggling as you kissed her cheek. “That’s great! And Silver is right. Don’t touch mama duck and her babies because she might get angry and hurt you. It’s just like how papa and I would get angry if someone else touches you.”

“She looks so much like Malleus. I feel nostalgic,” Lilia spoke and squished Faye’s cheeks. He wasn’t lying; Faye had green eyes and your hair. What made her look a lot like her father was her having his horns. She has developed into a part dragon, and her horns looked like two small bumps on her head.

“Grandpapaaaa…” Faye complained with a giggle as Lilia stopped his pinching. “Where’s papa, where’s papa?!” She looked around and even stood on your lap to look for her father.

“Ah, Faye. Come with grandpapa for a second. Playtime is over. It's time for your reading sessions. Your mother will look for your father while we read.” Lilia nodded his head towards the wall near the stairs, indicating Malleus' whereabouts. He carried the princess away from you and into another room. She even waved at you and sent you a flying kiss before Lilia closed the door. You sighed.

Malleus is in heat and Faye needs not to know about that.

“Mal?” you called and stood. You hear shifting from behind the wall and as you glance over, you see your husband. He was a bit bigger than his usual height and he had his long tail gently swishing behind him. The formal (it was casual in a way) attire he was wearing had the top buttons unbuttoned, giving you the best breast window you would ever see. As you took in a sharp inhale, he approached you.

You couldn’t speak as he eyed you; you eyed him back. Your brain absorbed this work of art of a husband in front of you. Handsome would be an understatement. “Dearest,” he sighed.

“Why...Why are you like this?” you asked, now concerned as you held his arms.

“You already know the answer.”

“I know but...why…” You moved your hands around, gesturing his whole physique while he looked down at himself. “Has Faye seen you like this?”

“She has,” Malleus said, making you surprised. “She likes playing with my tail. It gave me enough of a distraction from wanting to touch you,” he admitted. His tail wrapped around your waist and pulled you flushed against his chest. The closer you are to Malleus, the more you look at his features.

Your hand caressed his jaw as you smiled, "When did this happen?"

"This morning while you were in Faye's room. It was a sign for me to avoid you at all cost." Malleus' voice was strained and gruff. It held the hesitance of him needing to speak those words. He wants to do the exact opposite of course.

"And why would you do that? Mal. I'm your wife. It's my duty to make sure you're alright and sustained with all your needs. Do you really think you could avoid me?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I survived during your first heat," you confidently spoke. You felt the king's possessive and needy hands rub against your clothed hips. Itching their way under your dress and towards your thighs while he kept eye contact with you. "And you wouldn't hurt me."

"y/n, you don't understand," came his strict and authoritative tone. "With me in this form, I am already warning you, it's dangerous—"

"That's not stopping me from staying away from you."

"You're so stubborn." Malleus knew who he married as he exhaled through his nose and looked away in sexual frustration. Blabber here, blabber there, that's what you two are doing. What he wants is to mark you, kiss you, lick you, and make you scream already. Unbelievably horny.

You stood your ground, arms crossed over your chest as you stared up at your man. "I am."

His tail tightened around your waist, teeth gritting in frustration, "I held back on my first heat because you weren't my mate yet," he emphasized, "and now that you are my queen—" His used your chin to bring your face closer to his, lips grazing yours sensually as his slitted pupils glared at you, "—I am not going to hold back."

"I will fuck you. Breed you. And make sure you're pregnant by the end of the week. I can not and will not be able to hold myself back if that were to happen. Even if you tell me to stop, I will not. Do you understand, y/n?"

Air got stuck in your throat as your lips quivered. Either you were sexually turned on by Malleus' demeanor or you could really sense how intense his heat was at the moment. He was right. The moment you said 'I do' was the same moment you were claimed as his mate, his queen. How that sentence made your legs weak if it wasn’t for his tail holding you firm.

"Then so be it."

"y/n—…" Malleus searched your eyes for any signs of hesitance, maybe even fear. There was none. Must he be scared if he were to hurt you. You wanted to be there for him during one of his intense moments. Well, you were the one who gave him an heir; it’s not anything new that you would give him another. He only fears that with his strength and power as a fae, with him going out of control, he might just harm you.

And Malleus never wanted that to happen, not to you, not to Faye, not to anyone.

To you, this man is still your husband. This is still Malleus Draconia. Just different but it’s still him. You are his weakness; no matter how stubborn you get, even now that he YEARNS to be around you, you still have that impact on him. “Mal. I promise I’ll be okay. I’m here to help you.”

He sighed, letting you wrap your arms around his chest. “I’ll tell Lilia to keep Faye away from the castle for a week. I can’t expose her to this,” he mumbled against your hair. “By tomorrow, you should be ready.” You felt him inhale your scent as his grip around you tightened. Smiling, you kissed his neck, “As you wish.”

❥❥ ❥❥ ❥❥

“Faye, don’t give grandpa and your two big brothers a headache, okay?”

Tomorrow came sooner than you expected. Your husband is going to be one horny dragon for a week and it was hard to find an excuse to tell Silver, Sebek, and Faye since they’re going to be living in a cottage in the meantime. While you prepared yourself the previous night for Malleus—he was already impatient while you spoke to Lilia—you were also preparing Faye’s stuff. Not only did you have to prepare yourself for a rough week, but you also need to prepare to conceive another child. Faye is already old enough and you’re most likely going to give her a little sibling.

The first time Malleus was in heat already caught you off guard, but this time, you were ready. Besides knowing his sex patterns already, this new season was going to bring something new. Malleus’ draconic features showed no signs of disappearing and if his heat wasn’t sustained, he’s going to be very grumpy. You trust Lilia enough to look after your daughter. You could even see Malleus stare at his daughter while she got ready to leave. He’ll miss her, even if it was just a week.

“Yes, mama. I promise!” Faye hooked her small pinky around yours and she pecked your cheek. Sebek was already holding her bag while they waited by the door. Malleus looked at Lilia, eyes squinted as if to tell him something. The older fae just chuckled and nodded, “I got her, I got her.”

“Young Master, are you sure you’ll be alright on your own with the young mistress?” Sebek asked worriedly while he gripped the doorknob. It was a surprise to see his king in such a state, more reason for the knight to get worried. Malleus nodded, watching you approach him with Faye in your arms.

“Kiss papa bye-bye,” you said.

Faye pouted and hooked her arms around Malleus’ neck. Her father held her gently as she kissed his cheek. “I’ll have fun with Silver and Bebek but I’ll miss papa,” she admitted. Malleus smiled and placed his daughter down by using his tail, “I will be alright. After one week, you’re sleeping with your mother and I. Be obedient, am I understood?”

An overprotective father is scarier than a dragon if Silver and Sebek would ever compare.

“Yes, papa!” giggled Faye as she held Silver’s hand.

“We’ll be going now. See you in a week.” Lilia grinned while he ushered the two boys outside. You and Malleus stayed by the door, watching your daughter skip away while she held Silver and Sebek’s hands. “Call us if anything goes wrong okay? Don’t hesitate!” you called out. Lilia simply waved his hand at you while hearing Faye say, “Bebek, I want to pick fruit up trees again!” as their figures slowly disappeared from your view.

You sighed, already missing your daughter. And while you moved away from the door, it slammed shut loudly. Malleus’ hand on the door indicated that it was him who slammed it shut. Without you taking notice, you are now trapped between his body and the door. Your back faced him as his nose tickled your neck; his tongue slithered across your nape, the warmth of his tongue and the cold air sent shivers down your spine.

“Mal…” you inhaled, your hand holding onto his thigh while you arch your neck, “We just sent them off. They might come back…” came your quivering breath.

“Oh, they won’t come back.”

“What—”

Before you could even blink, you were thrown on the bed, dazed by the sudden shift of environment. From the living room, you’re now laying submissively on the bed. He towered over you, eyes narrowed, and glared at you so lustfully. “Wait—”

“I warned you, y/n.” The king crawled on top of you. His long tongue slithered across his lips, breath hitting your face as you started to pant in anticipation. The room grew hot. Your body felt like it was burning. Your legs rubbed against the sheets in dire need to be touched and fucked until you could no longer walk. Only he could make you feel this way. Your man.

“I will no longer hold back.”

And holding back he did not, indeed.

Gripping your neck, Malleus captured your lips in a hot, searing kiss. His tongue, with no hesitance, slithered inside your mouth and in desperation and temptation. Incapable of resisting your own muffled moans, and to keep yourself sane, you weakly gripped on his bicep and his wrist. He held you by your neck to keep you in place. It was his way of showing you dominance.

Breath was knocked out of your lungs almost immediately. To keep up with his addicting, electrifying, pace was enough to make you light-headed. With his knees being his support, his other hand roamed on your body. With just a tug of his finger, your clothes were discarded, ripped, on the floor. He was devouring you, really making you feel that you are his mate, his fucktoy for the day.

Moving from your lips to your neck — without even letting you have a moment’s breath — he sensed your pulsating veins. You could feel your heart beating everywhere; from your neck to your chest, and down to your cunt. You laid bare under him and you don’t even know. You felt lightheaded.

“M..Mal…” you panted.

He sucked and bit on every sensitive spot he knew would make you weak. As the rapid beast he is, he left marks, dark and bruising, at his wake. Littering your neck and your chest as his tongue flicked against your nipples. Roughly did he suck and tug with his teeth. He made them look swollen, indescribably sensitive. The hotter your body went, the more you wanted him to touch your throbbing clit already. You don’t know if the marks have satisfied him; it felt like he wanted to add more. To litter your body with hickeys that showed that you're His Highness, Draconia’s only. Waves of arousal hit you strongly as he descended to your navel.

“Shit,” he panted against your skin.

He finally stood upright, kneeling against your whorish spread legs. Your wet, glistening pussy is clear in his sight. He is hungry.

You were left under his gaze feeling so sensitive and aroused, any touch that lingered on your skin would leave goosebumps and shivers. “Mal—!” Just as you were calling out, he dove down to your cunt and latched on your clit. His lips did the work as he greedily sucked and nipped on your hardened clitoris. Your back involuntarily arched as you gripped on his horns. His hands kept your legs open. Choking out loud moans while he slithered his tongue inside your walls.

“M-Mal—..please..please! T-Too much—!” you gasped out.

It was too much, alright. Your cunt so red and wet, your hips shivering as he pushed his tongue in and out. Eating out your wetness with strings sticking and stretching from his lips to your cunt. He groaned with every tug you did on his horns. He was so good, too good, with his ability to pleasure you with his tongue alone. He was right. It was so rough. It was nothing like his first heat.

It was animalistic.

Your overly sensitive nub hardened the more he sucked. Malleus’ thumbs even spread your labia open for more access. You are vulnerable, stimulated, and submissive to him. It was all coming swiftly. You could’ve drenched the sheets with just your wetness alone. Cries of pleasure alone bounced around the bedroom walls along with the audible wet sounds that Malleus’ mouth made on your pussy. He thrusted his tongue, wiggled it inside you, hitting your spots more than you could handle. At this point, you’re shaking with your toes curling.

“I’m close! I’m close— I can’t b-breathe…!” you cried out with your body spasming. Subconsciously, you squirted just as he pulled away from your nub. Now, you’re too overstimulated for you to think straight. You panted at the intense orgasm you had. Your hazy vision looked at Malleus. He was licking your cum from his lips. “You’re ready.”

You couldn’t see his thick cock from your position. All you could do was watch; up until he flipped you onto your stomach with a pillow under your stomach to lift your hips. Your weight leaned on your knees while your arms — as weak as they are — lifted you enough to keep your head from the bed. “Malleus...wait, I’m not—”

He did not listen. Malleus rubbed his cock against your slit and without warning, he slammed into you, deeply. In one sharp thrust, he was balls deep inside you as you cried and gasped loudly. He hovered over you, pushing his hips further into yours. Your cunt was quivering from accommodating his thick cock. You have never felt so full.

“Malleus!..Nngh!”

You’re just where he wanted you to be. Under him, screaming in ecstasy, ready to take his seed. Letting him breed you until your pussy couldn’t hold his cum. And he wouldn’t stop even though it’s already spilling on the bed. Your walls devoured his cock greedily. It sucked him. You're still so tight even after giving birth years ago. To fuck you senseless would drive him mad.

That he did.

Pulling all the way out, Malleus pounded back into you. There was no mercy in his thrusts as he snapped his hips against your ass. He grunted at how you make him feel good. Breathy moans left his lips while you moaned under him. Each thrust was harder and rougher than the last. He was speeding up. One objective in his mind was to make you pregnant. It was just day one. His tail wrapped around your waist, lifting your ass higher for him to fuck you more relentlessly.

“You...take me so well,” he panted as he leaned his lips against your back. “Just hang in there. You’re doing so good…”

His cock grazed and hit just the right spots inside you; he was going to bruise your pussy with his roughness. You were growing addicted to the pleasure building up inside you. As you kept on moaning his name, his relentless thrust fueled you into absolute bliss. Fuck, you wouldn’t even know if you came again. The pleasure just never seems to seize.

His fingers crawled down to your hardened clit, rubbing them in circular motions which sent you twitching and biting down on the sheets. “Mal that’s too much!” you screamed in stimulation. Tears were already dripping down your cheeks. “Aah…! Fuck—!”

“I’m not stopping,” he growled, pounding repeatedly.

Skin slapping against skin was very evident now, the bed rocked under the both of you. You couldn’t even scream anymore, you shimmered down to whimpers and gasped. His deep groans seem to be more audible as you feel him coming closer to his orgasm. You’re trembling as he manhandles you. He really used you like his fleshlight. With a sharp thrust, you moaned loudly. Leaving your mouth hanging open as you squirted for the second, third, or was it the fourth, time.

Watching you erotically cum and stain the sheets just drove Malleus wild. It was beautiful. Seeing you filled up with his seed just urged him more. The tightness of your pussy just made him moan louder, pushing further into you as his pace grew erratic. “Take it, my queen.”

He panted, “Take all of my cum…!”

Malleus’ hips halted, ejaculating deep inside you while you’re left whimpering at his warm cum filling you up. You convulsed and continuously quivered. His thick semen already spilled out of you before he even pulled out. It felt amazing. It was so...fucking addicting. You tried to collect your breathing, left staring at the sheets as sweat ran down both your bodies. He finally pulled out, leaving you empty as you sighed in relief. Malleus watched as cum dripped down your thighs; he grew hard again.

Just as you were lifting yourself up, your husband flipped you onto your back, “You’re not going anywhere,” he smirked as he watched your eyes widen, “You won’t get pregnant in just one round.”

“Wait..wait.. Malleus let me breathe—!”

He ignored you again and sheathed himself back inside your vagina. “Mngh!”

“I’m s-still...sensitive!” You felt your clit pulsate, feeling like you want to cum again.

He moved again, just as relentless as the first round. With this position, he bit you, squeezed your breasts, kissed you, anything he could do to send you into overdrive, he did. Malleus did not let you rest. Hours and hours he bred you. At times where he’s calm, he would bring you a glass of water. Then it would proceed to another set of sex. Again, it was just and still day one. You have four more days before he’s completely satisfied.

When you started, the sun was up high, but now it was the moon that peeked through your window. It was finally the sign that Malleus was content for the night as he laid in bed in a heap of breath and sweat. You felt like passing out as you stared up at the ceiling. Your cunt was really full of his semen. “Are…” you whined, “...you done?”

“For now,” he smiled and pulled you into his arms. “We still have four more days.”

He kissed your nape as he kept you tight in his arms. You whined more, shifting your legs to make you comfortable. “I already feel pregnant…”

“Just think of Faye’s happiness once we give her a little sibling. I’m sure she’ll be delighted.”

You tiredly smiled, intertwining your fingers against Malleus’ larger hand on your stomach. Two little kids will be running around the castle soon. A happy Lilia Vanrouge would be spoiling the younger one. Sebek and Silver would have one of each Draconia child to look after. And… probably another one to come after that if Malleus would ever come to heat again in the future years.

That is what welcomed you as Mrs. Draconia.

© jangmi-latte, all rights reserved. Happy to Serve!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #silver twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #sebek zigvolt #diasomnia #diasomnia x reader #nsfvv #twisted wonderland scenarios #night raven college

[parvulous-writings]

Home // Mother!Dimitrescu x Child!F!Reader

Request:  Hi! may i request this scenario: what if lady dimitrescu had a fourth daughter? like child reader stumbles into the castle and lady dimitrescu decides to raise her as her own. thanks love!

Requested by: Anon

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu adopts a new daughter. 

Warnings: mentions of death

Words: 1.7K

Notes:  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif 

Cold. That was the only thing you could feel. The only thing you had felt for the past several hours, at least. Well, feel in a loose sense of the term. Your limbs were numb, stiff and unable to move. You had been shuffling forward with no real sense of direction for who knows how long now, with no end in sight, no shelter from the elements you were forced to endure.  Your home had been attacked by massive monsters- not quite man, not quite human. You parents had ushered you and your siblings out of your home,  but now you were the last of your family line. One by one, your family had been picked off by your attackers, but each time you had managed to wriggle your way out of the situation. At one point you had even ducked into the woods to escape the beasts, but now that you had returned to the village you didn’t know what landmarks were what; almost everything you could recognise had been destroyed. You did, however, manage to find the Maiden of War, a statue that was in the centre of a roundabout like pathway that tractors and wagons often used. In normal life at least.  Nearby to that, up some stone steps, was a stone door with a carving that frightened most of the children of the village, even with the two reliefs missing. However, this time, the reliefs were there,  and the gateway had opened ever so slightly. Void of hope, and with every other option exhausted, you shuffle towards it, slipping through the crack, and starting up the snow-covered pathway to who knows where. Though, by looking up, you assumed that it lead to the massive castle which loomed over the village and it’s surroundings. 

The trek up there was probably much shorter than it seemed to be. There was a drawbridge that lay over a small, shallow body of water, and your footsteps echo off of it as you cross into a dark and rocky tunnel. It’s very dimly lit- nothing more than wall mounted torches and the fading remaining light to guide your way. You felt your way along to stone wall, the surface cold to the touch, not that you could tell all that much. Eventually, you came to a door. It was tall, much taller than you, although it was only about average height in reality. You pressed all your weight against it, and slowly- oh so slowly- did it creak open. You scurried inside, pushing the door shut once more behind you.  After catching your breath you take a moment to observe your surroundings- you were in a rather lavish room, just large enough to be classed as a hall, with hard, marble floors and a tiny staircase onto a more raised floor. You clamber up them, and notice a rather detailed portrait in front of you, of three beautiful young women, with tied up brown hair, sitting together in what appeared to be a forest or woodland clearing; it was a little bit hard to tell since the women took up most of the picture. You tilted your head slightly as you got lost in the colours and brushstrokes, wondering who these women were and what they did to warrant such a wonderful portrait. Of course, there was a plaque beneath it- most likely holding some of the information you wanted- you couldn’t read it, and it was a little too high for you anyway.

The sound of an opening door somewhere down the hall to your left catches your attention. Without knowing what else to do, you start to walk towards it, staying close to the walls and running your hand slowly along it. You push through a few more doors, before coming to a large hall- occupied with a chair, small table, assorted plants and even a chest of drawers in a corner. Your eyes roam upwards, and this room alone could house the entirety of the village, perhaps two or three times over. You knew the castle was big- it often occupied conversation among the children of the village- but this took your breath away. Not only was it huge, but it was ornate, more ornate than anything you had seen before in your life. One mere trinket from this room alone could have fed your family for at least two months, had they been alive still to see this.  You hear another door close behind you, and you spin round to see if who is there. You can only hope that the residents of this castle take pity on you. But, you see nothing. No one. You’re incredibly confused by this, and you have to glance this way and that to make sure that there’s no one around you. All you can find is a few flies. Wait. There’s more than a few. There’s three whole clouds.  You give a small shriek and duck to the floor, covering your head and face to try and hide away from the bugs, making sure they didn’t get near your face. If they didn’t get near your face, you could pretend they weren’t there at all. 

The only problem was, you could still hear the buzzing of their wings. You felt a few beat against your back, as the sounds began to warp and change. From buzzing and droning to... Laughter? Yes, it was laughter, three different laughs to be exact. Fearfully, you look up from your arms, to see three, rather fearsome looking young women in front of you. In surprise you bury your face into your arms again- if you couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see you, right? The three girls look between one another, slightly confused. Not at your behaviour, but more at how you- a mere child- had managed to get yourself up into the castle. The one standing in the middle,  one with red, oddly shaved hair, crouched down in front of you, tilting her head curiously. She glanced over her shoulder at the other two fly women, who shrugged at her; they didn’t know who you were or how you got into the castle either. “Child?” The one in front of you spoke, her voice like silk to your ears, especially after their piercing laughs and the roars of the Lycans. You shakily lift your head up again, looking up at her with tears of fear starting to prick at the corners of your eyes. She holds her hand out to you, trying to give you a smile of reassurance.  It works to some extent, though you don’t have too much of a choice other than to take the woman’s hand, so you carefully do so. She helps you to your feet, and you see the other two women staring at you. The blonde women looks to the last one, a brunette wearing a yellow variation of the pendant worn by all three. “Go tell mother.” The blonde said to her, to which the brunette burst into a cloud of flies in reply, swooping off down a hall. You give a yelp of surprise, hiding behind the legs of the woman who’s hand you still clutch to. She looks at you, confused for a second. 

She sighs, and starts to tug you along. “Come on.” She urges, rather impatiently, dragging you off down a side hall, where you can hear a couple of voices as you approach another door. The blonde woman pushes the door open, “Mother.” She greets, speaking to someone sitting in a plush, velvety chair. Whoever is sitting down places a crimson glass on a small table in front of her, before getting to her feet. “Well, let’s take a look at the child.” She speaks, and your jaw practically drops at her height. You hardly even reach her knees. You’re not sure whether to remain in awe, or to let the fright and fear set in. She looks down at you, regarding you briefly before starting to smile. “Why... I don’t see why you were so panicked, Cassandra...” She spoke to the brunette stood beside her chair, sent ahead of the other two with you. “Look at her- she poses no threat. It was chance she happened upon us, was it not?” She looked to the woman, who has lowered her head respectfully.  “Yes, mother.” She replied, before moving her gaze over to you again. “What are we to do with her? She is human, what if-” “Ah-ah.” The tall woman interrupts. “No what-ifs.” She says sternly, before turning her attention fully to you. “What happened to your family, little one?” She asks, not bothering to get down on your level. You take a moment to answer, which the Lady of the castle allows, considering you are merely a child, and in a strange new environment. She could understand any fear you may have, she has been there herself in the past.  “The.. The monsters.” You squeak, and the woman hums softly, looking at her three daughters briefly. 

In her mind, you were a child without a family, a child with need of a home and a family. She gave a curt nod to herself, folding her arms over her chest. “Well, then we shall be your new family.” She tells you, and the shock is clear on your face.  “What..?” You whisper, your voice hardly audible to any of the other women in the room.  “We shall be your new family.” She declares proudly again, “These are your new sisters. Bela.” She gestures to the woman still holding loosely onto your hand, with the shaved red hair. “Daniela.” She gestured to the blonde woman on the other side of you, “And Cassandra.” She placed a hand on the shoulder of the girl closest to her. “And you can call me mother.” She smiled brightly at you, stepping forward slightly, and bending down, opening her arms to you. “Come here, child.” She coos to you, as Bela drops your hand. You shuffle towards her, and as soon as you’re close enough, she scoops you up into her arms, resting you against her shoulder, cradling you with a warm smile. “Come now, let us find you a room...” She whispers, and as she starts walking through the seemingly endless maze of hallways you feel yourself drifting off to sleep in the arms of.. Well, your mother. Despite only just meeting her, you feel safe with her and her daughters, your sisters. You knew you’d be happy here, happier than you would be anywhere else, especially in the ruins of the village you once called home. 

------

Part two

#tall vampire lady #lady d #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x female reader #alcina x reader #lady alcina #alcina dimitrescu

[minsyal]

The Fugitive: Finding Home, Pt. 2

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Warnings: strong language, Resident Evil-esque violence and descriptions of gore, and dark/sexual themes

Summary: A once-in-a-lifetime trip turned dark. You're quickly exposed to the sinister and mysterious world of a cursed village under the control of dark leaders. How long will you last and will you ever return home in one piece?

The Fugitive: Finding Home Masterlist

Part 1 - The Beginning

“Mother Miranda, I’ve been requesting new maids for at least six months to this day.”

“That’s because you keep eating your other ones.”

You were shaken awake.

“I think that my castle would be best suited for her.”

“Oh, so you can bleed ‘er dry? You think that would really be the best use of anyone’s time?” A familiar voice retorted.

“Good morning!” A shrill voice squeaked as what felt like wood kicked at your face. “She’s up! She’s up! She’s up!” It exclaimed excitedly with a bounce, the voice became softer as the skittering of feet scrambled away.

“Ah,” the unfamiliar smooth woman’s voice cooed as your eyes adjusted to your surroundings. There were what looked to be six figures in the room. Miranda stood before you, perched upon a stage-like area that once housed what you could only imagine was a priest or preacher. To the left sat a cloaked woman with a blob of white resting in her lap. Another woman, also adorned in a white garb, sat towering over the rest, the light constant trickle of smoke danced upward from her vintage cigarette holder. On your right sat a familiar face, the man from the village who had saved you only a few hours prior. You’d come to know him as Lord Heisenberg. He maintained the large woman’s gaze, but the look held no love or any remote sense of familial belonging. Instead, his eyes were set ablaze, even behind the shaded rims of his glasses. Lastly, a shorter creature with a large hunched back moved ungracefully around. Its long gangly arms accompanied by its deformed face only aided in the growing unease.

The dull ache of your shoulder only distracted you from the bindings of your wrists for a moment. Your attention was quickly drawn to the rough ropes that dug their thorny threads into the soft skin of your wrists. Everything ached, mentally and physically.

“I do think she would be best suited with me.” The tall woman repeated herself. “There’s no doubt Moreau wouldn’t be able to handle her, and likely not the rest of you either.”

The hunched creature whirled back, throwing a forlornly glare in the woman’s direction. You supposed that was Moreau.

“You think I couldn’t handle her?” Heisenberg shot back, bent forward to rest his weight on his heels. His relationship with the large woman was clearly tumultuous given his outburst and her subsequent reaction.

“You always get them.” The shrill voice called. It was the doll; the fucking doll was talking... not that this should surprise you at this point. “She should come with us! We need more friends.”

“You’re not included in this conversation.” The tall woman mocked with a fierce glare shot violently at the doll as its mouth hung slack.

“Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Thus far, nobody had managed to answer your simple question. The lot turned toward you, the majority with piercing stares. “Guess not.” You muttered, becoming quite fed up with the range of emotions you had been experiencing over the past day. If it kept going in this direction, you’d surely have to be treated for whiplash.

“She’s already proven to be a considerable pain in my neck.” Miranda loudly projected. Her steps were a clear juxtaposition to her tone, falling light on the church floor as she approached. “One villager is unable to walk, another dead.”

“Dead?” The words fell before you could stop yourself. She didn’t answer.

“Please,” Heisenberg leaned back once more, his hand moving to the interior of his jacket, “the dumb thing practically laid down when she was attacked by a lycan.” His fingers fumbled around the darkened paper of a cigar. Yellow, blonde streaks flashed upon his face as the distinguishable clink of a metal lighter was flicked. “I wouldn’t call that too capable.”

“My friend pushed me.” You argued, once again mentally reeling for the outburst.

Heisenberg let out a huff of smoke, intentionally blowing it in the tall woman’s direction, “sounds like a piss poor friend.”

“Enough.” Miranda had taken to her spot at the front near the alter once more. “The girl shall go to Alcina.”

A wicked smile crossed the tall woman’s face. “Thank you, Mother Miranda. It is so good to have you back.”

“Where are you from?” One of the girls ushered you through the depths of the castle. She wore a simple gown with stitches at the bottom, holding together the frail fabric that looked to be decades old.

“America.”

The girl cocked her head to the side like a newborn. “I don’t know of that town.”

Upon arrival you were escorted down to what was described as the maids’ chambers. In a small stone room, you were assigned a cot, given a chest, and told to change into uniform. Your arm ached and spasmed as you lifted the lid of the trunk open. Somewhere between being shot by the villagers and being transported to Castle Dimitrescu, the bullet was removed from your shoulder and replaced with gauze that limited the mobility of your arm. The distinct oily feeling of grease caused friction between the bandages and your clothes; the ache of alcohol still stung, causing a sore numbness.

The Lady insisted all maids conform to the strict code of dress. Long, unflattering dresses, short heels, and sometimes a headscarf if hair wasn’t pulled tautly into a bun at the base of one’s neck were a few things to name the least. You always wore the headscarf, which was a thin piece of grey lace that attached at the peak of your hairline, cascading over your shoulders to land at waist-length.

The rest of the day passed slowly. You learned the ins and outs of the castle, became acquainted with the sparse staff that only consisted of women, and met Alcina’s daughters from a distance. The next two weeks passed the same way.

Wake up, clean the castle, serve Lady and her daughters, go to bed. That was your routine. Though, the sounds that seeped from the halls at night prompted unwavering curiosity. Heisenberg had mentioned the ill-fated maids that had the luxury of serving the Dimitrescu women back in that church. Nothing at this point had you doubting that was the case. But you assured yourself daily that you would not accept the castle’s fate; you would get out of here one way or another.

You had only been at the mercy of Lady Dimitrescu once to this day. A small spat broke out between maids and the arrival of the head of house had the women squealing lies of how you were the one to start it.

“She stole our rations!” The girl with the wide nose accused her chubby finger outstretched in your direction.

“I didn’t steal anything, you dirty fucking liar.”

“She did. We were squabbling over how she should be punished.” The other girl replied, tucking a shaking hand behind her back as she straightened her poor posture.

“A thief,” Alcina regarded you, “that’s a shame.” Knives skid across the thin skin of your forearm. “Another outburst like this and there will be harsher consequences.” Red stained her tongue as she ran the claw through her cherry-red lips.

As she sauntered down the hall and out of sight, you uncurled your arm from your chest, wincing at the large crimson stain it left on your dress.

“Fresh face.” The words ricocheted off the wall in front of you. Footsteps steadfastly approached from behind. He walked with an effortless swagger, legs slightly bowed with each lyrical step. You’d gone for the quiet route after the situation, finding that silence often pleased those that ruled over the castle. “Here I was thinkin’ it would take you a little longer to lose that fight.” He stepped closer; the unmissable smell of tobacco seeped from his lips. “Looks like I was wrong.”

Instead of words, you held his gaze through unimpressed eyes. Hues of yellows, greys, and greens met yours from beneath his rounded glasses. You could see more of him from here. A large scar ran from the right of his face to the left, the lifted skin healing over leaving memories of whatever had happened. In fact, the majority of his face was plagued with scars. One ran from the bottom of his lip down to his chin, disappearing beneath the stubble of his beard. You wondered if his disdain toward Alcina was founded by those wretched claws of hers. His hair was wirey with shades of brown and peppered grey streaking through the ends. Quite honestly, he was an attractive man.

“I’ve got a name, you know?”

“I don’t think I cared to ask.”

“Then I suppose you aren’t deserving of one either.”

“Well,” he tapped at your chest with a gloved finger, “I think you’ve got a little spunk left in you, sweetheart.”

“Call me Y/n.”

“No last name?” He deadpanned.

“L/n.”

He nodded, but you felt as though your words had passed through him like a ghost.

“Karl.” He gave a lazy bow, tilting the rim of his hat. “But I think you probably already knew that.”

“Gossip and information don’t come easily from the maids here. Sorry,” you pressed your lips together, “I didn’t know.”

Karl gave a shrug.

“Do you know what happened to my friend?” The thought had been playing on your mind for the past few weeks.

He raised an inquisitive brow and turned his head to peer out the shaded window. “The so-called friend that left you to become lycan chow?” A hearty tut left his chest. “I think she’s assimilated into the town.”

“Dumb bitch.” You breathed.

“There’s that spark.” He stood tall with an artificial sense of pride. It had been a long time since somebody in the village was willing to use such crude language in front of any of the Lords, let alone Miranda. It almost astonished him that they’d let you live after the killing of Adelina’s brother. The gun misfired; it wasn’t really your fault.

Another week of growing suspicions and two newly missing maids, you finally attempted to seek out the dungeons that everyone spoke of but warned to stray from. You had to know what was going on here.

“Lost?” Heisenberg’s voice appeared at your right side. His chin almost rested upon your shoulder; the stubble of his beard scratched at your neck. “This isn’t a place I’d get lost in if I were you. In fact, it’s not even a place you should be exploring.”

“Are you going to run to Alcina if I do?” You didn’t face him, why would you? The hallway was cramped, restricting of any sort of movement other than in the direction you were going.

“Me?” He leaned backward to stand at full height. Your body cursed silently, wishing nothing more than to have him close again. How he wasn’t hitting his head on the rafter just inches above floored you. “I hate that bitch. You do what you want, but I won’t bail you out when you get caught.”

“Good thing I don’t plan on being caught then.” You descended the metal ladder, only looking upward for a moment to catch a glimpse of Heisenberg leaning over the opening. An eerie smile was plastered on his lips, it was almost smug.

The dungeons were as you imagined. Cold water trickled down some of the walls, likely due to cracks in the castle’s foundation accompanied by the ever melting of the outside snow. It smelled of mothballs and garlic, something musty was clinging to the air. You noted a few turns here and there, attempting to memorize the path you had taken in case you needed to make a swift escape. What didn’t help was the skid of your maid’s clothes along the rigid floor.

Muffled cries put you further onto the edge. The narrow hall gave way to a large room filled with arched stonework. Metal bars shot from floor to ceiling, hinges creaked as the sound of hands banging against them filled your eardrums. You didn’t want to go further, scared of any repercussions should any of the jailed women recognize and rat you out.

Turning to head to the ladder, you collided with a chest. “Leaving so soon?” Heisenberg again.

“Shh!” You slapped at his chest with a closed fist, only realizing what you had done when the action was completed. He looked rightfully amused. Everything that you had learned of these “Lords” up to now told you to act less casually with him, to put on an air of respect at the very least. But there was something surprisingly human about him. Something that told you it was okay despite it potentially not being so. At this point, you were only prolonging the inevitable.

“What?” He started, swiftly being cut off by approaching footsteps. Firm hands grasped at your arms, pulling your face forward into his chest. “Open your mouth and I’ll feed you to whatever’s coming.” He said through his teeth, trapping your arms between your two bodies.

The room grew dim, the wall behind your back became close even though you had not moved at all. Heisenberg’s grip was strong on your forearms, causing you to inaudibly hiss as his thumb dug into the slash Alcina had left weeks prior. The footsteps were accompanied by the soft cries of a woman, gasping pleas of being let go falling silent on the ears of her assailant. A minute passed; the dungeon fell soundless.

“You can breathe now.” His lips lingered close to your ear, once again sending a rush of chills crawling down your skin. He knew what he was doing.

“I’ve been breathing.” You breathily retorted sounding as if you had just run a marathon.

“Whatever you say, doll.”

The wall behind you gave way, moving on its own. You turned; the materials that had been pressed to your back laid themselves on the ground. Heisenberg’s smile was unmissable. “Go ahead.” His voice was gravely, gruff, a slight melancholy dismay underlying. Heisenberg desired for you to implore what just happened, but you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. You refused to see him as anything but normal, for if you did give in to the village’s mental games, you’d likely find yourself going mad. He was a man, you told yourself, nothing more.

“I thought you weren’t going to bail me out?”

“I wasn’t.” He tightened his grip on your arms. “But I figured it’d be a shame to lose such a pretty face so soon.”

“I, I’m sure you say that to all the girls here.” You couldn’t hold his gaze at this distance. Perhaps Adelina was right, you were rather frumpy and unexperienced.

A huff came as he exhaled, a thoughtful tug of his lips upward accompanied it. He didn’t answer, a reoccurring event with those who inhabited this town.

Heisenberg had been keeping his trips to and from the castle a secret. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure why he felt so inclined to bother with the outsider woman who appeared in the village one fateful evening. Perhaps he was growing bored of his daily routine with no results to show. Maybe he was enticed by the well of knowledge you held of the outside world. Maybe it was something else, something human. The Lord’s weren’t allowed to stray far from the village. The other three lived delightfully oblivious, completely okay with never exploring the unknown. Heisenberg, on the other hand, was not. Your friend, Jess as he recalled you calling her, was far from interesting to him. It didn’t take a genius to tell how low her I.Q. had to be. She conformed easily to the village and by all accounts had been down talking you to the others she met. She quickly fell into the same brainwashed daze of worship.

It had been another turbulent week of utter chaos around every corner. Nobody knew of your adventure into the depths of Castle Dimitrescu and you had no intentions of spreading any gossip among the maids. They all seemed to have it out for you anyway. You were the “outsider,” as one described it. It was so blatantly evident to them that you were not going to conform to their ways. And that disturbed them.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t your fair share of punishment to this point. In actuality, you had received a significantly greater amount of beratements and surface wounds from Alcina and her daughters. You thought to Heisenberg often, continually wondering how your life would differ had Miranda bestowed you upon him. He was irresistibly charming in his own twisted sense. Every word that escaped his mouth heavily contradicted his actions. You received a good number of swats to the hand stemming from woeful daydreaming of the man you hardly knew.

He could be dangerous, you’d tell yourself before slipping into yet another sequence of fervent and unrelenting thoughts stemming from the mysterious man. He was a Lord, one placed in a top position according to the village’s hierarchy. You just weren’t sure why.

There had been countless times the man had sauntered into the castle, “accidentally” run into you, and held brief conversation.

The other maids were assholes. Though you had concluded this swiftly upon entering the castle, their recent actions only solidified your feelings.

It had been only a day since Heisenberg’s last visit. He strolled into the castle, easing his way past the maids as they hurriedly passed by. They paid him no mind. The evening sun had begun to set in the sky. Lady Dimitrescu had gone out for the night, instructing her girls to hold down the castle while she was away. The three of them had descended into the dungeons, not to be seen again until morning. This left the halls free and roamable for the savvy Lord.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Your voice caught his attention. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Marybeth.”

Shrill voices argued back and forth behind the kitchen doors. The sound of muffled giggles fell on his ears; it was an unusual sound within the castle walls. The girls must be relaxed knowing they’re safe from punishment tonight. At least, that’s what they thought.

In a second, the hinges of the door burst off, sending the heavy frame crashing down to the tiled floor. Shrieks came quickly and died on their lips as soon as the girls realized who was there.

“Lord Heisenberg.” One woman bowed her head, concealing something within her hands as she placed them in her lap, clasped tightly together. “Lady Dimitrescu has left for the evening.”

“I know.” His brow raised at the scene set before him. You stood to the rear of the kitchen, clearly irate at something the woman who regarded him had done. Five other women were huddled with the one who spoke, following her lead and averting their gazes. No aroma of cuisine drifted from the empty cauldron, only the stale scent of curing meats clung to the air.

“What’s going on in here?” He looked directly at you from beneath the lid of his hat.

“We were cleaning the kitchen.” The maid spoke through shaking breaths.

After a pensive moment, he waved his hand. “You’re dismissed. Except,” he held his hand at your chest as you attempted to pass, “you.”

The girls stumbled over the door, making quick work of getting back to their quarters and away from the Lord. You listened as the audience of feet trampled away. None of the girls here knew how to walk in heels causing for a rather elephant-like clomping of shoes wherever they went.

“What really happened?”

“Do you care?”

“Not particularly, but color me curious.”

“Don’t get them in trouble.” You demanded through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to deal with the aftermath.”

He chortled. “You seem more afraid of them than you are of me.”

“You’ve not given me a reason to be scared.”

Your back pressed to the wall, a glass chalice fell, shattering against the floor. The lapels of his jacket and dog tags pushed to your chest were still cold from the frosted night air. “Do I need to give you a reason?”

“I just,” embarrassment rose in your cheeks, “would you stop doing this?” There was no budging the man. His strength far outweighed yours, easily acting as if your pushing against his chest was nothing but a soft breeze.

“Doing what?” A smirk grew on his lips. God, he loved this.

“This!” Your clenched fist banged on his chest, not rattling him in the slightest. Droplets of claret liquid ran from your palm to your elbow. “Dammit, Karl. Move.”

The use of his first name was new. A solid hand closed around your wrist, bringing it up to eye level. He tilted back, adjusting his vision. The raise of his brow signaled that he wanted you to open your hand. Complying, you cringed as the reddened skin screamed for relief.

“They did this?”

“It’s no different from the other injuries I’ve gotten here.”

“It’s deep.” He reached into the pocket of his trench coat. “Don’t let anyone know you’ve got this.” A silver tin slipped from his hand to yours, you pried at its ridges with your nail.

Heisenberg disappeared after that, taking off with a dramatic throw of the castle doors as he disappeared into the dense forest. He had given you a tin of salve and a bandage.

“Lady Dimitrescu has requested your presence.”

The Fugitive: Finding Home Part 3 - Foreign Thoughts

I'm so excited for where this fic is going...

Feedback is always appreciated

Tag list: (let me know if you want to be tagged)

@ambiguous-g @ren-ni @metaphorical-love-for-a-car @lgbtomatoes

#karl heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you #heisenberg #re8 #re8 heisenberg #Resident Evil Village #resident evil heisenberg #lord heisenberg #resident evil 8 #re8 imagines

[mrsmaybank]

Crushing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

“Reid, stop giving JJ’s intern bedroom eyes. It fuckin’ weirds me out.”

A/N: I love baby genius, season one Reid so much. I wanted to give him a soulmate. Soulmate is you: shy and also a baby genius. Okay, thanks for reading. This was honestly just for me. 

CW: Implied Smut, Mild Cursing, shitty writing 

“Who...Who is that?” Dr. Spencer Reid, debatably the wordiest boy Derek Morgan had ever met, was suddenly at a loss for words. Maybe it was your perfectly sculpted face, your shoes, the copy of The Kreutzer Sonata held to your chest, your chest, or maybe a mix of it all.  Whatever it was, at sight of you walking through the office doors, he was stripped of his ability to speak. 

“That’s JJ’s new intern.” Morgan said plainly, before noticing the completely enamored look on his friend’s face. “What, pretty boy?” Reid couldn’t even be bothered to reply. He was too busy studying every detail of your frame. 

“You think she’s cute or something kid?” Morgan playfully jabbed his shoulder, Spencer’s face instantly flushing an embarrassing shade of red. 

“What?!” He shrieked, “I-no! That’s not..No!” That’s a lie. 

“I just..I didn’t know JJ was getting an intern.” That though, was true. 

“She’s supposed to be pretty impressive. Let’s go meet her.” he started in the direction of the coffee stand, where you and JJ had begun chatting. Before Spencer could protest out of his shyness, he was being dragged along. 

“Morgan,” JJ smiled, “Spence,” she nodded in his direction, “This is Y/N Y/L/N. My godsent savior.” JJ beamed in your direction.

You smiled more sheepishly then you would’ve liked, muttering a “Hopefully.” that got a laugh from Morgan and a “Oh, please.” from JJ, but nothing from the man in the glasses. You did your best not to read into it. 

“Derek Morgan.” the muscular agent extended his hand to shake yours, an offer you timidly but happily accepted. 

The taller, lankier, younger, incredibly cute man next to him stuffed one of his hands in his pocket and shifted uncomfortably with a small wave, “I’m uh, Doctor Spencer Reid, oh! Uh, you don’t have to, uh call me Doctor. No..” He shook his head, “Just Spencer is fine.” He looked at you with wide eyes that sent butterflies berserk in your stomach and swiped his tongue in between his lips that only made them go crazier. JJ had told you all about the team. About the magnificently brilliant Dr. Spencer Reid, his 3 PhDs and eidetic memory, and all the other quirks you’d have to know in order to work with him, but had failed to mention how utterly hot he was. You felt a crush hijacking your system already. Dear god. 

“It’s nice to meet you both.” Your hands gripped your book tighter as you shifted onto your tiptoes, “I’ve heard really exceptional things.” 

The conversation was set to continue, but Morgan and JJ were summoned by Hotch to the closed doors of his office. Leaving the resident genius and you starting at each other with tight lip smiles. 

Spencer started first, “The Kreutzer Sonata is great.” He excitedly continued, “It uh, it actually used to be a pretty bold book to carry around. After the work had been forbidden in Russia by censors, there was actually a mimeographed version that was widely circulated. Then in 1890, the United States Post Office Department prohibited the mailing of newspapers containing serialized installments of it too. Theodore Roosevelt even called Tolstoy a-” 

His enthusiasm was beyond endearing. You finished for him with a soft smile, "Sexual moral pervert.”

Spencer’s lips upturned in a smile. It was rare somebody in the office could finish his sentences. And he couldn’t help but replay the crass words being said in your soft voice. He felt a crush hijacking his system already. Dear god.  

“Most people don’t recognize it in the original Russian.”  Spencer heard you say. 

“Most people probably wouldn’t recognize it in English.” he retorted.

You laughed, “Yeah, you’re right.” 

Spencer wasn’t even kidding. “I’m not joking.” He shook his head. “It’s unfortunate how many people aren’t even vaguely familiar with Tolstoy.” 

“It is.” you agreed. “You went to Caltech, correct?” 

He smiled, “Yes.” 

“I almost did too. Decided last minute on Columbia.” 

“You went to Columbia?” he asked. 

“I just graduated.” 

“How old are you?” he asked before quickly correcting himself,  “I’m sorry! That was forward! I am not...I’m not trying to undermine your studies with your age, I promise. I’m just curious.” 

“No! It’s okay!” You got out fast. “I’m 19. I graduated high school a little bit early.” 

“Me too.” He smiled. “12, actually.” 

Your eyes went wide, “12?” 

“Yes, um, in a Las Vegas public high school.” He winced, but the self-deprecation somehow came out charming, “I uh,” His eyes narrowed, “didn’t go to a lot of parties.” 

That made you wholeheartedly laugh. “Me neither! I graduated at 15, which you know is the age everybody else starts. It created a really weird dynamic because the older kids in my grade didn’t like me, but the underclassmen my age really didn’t like me.” 

Instead of the laugh you were expecting, Spencer just gave you a pensive stare. 

“Um..I can’t see why. I think you’re very likeable.” The compliment would’ve been strange exchanged by anybody other than Spencer to you.

  “Wait till you get to know me.” You said it through a smile but so softly you were afraid he might not be able to hear it, but he did. 

And that was confirmed when he flashed you the most incredible, toothy grin you’d ever seen. “I uh, I doubt there will be any change in opinion.” 

“Well, um, I’m sure- I think! You’re very likeable as well Dr. Reid.” you said. 

“That’s what you say now.” He retorted in the same coy tone you had earlier. 

You shook your head, “You’ll find I can be insufferably stubborn.” 

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

After two weeks, there was little Spencer could do to hide his massive crush affinity for you from the team. 

In the bullpen: 

You guys had locked eyes and were mouthing out exchanged of No’s and Yes’s from across the room. There was an ongoing half-serious dispute about whether or not Xanthippe slept with Plato. 

Morgan glided in his wheeled chair to whisper into Spencer’s ear. 

“Reid, stop giving JJ’s intern bedroom eyes. It fuckin’ weirds me out.” He said, shoving files into the cabinet below Reid’s desk. 

“I’m..I’m not.. I--what? Bedr--No!” Reid whisper-shouted back. 

On the jet: 

“Reid?” Gideon called Spencer, “Chess?” He motioned towards the board. 

“Yes, sure. Just give me a second. I’m almost done. I’m reading Infinite Jest. I don’t usually enjoy literature if it isn’t classic, even less so if it’s American. But..” Spencer smiled, “Y/N likes the author.”  He continued his fast-paced reading of the third-to-last chapter of the book. 

Morgan and Gideon exchanged glances. 

Even in front of you: 

You opened a sugar packet and began stirring. 

“De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium is still some of the best work on  heliocentric theory out there, I think. Copernicus knew what he was talking about!” You spun on your heels to see Reid’s face contorted in disagreement. You giggled, “Don’t give me that face! I’m right!” 

He took a sip of his coffee as to keep himself quiet. “Listen, cosmological theory is for…” 

But the pair of you were interrupted, it was Elle, standing behind you and in front of Spencer. 

“New skirt?” Elle asked as you turned, back now facing Reid.  She was pouring herself a cup of coffee too.

“Yes!” You excitedly nodded. “You like it?” 

Elle looked up and down, but not at you. The judgmental eyes were for the man behind you. She pursed her lips, “Not just me.” 

The only face redder than yours was Reid’s.

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

Nights spent in a bar after a case that had dragged on far too long was nothing new, but the energy tonight was especially light. Gideon had refused, but everybody else was just relaxed, even Hotch, and the team just got happier at each other's happiness. It was great, really. As Hotch and Morgan sipped on whiskey, JJ and Penelope had already downed four sugary, colorful cocktails and were in a whispered fit of giggles. Elle and Spencer settled on a tamer option of an IPA Spencer couldn’t name. 

“SPENCER!” Penelope excitedly shouted, “Y/N is literally you! You’re both adorable! You’re both geniuses! You’re both young!” She drew on her rant, “And if you have a crush on her you should just tell her!” JJ’s eyes widened in embarrassment as she tried to cover Penelope’s mouth. 

Morgan and Elle erupted in soft laughter while Hotch cracked an uncharacteristically amused smile. 

“Spence, I swear, I didn’t say that! I just...I may have mentioned how happy you get every time she’s around! And how you guys can talk for literally hours!” JJ defended, her words slurring in silly drunkenness. 

Spencer rolled his eyes. This wasn’t the first time they teased him about you, and it probably wouldn’t be the last time either. 

“I don’t have a crush on her! We just….we like the same things! It gives us a lot to talk about.” 

“Yeah?” Morgan said through a laugh, “And what is it that boy and girl wonder talk about so much?” 

“Well, uh.. a lot of things. But I find she gets the most excited when we are discussing the theories of postmodernism, in that apparent realities are actually just social constructs and veritable realities are subject to change, and uh... we like to talk about linguistics….political philosophy….history... mathematic theory...and uh, oh! Doctor Who.” 

Spencer was blushing and spoke about you like a teenage girl did their boyband crush, and the team noticed. They didn’t even need to say it out loud. Spencer gathered from the way they looked back at him. 

“I heard she lent you a book too, Reid.” Hotch said before taking a sip from his glass. 

“Yes! She did!” He smiled, “It was her copy of Pale Fire. She has an impressive collection of 19th century Russian literature. All in its original dialect! Some of it’s even annotated, which usually would annoy me but since it’s her thoughts and notes I sort of find it endearing.” 

“Dr. Reid is endeared!” Greenaway shrieked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, pushing his glasses up a little higher on his nose, “I find her incredibly endearing.” 

“Y’all that sounded like a dorky love confession.” Morgan said as the team erupted in laughter and Reid’s head fell in a smile. There was no point in denying it anymore: He really, really liked you.

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

Within two months, you and Spencer had finally put your shyness aside, and spent a very lovely evening at watching an orchestra at the Smithsonian Music,  and sharing noodles at your favorite Thai restaurant. And then you guys spent some time on your couch. And then in your bed. And then in the shower. And then in the kitchen. You were both very sexually frustrated. 

For the following two months, as soon as you both stepped out of the office, it was very, very hard to keep your hands off each other. Could either of you help it though? Teenage geniuses don’t experience parties, or football games, or clumsy sex. The time was perfect to make up for it. 

And you guys did. The sex part at least. “Football involves a lot of dirt. And germs. And sweat.”

“Oh my god!” you shrieked. His hands were in a place they found themselves more and more often: Your pants. 

“Does it feel good?” he asked, continuing his pattern of small circles on that particular bundle of nerves. 

“It feels great.” You nodded. 

“I uh, I’ve been researching the female anatomy.” 

You closed your eyes and nodded your head, but trying to focus on your boyfriends newfound intellect. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” 

He watched your undoing with boyish adoration and curiosity before swallowing, “Very.” 

“Oh fuck!” Your legs began to shake, “Spencee...I’m gonn--” 

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

You and Spencer just understood each other. 

#drspencerreid #dr spencer reid #dr reid #criminalminds #reid criminal minds #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #Spencerreid #spencer reid reader insert #spencer x y/n #reid x reader #spencer reid #professor reid x reader #professor reid #season1 reid

[everafterkeiji]

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐓. 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒

PAIRINGS: Haikyuu boys x fem! reader

GENRE: angst, pining, teasing, spicy level at 1?

A/N: i am hooked, captivated, jealous, and many more emotions🤨 this was honestly a little random but no complaints

⟡𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐔's offhanded comments on an essay he didn't participate in was a bloodbath waiting to happen. Though you understood that he was in a tight schedule regarding practice and matches was a tough schedule to keep up with, the expression on his face when he sees the score ignites the rage that was kept tight when you stayed up just to pinch in to replace their mistakes and their unwillingness to cooperate that had you pulled out of calmness.

"Wipe that shit expression off of you, Miya. Maybe if you were there we could've done better but no." You huffed, while there's a chuckle from the blonde as he takes the paper from your hands, a punch to your efforts, while he waves it around before towering over you with eyes glancing to your lips before it goes straight to your eyes before he spoke,

"If you wanted the best, then I'm all yours to take."

⟡𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐀 would go overboard majority of their practice so at those moments—you never know what to do seeing that you weren't on good terms anyway. He'd be too focused and frustrated to be communicated with while Hinata's drive to progress himself always mixes with the setters competitiveness then it leads to late practices making you stay until they finally leave.

"You two— c'mon I have to lock up. Get going already." Hinata smiles at you softly sharing his intents to stay a little longer while you shook your head. He gave out a defeated sigh while you walked to the storage room to make sure everything was placed to where it was but when you expected silence, it never came. The sound of heavy impacting echoes through the gym while you rolled your eyes to walk out and see the setter all alone.

"Kageyama, go home." You were down to the remaining ounce of energy you had left. You could only roll your eyes as you held the ball he was meant to hold as he blinks at you.

"I'm not gonna say it again. Let's go home already." He turns the other way around whispering, "Just one more." making you hold onto his wrist as he turns to you surprised but held a glare in secret. "Stop being so stubborn." Kageyama scoffs before holding onto your hand on his wrist, a slight tug while you leaned forward because of his actions.

"And stop trying to make me go home with you." You pushed him slightly with raised eyebrows, a fluster in your cheeks as you tried to pull away.

"Idiot- that's not what I mean!" You argued while his hand remained on yours as you both stared each other down. "It's not like I meant it that way either." Tobio said before letting go of your arm, walking away with his own heated cheeks while grabbing his bag and ending the day with one more glance to you.

"I'm going now, if you're going to come with me—then I'll see which of the choices you did mean."

⟡ 𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 doesn't like the way your personality mirrored his twin. A duplicate of another duplicate. He saw how well you and the blonde had bonded and brought a migraine to his head, realizing that the annoyance he gets from his twin has doubled when it came to you but he does deny that there's an ounce of envy seeing that you were never that close to him and always favored Atsumu.

And now that you were in their residence, the laughter from you and the setter ticks him off as if he was a thirdwheeler in every situation—god, even in their house.

"Oi, do you mind? I think my controller is in Samu's room can you get it for me?" Atsumu asks while you shrugged before knocking over to Osamu's door. You figured that he didn't like you as much and you kept your distance but at times, you can definitely feel that the distance that had grown to a state that even you were confused in how it got that far.

You casually enter in, glancing at Osamu who was only busy on his phone but shares a stare to you when you wander around.

"What're ye looking for?" He asks, while you responded saying it was the controller. He stands up with a groan, noticing how messy the other side of the room was as you began to pick up a few shirts while Osamu cocks an eyebrow.

"Ain't no touching that, I'll clean it myself." He suggests but you continued nonetheless thinking that this may reduce whatever tension was there. Right at the moment where you reached for the jersey at the stairs of their bunk bed, Osamu had grabbed your wrist making you wide eyed before looking at him.

"I said I can do it." He says in which you followed with, "I just wanted to help you and Tsumu." He rolls his eyes but the proximity of you two is alarming especially when his hand was still wrapped around yours.

"Atsumu this, Atsumu that—can't you worry about me?" He jokes at first but there's warmth to your cheeks alike to his own, but he leans forward, a smirk to his lips. "Only you?" You asked before he spoke again,

"Only me and no one else, doll."

⟡𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐀's bad start during mornings never get along with your rants along with Iwaizumi to help maintain the health of MSBY. Whenever Iwaizumi would be off to observe a different team, you'd be the subsitute. All of the things he's said to them—you'll be there to remind them all over again. In which repetitiveness irks him knowing they've been told before.

"We've been through the same routine. Today's not any special." Kiyoomi suggests, though you get how irritating it can be to act like a broken record—you knew Iwaizumi would do the same thing you were doing.

"And if we go through it like every other day, then we'll finish fast." You argued as Atsumu sends you a chuckle before leaning on his teammate.

"Not with all that yapping." Sakusa whispers making you scoff while Hinata and Bokuto share a worried glance.

"You've got something to say to me, Kiyoomi?" You asked, edging him on because you weren't entirely at fault. You were strictly just following Iwaizumi's orders.

The MSBY player then takes a few steps forward before lowering his mask and with a threat of a stare to look down on you.

"Why don't we stop talking and I'll show you a better routine?"

Atsumu rolls his eyes but rather entertained at the vanter unfolding in front of the entire team.

"Like you'll ever find a way to shut me up." You bragged but there's a chuckle from him before he leans forward—a close vicinity where his lips linger on your ears as a cold voice welcomes you.

"I'd like to see you try and stop me then."

⟡𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐀 is the person that throws distanced glares when it came to you. Ever since the aggravating Atsumu teased you two as a perfect couple that he quickly declined followed by an unnecessary sentence saying you were impossible to date. You understood that you were never friends to even label it but since you were with the twins, you and Rintaro never hit it off the way you did with the Miyas'.

So even as you sat a few seats away from at the local bus, it irks you that this banter goes on even outside school. Looking away, there's a hand to your waist making you glare instantly at the man beside you while he only gives an appalling glance to your attire that made your blood boil as you struggled to move away from him.

"Get the fuck off me." You ordered him but he acts nonchalant. The moment you were about to raise a hand to show some defense, another hand travels to your waist while the previous hand around you was removed.

Gasping you turned to Suna who radiated a heated energy while the man scoffs knowing it was a facade to act like you were together.

"Hey now—if you don't believe she's my girl, then why don't you watch?" Rintaro threats as his lips lingered around your neck while you stood frozen. The destructive and taunting stare he gave to the man caused the bastard to move away not long before Suna had the chance to push him to the other side, cocking a smirk while he pulls you to his body.

"Thank you." You said, while he only shrugs in response, still cautious of the jealousy that lingers the mans eye.

"Seems like you'll be mine for the rest of the night."

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu!! #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio #osamu miya #osamu x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #suna rintaro x reader #rintaro suna #suna x reader #hq sakusa #hq atsumu #haikyuu atsumu #haikyu hcs #enemies to lovers #osamu miya x reader #miya osamu #kageyama imagine #tobio kageyama x reader #haikyuu angst

[rae-gar-targaryen]

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

[sixeyesgojo]

I’ll Be Your Enemy

Summary: Gojo Satoru is willing to do anything for you. As long as it helps you heal from what haunted your night.

Pairing: Gojo x Reader

Word count: 2,019

Content warning: implied but unspecified mental illness, mentions of self-harm (scratching), mentions of character death

A/N: Kind of stumbled upon this masterpiece of a song and I thought it would be ideal for some Gojo HURT. This entire thing takes place after the Cursed Womb Arc, so to say: after Yuji dies.

Song: Be Your Enemy by Taemin ft. Wendy

PREQUEL HERE: Pictures of You

Quickly, quickly. The key was inserted into the keyhole and turned. The door lock clicked faintly, signaling that the door has been unlocked. Satoru made sure to open and close the door softly as he entered the familiar apartment. Putting the spare key into his pocket, he slid out of his shoes. Usually he would have made some big noise to ‘announce his arrival’ but not this time. He left his shoes neatly at the genkan of the residence and slipped into the white slippers that always stood by the wooden door, an extra pair just for him.

23 minutes ago. “Hello?” Satoru had picked up the phone. “Gojo-san! Finally the call went through. I’m glad I am able to reach you now,” the voice on the other end said. “Yo, Ijichi, what’s up?” Satoru greeted. He had been sent to a pretty rural area of Japan to get rid of some pesky curses and the cell phone reception was poor in that place, so it wasn’t surprising that calls didn’t go through at times. In addition to that, some curses that manifested had an electrical ability, which impaired the cell towers at place even more. Almost as if planned. “Gojo-san, I think you need to come back as fast as you can,” the man with glasses on the other end of the line stated calmly. “Why?” was the only thing the white-haired sorcerer said in response. Somehow, he had a strange feeling in his gut. The tone in Ijichi’s voice didn’t do anything to calm this odd feeling either.

“It’s L/N-san. Something horrible happened and I don’t think she is taking it well. I did my best to calm her but I’m at wits’ end too…” Ichiji explained vaguely. Satoru was experiencing a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time - his stomach churned, it felt like his guts were wrenching inside him - at the mention of your name. “Ijichi,” he said in a relatively calm voice. He was lucky his voice wasn’t betraying him by showing what he truly felt in that moment. Satoru’s feet were set in rapid motion. “Stay calm. I need you to explain to me what exactly happened.”

Gojo Satoru might be many things. A tease, a teacher (supposedly), a cruel man, a strong sorcerer, a crazy coach, a walking menace to some, protective, an inspiration to a handful, a venti-sized manchild, idiotic, a sweets maniac, a lifelong student to Yaga, playful, a pillar of the Jujutsu world… but most importantly, he was a caring person. This goes without saying for his students and especially his loved ones. What Ijichi just said on the phone had left his heart stinging in his chest. He was in the kitchen, leaving the bag he brought with him on the table.

“Alright. I will tell you what happened, Gojo-san.” “I am listening.” “I am not sure if you are aware that this happened,” the suit-clad man began, “but one of the missions that was originally assigned to you - a case of utmost priority of a cursed womb - was suddenly taken off of your pile and reassigned…” Satoru’s eyes narrowed underneath the black fabric. The beginning already left a bad taste in his mouth; missions assigned to him were usually first grade or even special grade and he knew all too well that there were nowhere enough first grade, let alone special grade, sorcerers around. So who had it been assigned to? “...to your three first-year students,” Ijichi finished with a sigh. The sickening hotness of rage filled Satoru’s whole body. Already having realized the scenario that must have taken place, he still asked for confirmation, “What grade?” “...Special grade. One casualty.” The picture that you had taken of him, his first years and yourself (so carefully hung up on your wall at home) flashed in front of his inner eye. He clenched his teeth so hard as he wordlessly hung up; it hurt. It hurt so badly.

Such an atrocious inhumane act coated in malice. He was going to kill these dirty-playing bastards. However, that would have to wait until later. Much later. Satoru couldn’t leave you to your own devices, not in this state. The scenario he concluded for himself earlier replayed in his mind several times as he made his way through your completely dark apartment. His heart stung with each beat. It was almost as if someone drove a blade through his chest repeatedly.

When he stood in front of the closed door of your bedroom, he heard soft sobs coming from inside. Should he knock to let you know someone came? He wasn’t sure what to do. He gave the door two soft knocks and entered the room. It was your hunched form on the bed, no doubt. Satoru could not see your face with the way your back was facing him. Slowly he made his way to your bed and crouched down to face you. Your face was swollen and tear-stained, a sight he didn’t see often. His large hand rested on your shoulder and gently rubbed it, a silent question hung in the air.

Finally, you looked at him with your swollen eyes. Almost instantly, your sobs got louder and you reached out for the tall sorcerer. “S-Satoru…” you hiccuped in-between sobs. “Yeah. I’m here, I’m here,” he reassured you and stroked the wet hair out of your puffy face as you threw yourself around him, relentlessly crying into his broad shoulders. The white-haired man enclosed his arms around you but it wasn’t to hug you for comfort.

He scooped your delicate frame up and wrapped a warm blanket around you before leaning your body against the headboard of the bed. He sat next to you on the bed and guided your head onto his shoulders. Your violent sobbing stopped but tears were still flowing freely. 

If there was someone who understood the agony, bitterness and distress someone in this line of work had to face, it was Gojo Satoru. The path of a Jujutsu Sorcerer was painted black and red by trials and tribulations. This was why Satoru was so hell-bent on resetting the world he called his obligation. “If you feel exhausted, just lean on me for a second,” his calm voice sounded through the room. There was no answer from you. Even if there was silence, your feelings reached his heart and he spoke again. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked gently. Let it go with me. It’ll be easier to shake this burden off and share it, he thought. Of course, he would never dare force you. You nuzzled into his shoulder, as if to get even closer physically.

Ultimately, the woman sucked in a breath and with a shaky voice and recounted everything in her point of view. “I-I.. was on a mission when I… got a call from Ijichi. ‘Something wasn’t right’, he said and… t-told me about the cursed womb. As soon as I heard… that they sent y-your students there, I rushed to the location but…”, you hiccuped, “...I was too late… Y-Yuji, he-” You sobbed hysterically into his shoulder. Satoru turned to you to wipe away the tears and snot with a tissue. “Shhh, I’m here, I’m here”, he reassured once again, “I’ll fix it somehow.” It was just as he thought: those damned higher ups.

“H-How? This is not… something… you can f-fix, Satoru… not even you,” you continued bawling into his shoulders. I’ll kill all the higher ups, he thought to himself. “I don’t know but I’ll be damned if I can’t do something to change this detestable, loathsome and bloody world we live in,” his voice seethed with anger but it quickly died down as he re-focused on the main topic at hand, “there has to be something I can do, I’ll even drag out Sukuna myself if I have to.” “Please, Satoru…” Your whisper was faint and weak, “I… saw Yuji’s corpse... on the ground... I just want to see him one last time…”

Being a Jujutsu Sorcerer undoubtedly put a heavy strain on your mental wellbeing; nobody was spared from it, not even the great Gojo Satoru. Unfortunately, you were one of the people who were much more affected by incidents like these. He realized how badly it hurt your heart, he knew how much all the students meant to you and he knew just how much more fragile you were than you let on in front of other people. Where there is light, there must be shadow. It wasn’t like he was left unscathed by it either but right now, his utmost priority was you.

“Right,” the male sorcerer murmured more to himself. He still had to check something. “I want you to show me your arms, please.” If this had been a command, it had to be the gentlest one you had ever heard. Maybe it was the fact that there was a hint of pain infused in the way he spoke to you just now that made you show your arms so willingly, or maybe it was the fact that he always sounded so earnest when he took care of you like this. He genuinely cared; it was something you shouldn’t be surprised about, considering how long the two of you have known and cared for each other, but it never ceased to leave you in awe. You held out your arms for him to see.

As carefully as possible, the man examined your arms, his touch ghosting over your skin. It was a good thing he came prepared. The angry red lines, dry blood and broken skin on both of your forearms seemed to scream at him: you hurt yourself again. Without a doubt, he felt guilty. “I’ll be right back,” he announced as he slipped away from the bed after fixing your position and stroking your hair tenderly. A few moments later, your tall friend was back with a few medical supplies. Sitting back on the bed, he started to clean and treat your injuries. Besides a few hiccups and whimpers from your side, silence befell the room.

“Don’t you want to curse and insult me?” His eyes were still fixed on bandaging your arms. “No,” was all you said in response, fearing that your voice would give in. “You should though. After all, it was technically my fault...” Even though you were hurting, you knew Satoru was hurting all the same deep down in his heart, seeing that his precious students were the victims in this case. Satoru really treasured disciples. You took a few deep breaths before you replied, “Please don’t ever blame yourself for this… I know you wouldn’t have… let this shit happen. I know how much you adore them.”

“If it makes you feel better... if it can help you heal, I’ll take it. Any words are fine. I can deal with all the painful words…” Strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you to his chest. It was rare but his voice… unmistakably cracked for a second. A shaky chuckle left your lungs, “Please Satoru,” you wrapped your arms around him as well and nuzzled into his shirt again, “I could never treat you like that. You are everything to me but an enemy. Have always been.”

“I’ll be anything you need. I’ll even be your enemy if you ask me to… so please tell me, so that it doesn’t hurt you anymore…” he said shakily. The blindfolded man had masked his pain up until now, for your sake. It was your time to comfort him. Giving him shelter, like he had done for you. He had already experienced far too much hurt.

“Satoru, all I’ll ever need you to be in my life… is the important and comforting presence you have always been. Don’t change. If things are too much, too overwhelming and you become tired, you can lean on me too. I will never leave you.”

There was nothing left to say, no need. It was enough for both of you to be in each other’s comforting presence.

Taglist: @gojos-mochi​ @megumifushi @bleueluna

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo angst #angst #gojo satoru angst #song fic #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jjk #tw: death #tw: mentions of death #tw: mental illness #tw: self harm #taemin #inspired by taemin #shinee #ibye series

[mackeydoodledoo]

Demon or Human?

Pairing: Bela Dimitrescu x Demon (Fem!)Reader

Summary: A foreign invader comes into Castle Dimitrescu just as you were settling in with your new family. However, how far would you be willing to go to protect your newfound home and your newfound love?

Warning: Game spoilers (I’ll try to keep those at a minimum), Blood, Slight G0R3, uncontrollable demon rage, fluff at the end

A/N: In light of some Resident Evil Village spoilers... Let’s just say I WILL NOT HAVE IT! So, I guess this is another entry to my The Demon Amongst Vampires series! R is My Character: Hydrangea Dragonfold

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

1 Year..

You’ve been inhabiting Castle Dimitrescu for one year. Alcina had been able to persuade Mother Miranda to keep you in her care instead of letting you be hunted for sport. You’d probably survive it anyway, with your demon abilities. 

“I have to go to a meeting,” Alcina announces to you and her daughters, “Apparently Mother Miranda has found a foreigner man-thing in our village grounds.”

“A man?!” Daniela squeals of excitement

"A new plaything?!” Cassandra asks

“You must bring him here at once mother,” Bela says

She looks at her three children, almost looking like she is tired of their pleas. However, she recomposes herself

“I will have to persuade Mother Miranda as best as I can,” Alcina says, “I appoint Hydrangea on watch. Bela is in charge.”

You leave your mouth agape, hearing your name after while of Bela calling you “micul meu demon” or everyone else calling you demon.

“But mother-” Cassandra interrupts

“Why can’t it be either one of us?” Daniela motions to her and Cassandra

“Because I’m the oldest,” Bela flaunts her ‘eldest sibling title’

“There will be no complaints my daughters,” Alcina says, “Guard the castle well Hydrangea.”

“Of course My lady,” you say out of respect

“You have permission to call me Alcina Hydrangea,” She smiles

Alcina makes her exit. 

“I get the first bite on the man thing,” Daniela blurts out

“Not if I catch him first,” Cassandra interrupts

“Enough!” Both you and Bela scream

Your blue flames ignite slightly, almost setting the table on fire. However, you compose yourself. Thus, your flames ‘dieing’.

“We will wait for your mother to return,” You sigh, “Gosh you two are rowdy. No wonder why Bela is in charge.”

You ignite your flames once you stand, heading off towards the staircase. However, Bela follows you. You didn’t notice her presence until she grabs your wrist and pulls you into a room.

“Bela love what are you doing?” You ask

You try to get her to let go of you however, you stop fighting her as she doesn’t reply to you but only snakes her arms around your midsection, taking in your warmth that you were producing. Not only from your natural body heat, but your demon form as well. You were also sure that she was also listening to your racing heartbeat. The one thing you feared was giving too much heat, too much to the point where Bela and possibly everyone else you’ve come to love and care about they turn to ash because of your carelessness of your flames. 

“I... Love, I have to leave,” You sigh, placing your hand on her head and the other on her waist 

“No you don’t,” She counter argues

“I do my love,” You say, looking down at her, “I have to keep you three safe.”

“And you think we can’t protect ourselves?!” Bela asks

“That is not what I meant love,” You say, “It’s just... It’s just I’m not over what happened last time... If I hadn’t come when I did, you would have died... I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for that. I’d die if anything happened to you.”

Bela’s grip on you only tightens when you finish your sad ramble. This gets you in tears. You really couldn’t imagine the rest of your life without her.

“You’d die... For me?” She asks

“Of course I would love,” You smile, swooping her into your arms

Fortunately, your blue flames weren’t ignited enough to accidentally burn her. Your foreheads touch as you give her a kiss

“This is so much better,” Bela sighs in relief

“It really is,” You smile, “Thank you Bela.”

She kisses your forehead. You lay your head against her shoulder, hoping you could just stay like that for a little bit longer.

“Bela?” You ask, breaking the silence

“What is it my love?” She asks

“If this man... If this man scurries around the castle and hurts any of you,” You start, “What if I lose control of my demon form and I no longer see the human in me?”

“Simple, I‘ll get you out,” She answers

“What if you can’t?” You ask, worried now, “What if I’m the one who ends up hurting you?”

“Can you promise me one thing then?” She asks

You nod.

“The don’t use your full demon form,” She requests, “If you’re worried about hurting us, don’t use it. Should you though, I will pull you out.”

You had wished you were able to stay like that forever. However, you knew you had to begin your task. You and Bela give each other one last kiss before departing each others’ presence and embrace. Bela goes back down to the foyer to meet her sisters once more.

“You two okay?” Daniela asks, breaking the silence

“We are fine Daniela,” Bela answers

“Then when will the both of you just shut up and get married?!” Cassandra asks, clearly teasing Bela now

 “We are not-we don’t plan on that yet,” Bela says, “It’s never come up when we talk and we don’t need to yet.”

“Sure,” Daniela teases

As you were scouting the grounds of the castle, you already see Alcina returning to the castle.

“My lady!” You call out, “I’m assuming it didn’t go well?”

“Mother Miranda gave that man-thing to Heisenberg, of course I’m upset!” She groans in frustration, “I need a drink.”

You follow her back into the castle where her daughters immediately stand to greet her.

“Where’s the male foreigner?” Bela asks

“Mother Miranda gave him to Heisenberg that fool,” She groans

You all watch her walk up the stairs and disappear into the castle. You four seat back down into the couch, Bela leaning into your embrace. 

“How was scouting O-great demon king?” Daniela teases

“It was fine Dani,” you chuckle, “Are you just going to continuously make nicknames for me Dani?”

She nods as she leans back into the chair. However, before any of you could converse on, you could hear footsteps. You motion for the girls to stop talking.

“You guys hear that too?” You whisper

You motion for the three of them to follow you and once you get to the grand entrance of the castle, you see a man. 

“Looking for Rose?” Daniela calls out to him, taunting him

The three of them begin forming into their fly swarm and move toward him. You make the decision to tell Alcina herself that a man has entered the castle. 

“My lady, there is a man in the castle,” You sigh, “Your daughters are on the case. I’m not sure who he is- oh, speak of the devil, here they are.”

You hear the doors burst open along with struggled grunts. You look over and notice Cassandra and Bela dragging him in.

“Mother, I bring you fresh prey,” She says, trying to take the credit

“Oh, you are so kind to me daughters,” Alcina smiles, her daughters letting a slight giggle out of their mouths, “Now, let’s take a look at him.”

She stands up and faces him, “Well, well, Ethan Winters. You’ve escaped my little brothers’ idiot games did you? Let’s see how special you are.”

You watch Bela, Daniela and Alcina taste his blood. You stand next to Cassandra as you watch.

“Hey-Hey you, help me out!” Ethan pleas at you

You turn to look at him for a second. You feel your human willing to help him however, you end up turning your back to him, not willing to help him. If anything, you also hated men. 

“Starting to go a little stale,” Alcina says, “But, I must inform Mother Miranda. Later, there will be enough for everyone. Put him up.”

You watch again as Bela and Daniela hook his hands and Cassandra hoists him up. You hear him groan in pain as you all begin making your exit.

“Hey... Hey you!” He again calls for you, “Help me... Please...”

You stop in your tracks and look up at him. You only let out a low chuckle as Bela gently grabs your wrist and pulls you out from the room.

As you were finishing something with Cassandra you suddenly hear Bela’s grunts.

“Hey, I gotta go,” You say out of the blue

You follow Bela’s voice, rushing even further when you could hear her voice getting louder and louder.

“Bela! Bela!” You call out for her

You pass through the kitchen and notice Bela on top of Ethan. However, she doesn’t notice how he’s aiming his gun. Only you had noticed.

“Bela! The windows!” You scream, “He’s gonna shoot the windows!”

Believing that she didn’t hear you, you ignite your flames even more so than earlier. But, it’s concentrated to your palms. You begin melting the bars that had separated from you reaching Bela. However, just before the glass had gave way to the heavy damage, the bars melted enough for you to burst through. You hear Bela’s pained scream as the glass gave way to the heavy damage. 

“You- stupid man-thing!” Bela screams

You only pictured how she was the last time she was out in the cold. You let out an ear-piercing roar as you forcefully push Ethan out of the way to get to Bela. Igniting your flames ever so slightly, you pick Bela up and begin warming her up with your flames and your natural body heat. You go back into the dungeons and place her down gently, hoping you had warmed her enough.

“Are you okay?!” You ask, tears welling into your eyes

“I am now love,” She smiles, caressing your cheek

“Go!” You say, “Get your sisters an get somewhere safe! He knows! I’ll come find you.”

You watch Bela disappear into the dungeons, hopefully back into the castle to warn her sisters. You go back to where Ethan had shot the window. He was hoping you’d feel pain with the cold however, when you emerged from the cold wind, you came out, unphased.

“What the HELL ARE YOU?!” Ethan asks

“The one who will kill you,” You growl, taking in the cold, “My blood’s boiling...”

Your blue flame continue to ignite more than usual and you pounce onto him, snarling in his face. He tries to use his shotgun on you and he manages to graze the side of your head. He manages to wriggle himself out of your grip and shoots at you again, this time, in the shoulder. 

“Stay down kid,” He says mercilessly and runs into the direction you came

“Get back here you coward!” You scream, trying to stand

As your body began regenerating, you continuously crawled in the direction he was going in, beginning to track his scent. It was difficult as you were in the room where the wines are created. However, it didn’t stop you from continuing on the path. When you fully regenerated your shoulder, you get up nd try to track his scent as best as you could. However, when you only got back into the castle.

“Bela!” you call

You felt a hand on your wrist as you begin getting pulled into a room. A feeling of relief washes over you as you hug Bela tightly. You look over her shoulder and only see Cassandra with her.

“Where’s Daniela?” You ask, in a panicked state

“She ran off, hoping to take down the man herself,” Cassandra sighs

You hear the door burst open and it’s Alcina.

“That man will pay for what he’s done,” She growls, “My daughter are you hurt?”

“I was but- thanks to Hydrangea,” Bela sighs in relief, leaning into your shoulder to warm up some more

“Where’s Daniela?” Alcina asks

“She went to the library to take down the man mother, we tried to stop her,” Cassandra sighs

“You two stay with Hydrangea until I return with his head and Daniela,” Alcina orders before leaving again

She makes her leave. The three of you sit on the couch, Cassandra and Bela huddling against you for warmth. However, Bela practically seating herself into your lap.

“Do you have to be such a hog of the human furnace?” Cassandra looks at her older sister in annoyance

“I’m her girlfriend so buzz off,” Bela says

“She may be your girlfriend but I need some warmth too,” Cassandra growls

You could hear Daniela’s pained grunts and screaming. You stand up and place Bela down onto the couch next to her sister. You flick your finger and a small flame goes into the fire place, igniting the firewood.

“Alcina hasn’t found her yet,” You say, “I’ll go get Daniela the both of you stay here okay?”

Once you left the room you break into a run towards the library. You break through the door just as Ethan begins opening the roof to let in the cold air again.

“STOP!” You scream, grabbing onto Daniela

Sorry Bela... I have to do this... To protect all of you. You four accepted me almost instantly... I have to protect my home. I’m not letting anyone die here! The only one dying is him....

The ground around you became engulfed in blue flames, surrounding both you and Daniela

[A/n: not my gif]

“I got you Dani,” You say, the last time you heard your own voice

You look at Ethan completely deranged, more than Cassandra could ever look deranged at one of her “pets”. Ethan begins to walk backward however, tripping over an object.

“Let’s talk about this kid!” Ethan pleas, “From one human to another-”

“I’m not a human!” You spat, your demon voice overtaking your real voice, “I’m a demon! I protect my home and everyone in it!”

You let go of Daniela and leave her on the floor for Alcina to check on her. You throw Ethan out of the library. Alcina takes Daniela to where her other two daughters were. You throw him down a set of stairs. Coincidentally where Bela had opened the door.

You stand at the top of the stairs, looking down at Ethan, “You’ve overstayed your welcome... Time to say goodnight.”

“No-No please I beg you please I just wanted to find my daughter!” He screams

“All of this? For a child who isn’t even here?!” You mock him, “Your little baby could even be dead for all I care!”

Ethan draws his gun and pulls the trigger as a last resort to get you to stand down. However, you slice his arm off. You could hear his screams of pain as you now stand over him.

From the other room, Bela, Daniela, Alcina and Cassandra watch as you begin devouring his flesh. You stop after two bites out of his flesh you turn to the four women. Unable to feel your human, instead feeling your demon take full control over your body, you charge at Cassandra, Daniela, Alcina, even Bela. Alcina, being the protective mother she is, stands in front of her daughters, ready to slaughter you so if you lay a finger on her daughters like this. However, Bela runs past the three.

“Bela, get back here!” Alcina yells

Before you could lay a finger on them, Bela throws her arms around you, holding onto you tightly. As you flail your arms about, Bela still held onto you

“It’s me,” Bela says, calmly, “It’s okay now... I’m right here. Come back to me...”

You finally stopped flailing, your blue flames dissipating and your demon eye slits turning back into their round pupils.

“Be..la?” You call 

You gently place your hand on her head and the other around her. You sink into her touch and fall to your knees, Bela following your movements.

“It’s okay now,” She coos, “I’ve got you love. I’ve got you.”

You choke on your sobs as you hold onto Bela for dear life, sobbing into her shoulder.

“Bela did manage to get you out after all?” Alcina admires her oldest daughter, “And I thought I was going to have to kill her.”

Alcina sips her wine.

“Mother!” Bela growls

“I need to protect my prides and joys,” Alcina states

Bela was sitting in your lap as Daniela is huddled against your side and Cassandra on the floor facing you, Bela and Daniela.

“Do you really have to hog to the human furnace Bela? I’m the one who almost died,” Daniela growls

“She’s my girlfriend,” Bela draws the ‘girlfriend’ card for the millionth time

“How long do you intend on pulling that card against us Bela?” Cassandra asks

“As long as I want,” She smiles down at you

You smile back up at her, “Daniela, I also warmed you up in almost an instant with that amount of flames I emitted earlier. Did that not help?”

“Oh it did,” She smiles

“Then you don’t need to be complaining,” Bela scoffs

“By the way, I am digging the new look on you Hydrangea,” Cassandra says, smiling at you

Black horns with bright blue accents had remained from your blue flame horns or at least under them and a tail remained.

“Do you now Cass?” You smile, “I do too.”

Your tail unconsciously wraps itself around Bela’s waist. You could feel Bela’s fingertips playing with the fluff end of your tail, making your cheeks flush a faint pink.

“Awwww micul meu demon is blushing,” Bela teases

“Ssshut it,” You hiss

You weren’t sure how well you were going to do with that man-thing called Ethan Winters roaming around the castle. However, this was your home. You went to great lengths to protect it. Especially your new family and your girlfriend. Even if you would lose your human, you had Bela. You trust her enough to bring you back, should you lose sight of that human in you.

#bela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #resident evil village #female reader

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Everybody Talks Too Much (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Mute!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence Summary: Whenever Cassandra gets angry, no one wants to deal with her. Well, no one but you, that is. Thankfully, the middle child appreciates your company... not that she'd ever admit it. Notes: Another self-indulgent fic with a selectively mute reader. This one's a lil different. Sections in italic are mostly indications that the reader is miming actions in order to communicate, though there are a few internal thoughts that are marked as such. Unlike the past two I've done, this takes place pre-relationship, so there's some mutual pining of sorts. I think that's the word.

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

Among the many servants of Castle Dimitrescu, there were a number of secret rules to be followed. Guidelines that were never written down, only spoken in hushed whispers, for specific (and dangerous) circumstances. Most could be divided into one of two categories: 1, how to reduce the chances of a Lady of the house killing someone. 2, how to make sure that if they kill someone, it will not be you. Of these rules, there was one that you knew best of all, despite never having been told it. Why? Because you have observed it time and time again. After all, the rule revolved around you. To put it plainly… If Cassandra Dimitrescu was in an awful mood, but had yet to draw blood, send in the mute.

Even now, as you rushed down a corridor, you did not know why this rule was in place. You simply knew that you had been summoned countless times by frantic maidens, to go serve their volatile mistress. Admittedly you did understand their eagerness to thrust the task upon someone else. Cassandra was often considered the deadliest of the Dimitrescu daughters, for she was the quickest to anger, the one with the deepest bloodlust, and took the longest to calm down. Personally, you disagreed, believing that it wasn’t terribly hard to know what she did and did not like. All it took was some observation. It was Daniela who scared you, seeing as she was unpredictable. She didn’t even need to be in a bad mood to want to kill you.

Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean that you saw no danger in working with Cassandra. In fact, you saw a fair bit, such as now: Right as you round the corner, a shiny object hurls past your head, embedding itself into the wall. Had you been walking ever so slightly faster… Well, you preferred not to dwell on such things, especially not when the one who threw the thing was still nearby. Based on the howling laughter and swarm of insects that moves around you, the intended target was Lady Daniela. Across the room is the markswoman herself; Cassandra stood tall, huffing in anger, staring at the spot her sister had just vacated from.

“Damn it!” She yelled, stomping her foot as if the resulting shockwave might do what her weapon had not. Oddly amused, you’re quick to remove the sickle from the wall, careful as to not damage it. It’s a tad dirty, but nothing you can’t fix with your handy pocket cloth. Cleaning as you walk, you slowly move towards your employer, not even bothering to spare her a glance. After all, you had your own rules for dealing with her.

(1: Avoid eye contact for at least one minute after an outburst.)

By the time you make it to Cassandra, the minute has come and gone, allowing you to ever-so politely look her in the eyes when you return her blade. She scoffs, then practically rips the sickle from your hands. This was your job, however, so you made no complaints. Not that you could, at least not verbally. Instead, you gave a short bow of acknowledgement. Afterwards you stood still, awaiting either instructions or a dismissal. Neither came.

“I can’t believe that little shit tried to take my favorite dagger and thought she could get away with it! Agh, the nerve of her! Can you believe this?” Cassandra snapped, turning to you as if you might agree with her. Nod, simple yet effective. “At least you know how to handle a blade. Damn Daniela is lucky she didn’t get any scratches on mine.” Then she pulls the knife in question from its place on her belt, letting it gleam in the light. A soft exhale, head tipping to the side, wow is it pretty. So is the one holding it. Your mind wanders but your gaze does not. Always polite, always ready to serve.

(2: Do not get distracted; she is no patient lover, rather a demanding boss.)

“Cassandra! What was all that noise a minute ago?” Someone called, interrupting your ‘conversation’. The speaker soon appears, being none other than Lady Bela, the most reasonable of the castle residents. Though that meant little, considering the nature of her family. As if to prove your point, Cassandra merely rolls her eyes in reply, refusing to divulge the truth. And so Bela turned her gaze to you, perking a brow. “Feeling up to talking today?” She asked, already knowing the answer. Of course, your hands are already moving, not even waiting for her to finish speaking. This is a game you know intimately.

A hand goes to your belt, moving to pull a nonexistent blade from its sheath. Raising it, moving it forward then back several times, launching it towards the wall- towards the hole left behind. Then shifting, waving your hand in front of your face while exhaling a sharp breath. Flinching. An exaggerated gulp, pretending to check if your nose is still attached, sighing in relief. Lastly, an inclination of your head towards the culprit. Cassandra.

“I was aiming for Daniela. Not that it matters, nobody got hurt,” she stated, confident. Both hands clasped together, then tapping the palms together, mimicking a heartbeat at a reasonable pace. Suddenly a stomp. The beating stops, and you hold your hands next to your ear, as if listening for signs of life. Pause. Three seconds. Worried expression, eyes wide. Finally, fast as a gunshot, the heart beats again, wildly. At this, Bela shoots her sister a look of doubt, as well as judgement. Hoping to change the subject, Cassandra looks to you. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Rubbing your chin, thinking. Squinting for effect. Ah, got it! Both hands go to your sides, lifting the imaginary hem of a dress you aren’t wearing. Waltzing forward, yet in place, with the poise expected of a professional maid. Then the focus shifts to your face. Fear. A silent scream, a hand at your forehead, feeling like you… might… faint. Falling backwards, making a step at the very last second to prevent a real collapse. End scene.

“Someone was scared?” Bela asked, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. When you nod, she does as well, considering the implications. “Why would they send you?”

“I hardly care why, I just want to know who so I can kick their ass,” Cassandra interjects, taking a step closer to you. All you do in response is shrug. Unsurprisingly this is not enough to please her, and before you know it she’s wrapped a hand around your throat. “Give. Me. A. Name. Now.” A perked brow. Thoughts practically telegraphed. ‘What do you expect?’ Opening your mouth, slightly, then wide, back to almost closed. No sound comes out. Obviously. It’s not like you wanted to break your own rule, but in this case you had no choice.

(3: Give her whatever she wants, consequences be damned.)

Luckily for you, Bela acts as a foil to Cassandra, there to smooth the seas. Moving behind you, she reaches into your back pocket and retrieves the notepad you keep there. Then she’s handing it to you while making eye contact with her sister. Cassandra promptly releases you, though she’s clearly not pleased, going so far as to push you away in one last act of anger. Internally you roll your eyes. On the outside, however, you quickly write down everything you know… which isn’t much.

“I don’t remember who it was. A lot of people have asked. This happens a lot.” Then you hand the paper to Bela, who soon looks back up at you in confusion. Too antsy to wait for her own turn, Cassandra yoinks the notepad from her sister’s hands, reading it over several times before reacting.

“What the fuck? Why would they send you to me because somebody pissed their pants in fear? I’m going to kill someone. Ugh, I don’t- this doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” Cassandra ranted, pacing back and forth, looking like she wanted to destroy something immediately. To your surprise, Bela doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned. If anything, she looks amused, and smiles when the two of you make eye contact. Something tells you that she knows something that you don’t. Before you can react, she quietly retrieves your notepad and returns it to you. Then she pauses, thinking, eying you with curiosity.

“Why don’t you go for now? See if anyone thanks you for stepping in, hmm?” She suggested, tone implying that this was absolutely about something else entirely. Still, you don’t care to disobey, and so you bid the two of them farewell with a deep bow. As you leave, you can almost make out part of what they say next. But you’re certain that you must have heard incorrectly. “Showing your favoritism a little too much, sister? If even the servants can see it-” the rest of the sentence is cut off by angry muttering from Cassandra. After that you’re too far away to hear anymore. What a strange day...

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

“Hey, you know where Lady Cassandra’s room is, right?” Ygritte asked, casually, definitely not having just been told by someone else that you were the solution to her problem. Pretending that you were unaware of this, you give her a smile and a nod. Later, behind her back, you will mentally add her to your list of people to watch out for. Maybe even decide to refuse to share your biscuits with her. In the meantime, you pretend that you don’t mind whatever task she’s about to dump on you. “Can you bring these books to her? I really have to get back to the kitchen soon, and that’s in the opposite direction…”

Technically true. Something told you that the real problem was that Cassandra had been extra loud the past few days. Regardless, you accept the books from her, leaving before she even finishes thanking you. Why do people do this? I don’t get it, you think. It’s like they think I’m immune to her rage. If that were true, I’d gladly throw myself between her and others. But no, that’s not the case. Hmmph, if only they saw my scars. Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you keep walking, subconsciously rubbing the spot on your arm where Cassandra had cut you. Well, the worst spot. Being pain tolerant had made her take interest in you, during your first few weeks, but it’s what allowed you to learn her rules. Your rules, really.

Knock. Knock. A pause… three more, much softer. The door swings open, revealing your Lady, whose eyes widen at the sight of you. Tipping your hat (which you are not wearing), you greet her, forcing another smile. Then you present the books, free hand gesturing with a spiral motion towards them. She doesn’t respond. No, wait, she glances at the door hinges, considering closing the door in your face. Now both of you are staring at each other, daring the other to move.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she finally said. There’s a gruffness to her voice that you hadn’t expected. It’s unlike her usual tone, less angry, more tired. Were those bags under her eyes?... No, just smudged makeup. “Don’t just stand there- tell me why you’re here.” Again, you gesture to the books, extending your hands further towards her. This time she takes a half-step backwards to avoid you. Peculiar. “Someone else was supposed to bring them, dipshit. Fucking hell, why can’t anyone around here do their damn jobs?” At last, she takes the books from you, carrying them deeper into your room. Though she does not close the door, you assume that your job is done. Or maybe you simply do not wish to deal with a Cassandra who’s frustrated by your specific presence. Either way, it breaks one of your rules, though you do not remember until it is too late.

(4: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family.)

“Where the hell are you going?” The sound of buzzing flies, a blur of motion around you, then the form of Cassandra solidifying in front of you. One of her hands is raised, pressing against the center of your chest. She pushes you, hard, making you stumble backwards into her room. Next thing you know you’ve crashed onto her floor. A tad stunned, you bring a hand up to hold your head, blinking rapidly for a few seconds. There’s the sound of a door closing, and then someone’s trying to help you stand. “I didn’t say you could leave yet. Now c’mon, I’ve got stuff for you to do.” Then she’s guiding you to her bed, making you sit down on the end. Panicked thoughts race through your mind one after another. What exactly was she intending? Thankfully you don’t have to wait long to find out. “Read through these, and-” a pause, like she hadn’t known what she was going to say until she was already speaking- “take notes. Make a summary of the bookmarked sections, or whatever.” Handing you a couple books (neither of which being ones you had just brought to her), she sits on the other side of the bed, refusing to look at you. She does, however, say one last thing, voice barely above a whisper. “Just stay for a while, okay?”

Inside your head, you make a mental note to amend your list of rules.

(4.b: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family. If Cassandra asks you to stay, you stay, no matter what. It’s worth it.)

#cassandra dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #stayed up to write this #totes worth it

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ "the next time i see you, it'll be in hell" / "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me"

♡ pairing: connor kent (superboy/RotS) x fem! reader

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / i was listening to 'esa hembra es mala' by gloria trevi so if you do speak spanish, that's a song rec while you read this fic. if you don't, listen to 'hermit the frog' by marina instead!

"connor please, you're giving ME a headache and it's only seven in the morning," his friend, jake, spoke as his hands covered his face, "wait, shut up, who is that?" connor asked, seeing you with a few friends.

jake sighed, "that's ( your name )," he spoke softly, "she's friends with everyone here. some like her, some can't stand her. it all depends on how she feels with you." you were schools resident 'popular' girl and had a bit of a following among your class.

"i'm gonna go talk to her," connor said. his friends eyes widened, "connor no!" jake screamed, grabbing his friend and pulling him back, "she's a complete bitch, don't do it!" jake exclaimed as he could tell that everything he was saying was going over connor's head.

you fixed the newspaper that had superboy's face plastered on the cover, "i just think that superboy could beat robin if i'm being honest. PLUS he's attractive because you can actually see his face," the day old conversation between you and your friends about who was the better sidekick struck up again and anyone who knew you knew how much you adored superboy.

"hey ladies," you turned to look at the boy, confused on who he was as you had never seen him around school. you gave him a small smile, "uh, hi?" you asked, "do i know you?"

the boy who approached you was wearing sunglasses which threw you off considering your school didn't allow anyone to wear them inside the building. you looked to his other friend, recognizing him as someone you had in your Calc class.

"just wanted to introduce myself, i'm connor," he said, giving you a sly smirk. you shook his hand, half awkwardly, "please i'm ( your name )," you replied as you saw the way connor gave jake a wink, "is there something you wanted or?" you asked again, not knowing why he was still here.

"no, just wanted to say hi to my future girlfriend," you let out a laugh, catching everyone off guard, "please, as if," you replied as you grabbed your friends and walked away, kind of taken back by the new boy.

"he was kinda cute," one of your friends said as you rolled your eyes, "uh, not really? kinda weird if you ask me," you replied, looking down at the newspaper, "well, i'm going to class, see ya," you said, walked towards your AP Lit class.

you sat down in the front, immediately talking to the friends you had in the class. it wasn't even five minutes later when connor entered the class, immediately smirking when he saw you. you growled, instantly annoyed at his expression.

"ah, so you've met the resident new boy?" you nodded as your friend giggled, "he's really nice. made more than a friends already," she said as you shrugged, "okay and? he had a lot of nerve coming up to me and telling me i'd be his future girlfriend," you replied.

she let out a belting laugh, "yeah, he told meghan from fifth period the same thing," you saw connor walking up to your desk and before he could make himself comfortable next to you, you instantly put your leg on the chair, "don't even think about it," you said, not even looking at him, "the desk in the back is available though," you smirked as you watched your teacher roll her eyes at your attitude.

connor bent down to your level, "don't gotta be so hostile, sweetheart, i know you like me," he whispered before getting up and leaving.

your friend, looked at you, laughing at disbelief at both of your attitudes. you rolled your eyes, trying to pay attention to the discussion as you could feel connor's eyes on you almost the entire time.

+

throughout the weeks and going into months, your relationship with connor didn't change. he arguably became the biggest pain your ass from the beginning of the day until the final bell rang. he managed to befriend a few of your friends which meant that you were around him at times.

you sipped your coffee as you were reading the newest article on superboy, "ah, ah, ah, what do we have here?" connor asked, taking the magazine from your hand, "superboy fan, huh?" he scanned the cover, a smug smirk coming onto his face as you snatched the magazine back.

"yeah, someone who's actually useful in life," you replied as he walked with you to your locker. he had never saw the inside of it and taken back by the amount of photos you had....of him, "aww, don't be that way, sweetheart! maybe one day superboy will actually give you a chance," he joked.

your annoyance instantly shot up as you slammed your locker and walking away, "see ya later sweetie!" he screamed. you stopped in the middle of the hall and flicked him off, "the next time i'll see you, it'll be in hell!" you yelled, storming off to class.

you walked into class, sitting down as your friend, henry, walked up to you, "hey babe," he said, a warm feeling crossing your face at the term of endearment, "hey henry, what're you up to?" you asked, seeing him looking at you, a bit nervously now.

"i was wondering if you were free-," before henry could say anything else, connor walked up behind him and tapping him on the shoulder. he had heard the conversation between the two of you and knew exactly where it was heading, "uh, she's not interested, better luck next time," connor stated, surprising henry with his sudden angry attitude.

henry knowing he didn't want to risk the chance of getting his ass kicked walked away from the conversation as you stared at connor with rage in your eyes, "what do you want?" you seethed as you saw connor's smirk playing on his face, "you weren't actually entertaining him, were you?" he asked in disbelief, "i literally hate you with every ounce of my being," you blurted, finally sick of connor's attitude.

his mouth hung open as you got up from the desk, "do me a favor and PLEASE leave me alone, that's all i ask," you stated as you walked out of class and deciding to ditch for the rest of the day.

"told you she was gonna blow up," jake informed as he sat down in his seat, connor still standing in place, taking in everything you had said. he knew he was being a bit of an ass but he didn't know you were that angry with him.

connor knew he had to make this up. he genuinely did like you and he didn't want to ruin his chances with you because of his shitty attitude. throughout the class period, he picked his brain for ideas until sirens went off in his head.

SUPERBOY.

he knew you were practically in love with his alter ego and he knew he could use superboy as a way to persuade you into giving him another chance. that is if he played his cards right.

+

you reluctantly showed up the next day, trying to avoid connor as best as you could. you were talking with a few friends, gossiping about the fight that superboy and robin had against a few low level villains in metropolis last night.

"hey, look at connor," jake whispered, seeing his friend practically beat up. you were taken back by his appearance as he had a few bruises on his arms and legs, "are you okay?" jake asked connor.

connor shook his head slowly, his body still recovering from the night before, "what were yall talking about?" he asked, trying to redirect the conversation. everyone looked to you, "someone was gushing about superboy, so please, if you'd continue," meghan said playfully.

"oh shut up, like you don't have robin posters all over your room," you retorted as you watched connor struggling to stay upright, "all i'm saying is that superboy remains the best sidekick there is. did you see the way he walked out of that fight scratchless and look at robin, he nearly died," you continued.

meghan instantly retorted as you noticed how eerily silent connor had became. you turned over to him, about to say something sarcastic towards him until he flopped on top of you, passing out completely. you looked down at him, "connor?" you whispered, "hey connor, wake up," you whispered, shaking him a bit.

"take him to the nurse!" jake yelled at you as you grabbed connor by the arm and pulling him against you, "fuck off, he's heavy as hell," you breathed, trying to steady his weight against you before walking slowly towards the nurse.

you made the walk to the nurse but by the time you made it, connor had woken up, "don't take me to the nurse, please," he whispered, "what are you talking about?" you exclaimed, "you clearly aren't okay and you don't look okay either," you added on.

he steered the two of you to the family bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit, "clean me up here, i really don't want to be questioned right now," he said, nothing cocky or playful in his voice. you sat him on the toilet, bending down to clean his face first, "hey, is everything okay....you know at home?" you asked.

he laughed, shaking his head, "these injuries aren't from my guardians if that's what you're wondering. i kinda got into a fight last night," you stared at him confused, "did you lose or something? these injuries look horrible," you replied.

"course i did, just took a nasty beating before i won," he said as he flinched at the rubbing alcohol hitting his arm. you muttered a sorry as you put a band-aid on a few of his cuts, "listen, i wanted to say sorry for acting like a prick," connor muttered a few minutes later.

you were taken back by his apology, "i knew i was being an ass but please don't take this as me joking but you're actually the best thing that's happened to me since i transferred," you remained silent, not knowing to respond as you put the last band-aid on his knee.

"and if i could have a second chance, that would be super dope, ya know?" he tried to say without sounding nervous, "you better not be joking, kent," you threatened, putting your finger on his chest and shoving him a bit.

connor flinched back in pain as you muttered a sorry, "i'm not joking, i'd really like to take you out for coffee sometime," he asked as he grabbed your hand and gave it a kiss. you agreed as you responded with a kiss on his cheek, "also, i had this lying around my room and figured you'd like it more than i would," he dug into his backpack and gave you a magazine.

your eyes widen seeing what it was. it was the magazine that superboy first appeared in and you had analyzed a few signatures of his to know that it was his signature on the front, "did superboy sign this?" you practically tried to contain your excitement as you ran your finger over the sharpie.

connor nodded, "i met him one time after he saved a few people in metropolis last year and got him to sign the magazine. i figured since you like hm a lot more than i do, you'd take care of it better than i would," overwhelmed with excitement, you grabbed connor by the neck and kissed him.

connor was taken back by the sudden kiss but awkwardly responded with another kiss as you held the magazine close to your chest, "i can't thank you enough for this connor," you whispered, your lips still on his a bit. he chuckled, "just meet me at the coffee shop near the school and that'll suffice," he replied, giving you another kiss before slowly getting up.

"now lets get to our second period before we get marked truant again," he grabbed your hand and held it as softly as possible, "you know how much shit our friends are gonna give us, right?" you said, laughing a bit. connor nodded, "nothing we can't handle," he replied as he squeezed your hand in reassurance.

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