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rae-gar-targaryen · 3 years

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loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was it.

No "I'm sorry, querida."

No "I hope we can stay friends."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance.

‘Cause I loved you, once…

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oliver here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But?" He pressed.

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you think of that one?”

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

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

Um, wow.

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

All you could do was nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel nodded.

“Do your worst, Vince.”

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

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

You rolled your eyes.

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

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

“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He seemed puzzled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly.

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

You spun back toward him before he could get up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

Cheeky.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. So she knew who you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was a hard no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took mercy on you nevertheless.

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

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

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

You felt EZ stiffen from your other side.

Great.

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

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

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

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

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

You really were doing great, weren’t you?

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

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

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

What the fuck.

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

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

That stung.

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

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

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

That was you, ever the professional.

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

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

“You got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

“Vince?” The text read.

You bit back a smirk before responding,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding.

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

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

“Boy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your phone dinged once more.

“See you then, mi reina.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel chuckled a little at that.

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

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

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

"Really?"

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

Angel held up one hand, defensively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coco's voice broke your train of thought,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Angelito, everything okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath was shuddering now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, querida," Angel gasped.

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

"Please… use your pretty mouth?"

You nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come on then, baby."

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of fucking course.

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

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

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

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

"What'd he say to you?"

You remained silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like he would, you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tagging:

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

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

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sugar-quilled · 3 years

Text

when stars align

a/n: this is fluff wrapped in unnecessary plot. my bad.

summary: star gazing date

genre: fluff

word count: 1.8k

pronouns: she/her

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

Spring came very suddenly this year. Many students had feared that there wouldn't be sunny weather to look forward to after exams ended, but the clouds parted on the last day, and there was a great hurrying to the castle grounds and enjoy a well deserved break. Quite a few students had taken to soaring around the Quidditch pitch, throwing around a Quaffle and chatting about summer plans. As you made your way out to the courtyard, absolutely determined to forget about the entirety of your Astrology exam, a very handsome owl came swooping down from a tree nearby to land on your shoulder. You quickly accepted the very small square of parchment clamped in its beak, and recognized it as Draco's eagle owl. You smiled at the bird, gave it a quick pet on the head, and turned the parchment piece around. In very tidy writing, it read:

Meet me at the courtyard? 8 pm. Send an answer back - Draco

"Date night?" a voice behind you said. You swung around to see Daphne Evergreen's eyes peering over your unoccupied shoulder and grinned.

"Seems like you know the answer to that question already, Daph."

"Sure do. Will you let me do your hair? I saw a Ravenclaw with a really beautiful half up half down kind of look and it'll really be gorgeous on you. Pity I could never pull it off."

"Don't lie to yourself," you said, swinging your bag off your shoulder, "bangs do grow out you know. And yes, absolutely." The owl readjusted its footing and tugged on your hair, as if telling you that it didn't have all day to listen to two girls talk. You walked quickly off the path, said goodbye to Daphne with the promise of meeting her in the dormitory in a few minutes, and dug around your school bag for a quill and ink. Unscrewing the bottle, you sat down on the grass and wrote back,

Answer is yes, pretty boy.

Draco's owl immediately snatched the parchment out of your hand, and took off towards the owlery.

time skip to 7:50

"Daphne you're brushing too hard," you muttered as she tugged forcefully on your hair. You two had been planning your outfit for about 4 hours now, taking a 30 minute break at 5 to shovel down perhaps the fastest dinner you had ever eaten and running right back up to the dormitory.

"I've never ever seen your hair with this many knots. Have you been crawling around some underbrush? There's a twig in here. How could you have possibly gotten a twig in your hair?"

"I don't know? Maybe it was Draco's ow- OW! Daphne, please, my head's attached to the other end of those strands! Couldn't you just use some Sleekeazy's? There should be a bottle in my drawer."

"NO! It'll ruin your natural waves!" she cried, frantic. "It's 7:52 already! You're due in 8 minutes! And we've still got earrings to choose and you didn't say which shoes yet!"

"I'll do without earrings! And I thought I said the oxfords were fine!" you answered, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes as Daphne tugged harder still.

"Hang on, just give me one second, I'm nearly there, you've just got this big lump that I've been trying to get through this past half hour."

With the hardest tug yet, Daphne undid the knot, pulling out quite a few hairs in the process, and let out a very tired cheer. You stood up straight and turned back at her.

"Okay, well you've got your top," she said, dropping the brush and moving forward to tuck the black scoop neck into your jeans, "jeans, necklace looks fine, hair looks gorgeous, and do you want to borrow my purse? It'll fit th-"

"Daphne I'm just going to the courtyard! What do I need a bloody purse for?" You half-yelled, massaging a very sore spot on the back of your head.

"You're right, you're right," Daphne said as you stepped into your oxfords, "well then off you go! It's 7:56, you've got plenty of time. Tell me all about it when you get back!"

"Yes, of course. Bye, Daphne!" You shouted, already half-way out the door.

The trip out to the courtyard seemingly took less than a minute, but in your hurried state, there was no way you counted the seconds properly. It was almost completely empty, with only two or three pairs of students still playing gobstones. You spotted Draco, and immediately felt a rosy color creep over your cheeks.

Draco was wearing a white button down and some neatly pressed black pants, an attire that looked suspiciously like his school uniform without a cloak. No complaints were had though, as he looked impossibly handsome.

A large, grayish green picnic blanket had been set down on the floor. Several puffy pillows had been layered down on top of it, alongside a very big, very fluffy blanket.

He turned around, a very expensive looking bouquet of flowers in hand, and gave you a quick smile before striding towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

You blushed and placed a kiss below his jawline before entwining your hand in his. He gestured towards the blanket—"after you, dear"—and the two of you sat down.

"This set up looks lovely, Draco" you said, readjusting to face him.

"I'm glad you're impressed by my effort" he replied, handing you the bouquet. It was a darling little thing of daisies, baby's breath, and lavender. Pixie dust sparkled on each flower. "I'm sure you want to know what I have planned for today?"

You leaned closer to him, and answered mockingly, "What is it dear Draco? Do tell me!"

"Star gazing."

You leaned back and and noticed a small telescope placed beside a pillow to your right. Knowing his absolute disdain for Astrology, you smiled. "Why the sudden change in interest?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's supposed to be romantic. And anyways, stars are pretty when they aren't for analyzing. Come here, the sun's about to set." He pulled you fully onto his lap, facing away from him, and wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

The sky was indeed dimming, brilliant strokes of orange turned pink, then purple, and finally gave way to an inky night sky. You had settled very comfortably, head against his chest, as his chin rested on the top of your head. The big blanket covered you both, and as you sat up, reaching towards the telescope to get a closer look at what seemed to be Scorpius, a very sharp "Malfoy!" startled the both of you. Professor McGonagall was storming towards you.

"What do you two think you're doing? It's nearly a quarter past ten and I feel the need to remind you that that is past your curfew. 5 points from Slytherin, and you best both be hurrying back to your dormitories."

Completely abandoning the picnic things and apologizing briefly to McGonagall, you two ran back towards the Slytherin common room, slowing only when you reached a familiar stone wall.

"Serpentine," you muttered to the wall, which then rumbled and shifted so that a corridor that lead to the common room appeared. As you walked down the passage, you thanked Draco for the flowers and date.

"It did get cut short, but it was very enjoyable. Thank you for planning it." You gave him a smile, a peck on the cheek, and made to turn for the girls' dormitories, but Draco grabbed your hand and was dragging you towards the boys'.

"Dray, what are you doing?" You hissed, "Goyle, Crabbe, Theo, and Blaise are probably sleeping by now."

Draco looked back at you with a signature smirk and continued to drag you up the stairs, leaving you with no choice but to follow.

He opened the door to his dormitory to show it completely empty.

"They've got detention today. Convenient."

"Draco! You gave them detention?"

"Well, I didn't really give them detention, I just gave them the opportunity to be given det-"

"Alright, alright," you muttered, coming to the conclusion that one nights' worth of detention for the boys couldn't be that bad. You drew open the curtains next to Draco's bed, revealing a tall, arched window and the starry night sky, framed like a painting behind the glass.

"This view is incredible," you breathed, snuggling into Draco's bed, which smelt like cologne and mint, resting your head against the headboard, and watching Draco rest himself beside you and lay his head on your chest. He turned so that you both were facing the window, and then wrapped his arms securely around you. One hand tangled in his hair, the other resting on his lower back, you turned to look at the stars with him.

Each was dotted with precision into the inky background, looking nothing like a nature of the universe and everything like a craftsman's work of art. You'd heard so many people marvel at those that shone brighter, more captivating to the eye, but to you, it was the small little specks that were worth more. They filled the gaps that the larger ones couldn't, and made the skies irregular and breathtakingly beautiful. Stars move, so that no night sky is ever the same as the previous, and maybe it was that Draco was by your side, but no combination of stars had ever presented such a beautiful picture before.

"Draco, you see those four stars? How they're in a line?"

Draco looked up sleepily at the window, muttering "pretty" before slumping down again.

"Prettier than me?" You laughed, pushing a few strands of hair off his forehead.

"Nothing's prettier than you, baby, you know that." He muttered drowsily, rolling onto his back so that he could look straight up at you.

You leaned over and brushed the tip of your nose against his. He hummed softly in response and wrapped two arms around your neck, bringing you into a kiss.

"I love you," you whispered after breaking away, shifting yourself out from under Draco so that you two were now eye to eye.

He pulled you onto his chest. "I love you too baby. And I'll get you another bouquet tomorrow since todays' is probably wilting as we speak."

You giggled softly, and with the promise of, you both promptly fell asleep.

pov switch

When Goyle, Crabbe, Theo, and Blaise entered their dormitory after two hours worth of scrubbing the floor, they found Draco entwined with a certain girl, her hand in his hair, his wrapping her close and snug against his chest. The curtains next to Draco's bed were still drawn open, so that the uncountable stars winked down at the couple. The boys knew better than to wake them up, so Goyle drew the drapes around the four poster closed, and they headed off to bed.

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bular · 3 years

Text

Welcome to Live Commentary

I had no one to talk to while watching the movie and I hate being alone with my thoughts so I wrote everything down in my notes app. It's not coherent! Enjoy!

Aw yeah 1.5 seconds of Bular that is all I needed! Might as well stop now I've seen my boy I'm satisfied.

Why is there a nearly 4 minute recap as if I haven't watched the show at least 50 times. I should be the one giving the recap.

The beginning felt a bit forced to me but maybe that's just me? Like they just tried to squeeze too many things into a small timeframe without any buildup, it just didn't really work. Congrats on the engagement! This is my OTP so I'm very happy! But it came out of nowhere.

Nari in Douxies body is so wrong and I love it and hate it at the same time (positive)

Eli is BIG. I knew he was gonna be tall but I was not prepared for that chiseled face. Or the fact that he stepped off the ship without glasses? I wear glasses and I would not choose to step off a spaceship blind.

OkAY who had mpreg on their bingo card?

AAARRRGGHH actually said a full sentence 🥺 there is no heterosexual explanation for this scene and I'm here for it

Arcadia being the center of the universe really does make a lot of sense. I hate how much sense it makes. Despise it.

Strickler in a Christmas sweater is something i didn't know I needed. Jim's jacket too but that's just adorable, Jim's adorable. Oh sweet baby you're about to get fucked over so bad.

Love seeing Barbara actively participating in battle too. Good for her! Power family!!

Where are the kids tho? Is NotEnrique babysitting? Either that or they hired the girl from the Incredibles movie.

Nomura is so talented I love seeing her fighting on the good side. I can't explain it but I love digitigrade legs they're just so pretty?? Aesthetically pleasing??? Fuck yeah, legg! I could watch Nomura run around and be badass all day.

WAIT NO OH SHIT HOW DARE YOU FUCK

STRICKLER DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE NOT YOU TOO THAT'S TOO FUCKING RUDE DON'T DO THIS TO ME

THERE'S NO WAY HE'S DEAD RIGHT WE SAW NO BODY

Barbara does not deserve this I refuse to accept it. He's fine he'll be back they wouldn't kill two Changelings at once. Also Nomura is with Draal now I take no criticism.

So my favorite characters were Bular, Draal, Gunmar and Angor. And before this movie I always half-joked that everyone I love dies, how I still like Strickler and Nomura but apart from them all of my faves were killed in the very order of favoritism. AND NOW LOOK AT THIS. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I LOVE A CHARACTER. MY LOVE IS TOXIC.

OKAY I LOVE GUN RO- WAIT NO I DON'T LOVE HIM FUCK ABORT ABORT

It's great tho omg

I didn't realize it was Gun Robot when I saw it in the trailer this is amazing

Okay but imagine you're chilling in your trollmarket minding your own business when some misfit group of strangers waltzes in, steals your favorite shiny and celebrates your death before running off

"I AM GUN ROBOT" IS THE HORN LMAOOO

Nana better show up at some point to reunite with her boytoy, I'll cancel this entire franchise otherwise

Something bad is going to happen to Toby isn't it. He's getting too much screentime

Jim's hand got DEEP FRIED

ARCHIE NO

We can play Scrabble okay if they don't free them (which they must) I want an after credits scene of them playing scrabble

Douxie and Nari's bond 🥺🥺🥺

Nari pls just say what you fuckin mean the world is ending

Oh god is she going to remember killing Nomura oh nooo

Claire don't make the portal you will die again. Your hair gon be white all over

EVERYONE AVOIDING THE SCHOOL JUST RIGHT THERE LMAO RIP

I love how Darci is just with the school bus. Civilian girlfriend. But also love how the world is ending and Coach is like "fuck that I'm gonna teach these kids"

Does he know his son is pregnant

"Going back to the city where it's safe" buddy have you been to that city

Whatever happens, Nari has the coolest looking titan. Giant four legged gremlin. I'd adopt him.

WAIT SHE CAN FEEL THE PAIN?

Me: oh i love that titan

The titan 5 seconds later:

Did Nari just fucking die what the FUCK

Oh of COURSE the pages are stuck together RIGHT THERE

Seriously tho how do you not notice an entire nougat nummy in a book

Wait so Arcadia has another heartstone? Or OH SO IT'S ALIVE. OKAY GREAT. GUNMAR COULDN'T EVEN DO THAT RIGHT HUH

Love how the Heartstone has been dormant/dead for months and apparently heard Blinky say it's alive and decided to wake up RIGHT THEN

Finally they're evacuating the city. This is like, the third apocalypse there. About time.

Okay so you can't pull Excalibur from the rock, but you CAN carve out the stone. Couldn't you just carve it off the sword as close as possible and like. Use that? Just swing the whole damn rock around?

God i can NOT get over Steve's pants. I mean I read a spoiler he was gonna be pregnant but I thought it was a prank or shitpost. I did not see this coming and I am never going to be over it. I love how he and Aja just roll with it and nobody else even cares. They've seen weirder stuff. So he's pregnant now. Whatever.

Jim's hand is bandaged and his ribs still hurt. I love that they're actually consistent with his injuries. I mean sucks for him but hell yeah for hero that doesn't always win!

Okayyy here comes the heartstone. Why not!

IS HE IN LABOR

So if you kiss an Akiridion 7 times you will have 3-5 babies in a few hours. How are they not overpopulated?? Also Aja couldn't have WARNED STEVE BEFOREHAND?

Eli is so supportive omfg

So uh where are the babies gonna come out of? I'm not into mpreg how does this usually work

OH STEVE THANKS FOR ASKING MY QUESTION

Oh good thing he happens to have 8 friends still alive. Otherwise this would've never worked. Nomura had to die otherwise there would've been 10 of them.

Why is everyone bowing to Jim? Did they rehearse this?

Stuart if you hadn't taken a bathroom break you would've thrown off the math and doomed the world. That was a poop of fate my man

Ahhh the signature quote. Where did Douxie and the Akiridions learn it? Did they rehearse this too? It's really cliché but I do like it tbh

If Strickler were dead we'd see more Barbara right?

WOOO BLINKY DRIVING

Ah Jim just used she/her for Bellroc! Finally we're learning some pronouns. I've been wondering this whole time.

MY VIRGIN EYES. WHAT IS GOING O N

How are they not dying with all this lava?

She really just yeeted Varvatos

Did Claire just tell AAARRRGGHH to jump off the titan and he did it without question

I want to say I like Stuart and want him to have more screentime, but I won't say it because I don't want him to die

Jim's poor ribs

Toby can drive yoooo

Tobyyy you're scaring meeeee

So did they really need the different stone or was the amulet just waiting for Jim to choose death over giving up

I saw the armor before but it looks VERY COOL

Also I didn't mention this before but I love that they cut Merlin's name from the incantation. Good for them.

Toby you lost your helmet noooo

For real tho I'm terrified for Toby rn. I saw a comment somewhere earlier that just said "Toby no" with no context and I am AFRAID

So do Bellroc's eyes work after all? I thought she was blinded back in Wizards in the past.

DID SHE JUST FUCKING STAB MY BOY

TOBY YOU SHOULD NOT BE THERE GET OUT THE TRUCK

Bellroc maybe screaming "i'm powerless" in front of your enemy isn't the best idea

She sploosh

DID JIM SURVIVE THAT FALL AND ALSO IS THE TACO TRUCK OKAY

How is he lifting Claire like that buddy you have bruised ribs and just got stabbed

ELI HI CAN WE SEE THE KIDS

SEVEN KIDS! AND ELI JR I LOVE IT

This show really loves to give people more than the recommended amount of babies with no warning huh

She immediately knows which one is Eli Jr 🥺 okay listen I'm not the biggest fan of comic relief sideplot surprise babies, but I have to admit they're cute. Cute couple. Throuple. Eli is in on this. He even has a Junior.

I TOLD YOU WHERE'S THE DAMN TACO TRUCK NANA WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU AND NEITHER WILL I

Oh yea he better fuckin be alive I will commit murder

HE BETTER FUCKIN BE ALIVE BITCH

FUCK YOU

THAT'S A WHOLE ASS CHILD HE ISN'T ALLOWED TO DIE IT'S ILLEGAL

JIM IS GONNA LOOK DOWN AT THE GREEN GLOWING BITCH AAARRRGGHH CONVENIENTLY THREW THERE AND SEE HIM ALIVE OR SOMETHING

YEAH USE THE SWORD TO UNDEAD HIM! THAT'S HOW YOU USE SWORDS!

Unbecoming Part 2

So is Jim just gonna Groundhog Day it until everyone is fine? There's only 13 minutes left we're gonna need a bigger movie

Also I screamed so much about everyone's death and now everyone reading this after they already saw the whole thing is gonna shame me for clowning huh

The scene where Blinky is giving his goodbye speech, there are no babies and Steve has a round belly? Did he reabsorb them?? I mean I know Jim is about to un-birth them but he hasn't started yet

JUST HOW FAR BACK IS HE PLANNING TO GO

WAIT HOLD UP EXCUSE ME WHAT

Oh they did NOT just do that. I though he was just gonna go back to like, the start of the movie maybe. Not all the way

Imagine being in your early twenties with as much trauma as this kid has and having to pretend you're 16 again

Somewhere Unkar is complaining because "oh sure NOW it's a good idea"

I know Jim is wondering where Toby is because he was there before. But before, he made an entire meatloaf AND did his homework before leaving the house, so honey maybe wait a minute

For a second I thought Toby wasn't gonna be there and Jim would return to the right time. But there he is!

Alright so they're in school now, did they take the canal and just didn't mention the amulet on screen or did they pass it as if the Unbecoming episode hadn't been that traumatizing? Jim you know what happens when you ignore it

Jim maybe you're being too obvious here lmao

Soooo. Anyway. These whole past years I've rewatched this show over and over and over again are cancelled now?

OKAY AT LEAST WE SAW NANA FOR A SPLIT SECOND THAT'S IRONIC TIMING

So we get the quote again. And Trollhunter Tobias is nice. Cool. Cool AU I mean, but I don't know. I don't knowwww. I've been way too invested in everything to just accept that it never happened?? So uh. Hm. How about this.

Strickler survived because fuck you, and Toby also survived and just has scars now. Maybe a wheelchair but he's fine, also he can use the Warhammer for super speed and make it awesome once he's used to it. Archie and Charlie get freed once they rebuild the bridge (and they were playing scrabble to pass the time). Nomura is still dead because she died on screen and I can't really deny that but she's with Draal so it's okay. Everyone is traumatized but they'll be fine. NotEnrique is still babysitting 500 babies and Steve is about to bring 7 more.

In summary, I reject Groundhog Day ending but everything else was great, as long as it actually happened. It was a good movie. But you can't just cancel years of passion. Having the prospect of a million "canon AUs" sounds great for writing but at the same time nooo you can't do that he didn't have to go back THAT far HHHHH

I liked the movie. It was a great watch and a satisfying end to a franchise, but I gotta say I do not fancy the ending of it so I will from now on be in denial. I honestly feel kind of betrayed that this show was my whole life for so long, I learned every smallest fact, and they basically deleted it from existence. I know what they were going for, I think, but no thank you I will be going with my own opinion. Still gonna rewatch it a few dozen times though ✌🏻

And that concludes my live commentary that was supposed to be a small handful of notes. Feel free to shame me for my opinions. See ya!

#rott spoilers #trollhunters #tales of arcadia #this got a LOT longer than expected #i'd be surprised if anyone actually read the whole thing but oh well #i just. have a LOT of opinions #i started out so optimistic too #mpreg mention #can't believe i have to use that tag on a post about canon

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hops-hunny · 3 years

Text

Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 8.5

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: none!

A/N: It took me a while but here’s chapter 8 but from Twyla and Seamus’s POV.

“Where are you going, Finnigan?” Harry asked, quirking a brow at him. Seamus smiled, winking some.

“Launching operation ‘make sure the date goes well’. You didn’t think I was gonna miss out on this did you?” Draco eyed him suspiciously as the vein in his forehead began to throb.

“Twyla set you up to this, didn’t she?” Seamus turned once he got to the doorway, flashing him a smile.

“ ‘Course she did!” Before anyone could protest he slammed the door behind him, instantly being greeted with Twyla standing in front of him. She had an unusually large purse attached to her shoulder, bouncing excitedly as he approached her. Her outfit was fully pink camo aside from her shirt which was a white. He eyed her curiously, snickering some. “So much for blending in.”

“Hey if I’m gonna blend in, I at least want it to be cute! Plus I don’t know how your Prada suit is going to help you blend in Finnigan.” she huffed, patting the side of her bag. “But that’s what these are for.” he looked at her in confusion, beginning the walk to the front of the villa.

“What’s in there?” he asked, attempting to peer into the bag. She clenched it closed, glaring at him.

“I’ll show you in the car. We just have to wait for them to pull off.” Twyla replied, pulling Seamus behind the large pillar on the porch. They both watched as Neville helped (Y/n) into the car before climbing in after her. Once the car was far enough out of view they both clammered to the other car in the driveway. The chauffeur eyed them quizzically.

“Mr.Longbottom didn’t mention his second car being taken out. Left over business Master Finnigan?” he questioned, opening the car door for the two of them. Seamus hummed to his question, closing the door after Twyla climbed in.

“Yeah, yeah something like that. Listen, I need you to follow them to their destination. No questions, got it?” the older man nodded, climbing into the driver’s seat before beginning to drive. After a short while they caught up to the car, watching as the two talked, laughing with each other. Seamus and Twyla both looked at the two intensely, squinting their eyes as if that would make the conversation magically easier for them to hear.

“This is pointless! We should’ve bugged the car.” Twyla exclaimed, flopping back into her seat. She was beyond frustrated. She knew the conversation was going well but she just wished she knew what they were saying. The part of her that felt like the girl’s older sister felt slightly protective of her, especially due to her reserved nature.

“It’s best not to worry about things we can’t change. Anyways, what’s in that bag of yours? You seemed pretty excited about it earlier.” Seamus asked, taking a swig from his flask. Twyla perked up at his words, placing the bag on the seat in between them. Unclasping the button, the contents were revealed.

“Ok, ok so! First off, we’ve got disguises. We definitely are going to need those.” he examined the wigs and mustaches that she placed in his lap. They were clearly great quality and in good condition despite their chaotic encapture in the confines of her purse. He nodded, waiting to see what she’d pull out next. “Then I’ve got these IDs in case, ya know, some legal trouble arises. We have plenty of identities to use.” he gasped at the IDs, eyeing them. They were really believable, not a detail out of place!

“Wow, these are extremely realistic, they look like the real thing! Where’d you get them?” he asked her. She laughed some, stuffing the wigs back into her purse.

“Who said they were fake?” he gawked at the girl as she continued to speak. “What? I found them on the ground in different places we’ve been. Besides, using a few stolen IDs is the least of your concerns! You’ve done far worse your entire time here.” she had a point, so he’d give that to her.

“Signor Finnegan, Singora Dundee, we’ve arrived. Would you like me to wait outside for you two?” he asked, as he opened the door for the two. Seamus slid a large noted bill into the pocket of the man’s suit jacket.

“Just wait around the area. Go explore, Giovani! I’ll call you when I need you.” he said smiling at the man as he pat his shoulder. The man’s eyes widened, smiling brightly as he bowed, tipping his hat at his superior.

“Grazie, Signor!” he thanked him before hopping back into the car. Twyla thanked the man as well as they made their way up the stairs of the restaurant. They watched as Neville had a melt down at the person behind the desk.

“Boss must be feeling nice today. I’ve seen him do far worse to people who question him.” he shrugged, opening the door as the couple began to walk off. “I wonder what the commotion was?”

“Name of Reservation?” that. How could they have forgotten reservations? Of course restaurants this high class were sure to have some sort of reservation system. Seamus wiped his hands on his pants, clearing his throat.

“Uh, Johnson?” he panicked, causing Twyla to hit his side. The girl behind the desk scanned the book before her eyes lit up. “Ah, Signor Johnson! Right this way sir.”

“Nice save.” Twyla whispered to him. However as their waiter lead them one way, Neville’s began to go another. “A-actually can we have a change of tables? We’d like one angled from the one with the view. Signor Johnson here loves to admire the scenery, isn’t that right?” Twyla inquired, watching as Seamus nodded along giving the waiter a hopeful smile. The waiter sighed before smiling back. She giggled some, eyeing Seamus up.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

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

“Man, this bread is amazing! And can you believe this wine is free too?!” Twyla asked, crumbs falling from her mouth as she washed down her bread with another drink of wine. Their table had been positioned perfectly, giving them a dead-on view of the two. They had been observing carefully, awing at the cute kisses they’d share and turning away when silence would grow over them. A few times the two had to stop each other from waltzing over there and doing something about it.

“Who said the wine is free?” he asked, laughing at the girl’s shocked expression.

“Dray will cover it, I’m sure he won’t mind.” she said, shrugging as she poured herself another glass.

“Yeah, he really likes you, ya know? I overheard him gushing about you to Blaise and..” Seamus’s voice began to grow muted as a feeling overcame Twyla. It was one she knew all too well. Ever since she could remember, Twyla had always had a sixth sense for knowing when things were about to happen. It was like intuition times ten. Most of the time the things she’d feel were so specific that she knew instantly but now? She didn’t know what but she knew something was coming.

“Seamus, something’s about to happen right now. I can just sense it.” Seamus tensed at her words, reaching for the holster hidden on him.

“Something like what? Like danger?” he asked, sitting up straight as he began to grow alert, looking carefully around the restaurant.

“No, more like drama….in really cheap perfume.” she said. He went to ask what but was cut off from a scoff to their side.

“It sounds like you may be smelling yourself, no?” a thick, high pitch french voice sounded off. They both groaned in unison. The man reached for his glass, downing the rest of his wine before he stared at Gisele intensely.

“Why are you here, Gisele?” he said, annunciating each of his words. It was clear from his tone and disposition that the last person he wanted to see tonight was her. Especially after the warning he had given her in the museum. Her smile grew wider, resembling one of a horse.

“I was just having a bit of a meal, you know, before my big show tomorrow. Celebrating my success early.” she noticed the empty chairs at their table, a light bulb going off in her head. “Say...Neville wouldn’t happen to be here with you would he? Well what a dumb question that is! Wherever you are he’s sure to be leading in some way.”

“He’s not here with us.” Twyla said, standing up in attempts to intimidate the woman. However she just continued to smile with the same stupid smile on her face.

“I see...so he’s here with someone else?” Twyla froze, mouth agape as she looked at the woman. “Ohh I know what’s going on. He’s here with that decoy and doesn’t even know that the two of you are here.” she looked between Twyla and Seamus, satisfied that she had them figured out. “Well if you wanna keep it that way, I suggest you stay here.” and with that she began to walk towards Neville and (Y/n).

“I say we just go after her.” Seamus blurted, beginning to stand up as Gisele began to converse with them. Twyla’s eyes widened, wrapping her hand around his wrist as she dragged him back down.

“We can’t just go over there! Do you know how upset they’d be if they knew we followed them?” she hissed, causing him to sigh, giving her an annoyed look. “Listen, I know you’re worried. So am I! But we’ve gotta watch how it plays out first! Who knows they may surprise us!” Seamus nodded, sitting back in his chair fully. However, she could tell he still wasn’t satisfied. Looking down at her purse, her eyes lit up.

“Hey! Why don’t we put our disguises on that way if it escalates, we’ll be ready! Besides, I wonder what you’ll look like with ginger hair.” she said, wiggling the ginger wig towards him, poking him in the shoulder with her free hand. He looked between her and the wig before grabbing it, putting it on. After it was situated on his head, she handed him the matching mustache and mutton chops to go along with it. Once he was situated, he turned to ask Twyla a question but was caught off guard. She had on a short black wig, a set of bushy brows and a mustache to match. They sat in silence as they looked at each other before they began to howl with laughter, cutting each other off with wheezing and swear words.

“My dress! Look what you did to me!” they heard a loud annoying voice yell, causing the restaurant to grow quiet, including them. They looked at each other before nodding, beginning to walk over to the table. Twyla waved her hand, a set of matching restaurant uniforms appearing on top of them.

“Is there a problem ma’am? Sir?” Seamus asked, causing the three to turn towards them. He had to stop himself from laughing at the way the vein on his boss’s forehead began to twitch. (Y/n) went to say something but Twyla stopped her, holding a finger up to her on mustached lip.

“Yeah we got a complaint from the head chef. You’re to be escorted out of here immediately. Come along now.” Twyla said, gripping Gisele’s arm. As they began to drag her away, she leaned close to the woman’s ear. “Checkmate.” she whispered, watching as the woman’s eyes grew in size. She began to stutter as the two dragged her out, tossing her to the curb roughly.

“You idiots! You blew your cover, now what are you going to do?” she asked in a gotchaesque tone. Seamus scoffed, beginning to walk to the car. Giovani had returned, a smile on his face and a new pair of sunglasses along with it. He turned once more to look at her.

“We’re done, our job is complete.” he responded, hopping in the car as he waited for Twyla.

“Yeah? And what’s that?” she asked, still on the side of the curb. Giovani moved the car a bit, a stray puddle “accidentally soaking Gisele head to toe. The pair looked at each other smirking before turning their attention back to the model.

“Taking out the trash.”

PREVIOUS||NEXT

TAGSLIST: @vayeya11 @pink-hufflepuff @clancyscookies @elemental-of-magic @beewitchedlou @simpforremuslupin @mottergirl99 @nevillelongbottomsgirlfriend @redpanda-poetry @vibingaesthetically @de4d-s0up @carlisbaby

#neville x you #neville longbottom x you #neville longbottom x reader #neville x reader #Neville Longbottom #mafia!neville #mafia!au #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #Harry Potter

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kimchilly222 · 2 years

Text

Before Black History Month ends I want to share a realization I had today and how I was able to educate myself further and learn more about the subject.

“Blaccents”

Blaccent is “a distinctive manner of speech, pitch or tone particular to African American urban inner city youth.” Urban Dictionary definition.

I have the tendency to, as I would call it, “talk ratchet as fuck” sometimes. Especially when I’m mad or just being goofy. And today I said something a certain way that made me have to sit and think. I went to Google and did my research (as some of y’all assholes SHOULD do) but I did my research on Blaccent, the word “Ghetto” and I looked up the word ghetto because my friends and I back in Elementary school/middle school used to say ghetto ALL the Mf time and Nappy head, all of that.

Little bit of my background/

“hOw I wAs RaIsEd” 🙄

My friends were a rainbow of different cultures/race because I’ve never been one to judge anyone based upon their skin, sexuality, pronouns, hair, height, etc. I’ve never judged or been one to judge at all even though I wasn’t “rAiSeD” to be that way, I went against the dumb racist shit and was just kind to everyone.

My family? Used every slang offensive term/word there was and always has. They basically have nothing to do with me because my black sheep ass hates the way they talk and always corrects them and tells them when it’s wrong. Growing up I couldn’t have “Black”/African American, “Mexican”/Hispanic/Latino, any other race other than “white”/Caucasian. And I put those terms in quotes because that’s how they said it to me. I had one mixed bestie that I spent every weekend with growing up until high school BUT only because she was adopted by a White lady and “acted white” I was brought up into this world to be negative, be racist, homophobic, and here I am today a Pansexual BLM activist that has nothing to do with my racist ass/homophobic family. My Uncle Bob? (Uncle by marriage. I do NOT claim this man as family) said he didn’t want anything to do with me because I dated an African American guy and that there were “plenty of white guys out there.” And my Aunt proceeded to try and tell me that my dead father wouldn’t approve. But little did she know my dad had an African American girlfriend when he was a kid-teen years. But that same Uncle Bob? Has a whole ass lesbian daughter that’s been lesbian FOR YEARS now and BRINGS HER WIFE TO FAMILY EVENTS but he thinks they’re just “friends/roommates” dumbass. And the lesbian daughter’s daughter/his granddaughter, dates an African American as well but nobody has told him because him & her have SUCH a great relationship. Oh shut the FUCK up. Jesus. Disgusting. Why would you put up with him? You literally can MAKE your own family. That’s what I did. Totally off the topic I started and idk why I’m venting but back to the Blaccent topic, I say things that would sound like Blaccent so I did my research and educated myself and realized that it may hurt African American’s feelings or be insulting to them so now, every time I do it I catch myself and tell myself to STOP doing that. That’s what this month is ALL about. Well not ALL but I’m so tired of white/Caucasian people STILL being racist and prejudice against A.A’s. All other races/cultures pretty much love each other. It’s just mainly the entitled ass white people that need to humble themselves and sit the fuck down as Kendrick says as well. SIT DOWN. BITCH. BE HUMBLE. Anyways. Long rant short, educated yourself, learn from your mistakes/bad habits & change. Change for our future. Change for your children. Change for your grandchildren. Hell change for you dog/pet if you have to. Just fucking change because I’m so tired of still having racism, sexism, homophobia, judgement, stereotypes, etc. just stfu. Be you. Be yourself. (Unless you’re racist. Then stfu and die already.) Just Love & Be kind.

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walkerwords · 4 years

Text

“The Savior Sessions” Part 3 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: Gene Page/AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: Part three of the savior sessions. Both the reader and Negan open up about their fears on a rainy day.

Word Count: 3130

Warning: Mention of The Governor being a rapist (briefly)

Song I Wrote To: “Rain” by Ben Platt

Note: I am trying to make these as gender-neutral as possible. If you have seen me use specific pronouns or anything that counters that, let me know! Thanks! I am working on my Daryl story, but I wanted to throw this out there as I do.

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It was raining when you woke up.

Droplets raced down your windows and thunder rolled in the distance. You knew it would be a day that was spent mostly inside. However, you also knew you had to pay Negan a visit.

It was odd. He had surprised you. You could still see the layers of the man he was years before, but there was something...new that wasn’t there when he stepped out of that RV and introduced himself to your people.

Since you were young, you always believed in second chances. You never really thought anyone was truly evil until the world ended. Then, you had met people like the Governor and Gareth, two men who killed who for fun, who took pleasure in the torture and destruction of others.

While Negan had done evil things, you didn’t think he was evil. If horrific acts categorize someone as unsavable, then those closest to you, and even yourself, would be considered just as bad. Nobody was innocent in the new world, but perhaps some of them could still find redemption.

Rolling onto your back, you stared up at the ceiling as the rain pelted the roof. The drumming of it drowned out the world for just a moment and you allowed yourself just a few more seconds of peace before throwing the blanket off and getting up for the day.

You quickly dressed and then made way your way to the window. Few people milled around in the soaked streets. A few kids splashed in puddles as their parents smiled from the cover of their porches. You watched as Gracie ran around as Aaron tried to catch her, both of them laughing the whole time.

Your house was one of the only ones that were left unscathed from the Savior’s attack. You lived next to Rosita who would sometimes use your spare bedroom when she needed a break from her boys. However, you tended to be alone for the most part unless one of the parents asked you to watch the kids. Being a teacher before the turn, you were really the only one who was able to get the little ones to calm down and listen.

Many people figured you would be the one to take over as the full-time teacher in Alexandria, but you couldn’t do it. You loved teaching back then, but now after everything, you were so different. And while you still cared about the kids, you were now more comfortable with a gun on your hip, watching the walls, or now, chatting with a killer.

You grabbed your coat and then headed out of your house, walking towards the infirmary. Siddiq had been experimenting with a new tea that would help improve the immune systems of the Alexandria residents as the weather turned for the worse. Laura had been his last guinea pig for a taste test and the blonde had nearly choked it down while she tried to put on a brave face. However, the doctor had seen right through her and tried again.

You were more than willing to help him out this morning as he had stitched you up enough over the past few years. The rain soaked your hair as you walked down the road, trying to keep your jacket tucked around your neck to keep the bandage that was placed there somewhat dry. Siddiq had patched you up the day before, but you had no desire to get an infection from a ruined bandage.

As you approached the infirmary, Siddiq was already waiting for you on the porch. “I saw you coming,” he said with a warm smile.

“I would have been here sooner, but I slept in,” you said with an apologetic shrug.

“It’s the weather,” Siddiq said as he picked up two mugs from the table by the door. When he handed both of them to you, you rose a brow in question. “It gets cold in that cell,” he said with a shrug of his own. You smiled slightly, oddly touched that Siddiq had thought of Negan. Then again, he was the one who had looked after the man after Rick had opened his throat.

You took a hesitant sip of the sweet-smelling tea and then relaxed as it actually tasted pretty good. “I think you managed to get this one right, Doctor,” you said raising your cup to him.

“Mind telling other people that?” he asked.

“I’ll spread the word, Siddiq,” you said, walking back down his steps.

“Have fun,” he teased.

“If both of my hands weren’t occupied, I would be sending you a very rude gesture right now,” you called over your shoulder as you continued toward the main road that led to Negan’s cell.

The guard waved to you as he left his post. You figured he hadn’t been there long. You were also trying to convince Michonne to drop the guard altogether. Negan knew he would most likely be executed if he broke out and from your conversations with him, you didn’t think he would try anyway.

Balancing the mugs in one hand, you entered the stone building, shoving the door close with your foot. “Someone has their hands full this mornin’,” Negan said as he stood by the bars.

“Courtesy of the good doctor,” you said, approaching him and handing him a steaming mug. “Trust me, I already checked for poison.” You hadn’t but it amused him. Negan took the mug through the bars and enclosed his hands around it.

Not bothering with the chair this time, you sat on the ground by the bars, pulling your knees up. Negan joined you, leaning against the cold wall. “How was your morning?” he asked, pleasantly. You chuckled under your breath. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said shaking your head. “It’s been...wet.” Negan looked at you and you rolled your eyes. “Don’t be gross,” you warned and he raised a hand in surrender.

“I didn’t say anything,” he said.

“No, but you were thinking it,” you said with narrowed eyes.

“Ah, see, would you look at that! We’re so close we can already read each other’s minds.”

“Oh, great,” you said, turning up your nose. Negan mirrored your earlier expression and rolled his own eyes.

“So, you don’t like the rain, then?” he asked.

“I don’t care for the thunderstorms, but I like a little rain. It makes the Walkers slower and freshens up the rotten air,” you explained, sipping on your tea.

“Yeah,” Negan agreed, “I’m not too big on the thunderstorms either. Way back when the world was still somewhat functioning, we had a massive storm that cut the power right in the middle of the school day. Kids are rambunctious enough and then you give the little assholes a power outage and well…”

“Shit hits the fan,” you concluded.

“You sound like you have personal experience,” Negan noticed.

“I used to teach middle and high school English,” you revealed and Negan looked at you in surprise.

“Did you like it?”

“It was better than this,” you said with a snort.

“Fair enough,” Negan said. You let your head fall back and that’s when he noticed the bandage on your neck. “What happened there?” Your hand came up to touch the dressing.

“Oh, I got cut when I was helping Scott with one of the walls. Walkers snuck up on us and I tripped on a piece of metal, scratch it on my way down. No big deal, I’ve had worse.”

“Haven’t we all,” Negan muttered and you saw a flash of something behind his eyes, but it was gone in a second. “Well, you need to be more careful (Y/N), I can’t have my BFF gettin’ munched on by a corpse.”

“BFF?” you asked with raised brows. Negan just winked back. “Alright, Mister, today, I want to hear a story from you.”

“I thought you said you were going to tell me what your vote would be,” Negan said, turning his head to look at you, waiting. You sighed as you remembered promising him that at the end of your last conversation, but you had been doing most of the talking in these sessions and it was his turn.

“Story first,” you told him. “Then I’ll tell you.” He looked at you annoyed for a moment before shrugging.

“As you wish, your majesty,” he said, but then he began his story. “Alright, how about the first time I ran into a herd?”

“Oh? Do tell,” you said, resting your elbow on your knee and watching him.

“Right, so, it wasn’t long after the Turn. Corpses were everywhere and you couldn’t walk out the door without having to bash in some skulls. I was trying to find someplace to hold up for a few days. I was with two other people, both are dead now, but they were decent people to travel with. My wife had just died and I needed to just leave, you know?” you nodded, understanding. “I made it to Richmond and god the number of Walkers was fucking terrifying. At this point, nobody knew what the fuck was going on. Not like we do now, but it was different back then as you remember.

“We moved into the city and then when I headed into the main district, lookin’ for the old FEMA centers, that’s when we saw it. Must have been over five hundred, maybe more. It was like they were all rotating in one big circle and then the bastards saw us and...well shit, I had never run so damn fast in my life. It was like we were magnets for the things and no matter where we turned, there were more and more…” Negan let out a breath as his memories haunted him.

“What did you do to get away?” you asked.

“Managed to get an old tow truck workin’,” he said. “Plowed that sucker right through them until we could find high ground. Wasn’t pretty, but dealing with Walkers never is.”

“I think we all learned not to go to cities again after the first time,” you said, finishing your tea.

“You did it too?”

“Atlanta,” you said with a nod. “Though, I did it multiple times for supplies so I guess I’m the idiot here.”

“These were the runs you went on with Glenn?” he asked and you were surprised to hear him say Glenn’s name, but you nodded nonetheless.

“Right,” you confirmed. “Though, I wasn’t with him the day he found Rick.”

Negan was quiet then and you knew he was thinking about Glenn. A few days before, Gabriel had come to you and told you that he sometimes overheard Negan saying his victims’ names in his sleep. Negan probably didn’t even know he was doing it, but it only added to your theory that Negan felt guilt for what happened at the line-up and everything afterward.

“The fear I felt when all those Walkers were coming for us…” Negan continued. “It was the most primal thing I had ever felt. You know how they talk about fight or flight?”

“Yeah.”

“I never once thought to fight at that moment. All I wanted to do was run and not look back. It wasn’t until weeks later that I got sick of running and I finally made Lucille.”

“‘Lucille, give me strength’,” you quoted and his head whipped towards you. “I told you, I was good at surveillance. I guess she did more for you than we all first thought. Not just a bat after all.”

“Never was that simple,” he said and you could hear the sadness in his voice as he spoke the words.

You were wondering if you could find her out in that field. It had been years, but if by some miracle it was there, you may be able to get it. Not that you were going to give it to Negan, but maybe someday if he was let out and went looking for her, you could give that piece back to him. The thing that was hated by your people but created the resilient man before you. You figured that was something.

“You asked me before who the first person I killed was,” you began. Negan waited patiently. “I never knew his name or if he had a family, but I remember his face and how I felt at that moment. I was terrified. We were under attack by this man who called himself The Governor. This man ran a community, a town, and he was horrible. He was a rapist, a killer, and an overall tyrant. Not somebody that would have been welcomed here or the Sanctuary.”

“Damn right,” Negan sneered.

“We had liberated the town and Michonne had tried to kill him so he was pissed and eventually rolled up to the gates of the prison we were living in. He blasted our towers to rubble and his men and women began killing us. We were lucky enough to be pretty strong then and we killed most of them. Daryl got his hands on some grenades and took the tank out.”

“Tank?” Negan asked.

“I told you, son of a bitch was crazy. His people attacked and we had to defend ourselves. I was trying to wrangle all the kids with a man by the name of Tyreese. He was Sasha’s brother. He and I were almost out when this man came up and tried to kill Tyreese as he held a very young Judith in his arms.”

Taking a breath, you tried to stay calm as you recounted the events. “He was gonna kill the baby and I had one of Daryl’s knife so I just rammed it into the man’s neck. I didn’t think it would be that hard, you know? Walkers are much easier, so when the blade made contact, it almost didn’t go through. Blood flowed all over me from the artery I had severed and Tyreese ran with Judith. I watched the man die at my feet as I collected myself, but it didn’t last long. A second later and an explosion racked the courtyard and I went down. I didn’t see Tyreese or the baby until we were all reunited.”

“You did it to protect your people, to protect a child,” Negan reminded you.

“I wasn’t upset I killed him, Negan,” you said. “I was upset at how easy it was to do it.”

“I get that,” he said and you could tell he was being honest. That was something you admired about him, he never lied if he could help it. “What happened after that?”

“Michonne killed the Governor and I woke up just as a Walker was about to kill me. Then, Glenn came out of nowhere and killed it and I ended up staying with him and Tara as we went to find the others. On the road is where we met Rosita, Abraham, and Eugene. I didn’t know it then, but I would be killing a lot more in the next few weeks.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not and you wouldn’t be either if you knew who tried to kill us...who tried to fucking slaughter us like cows…” your fists curled in as the visuals of Terminus flashed behind your eyes.

You hadn’t realized you were shaking until you felt a hand on yours as Negan reached through the bars to calm your hands. You realized then that this was the first time he had touched you and you felt oddly comforted. You patted his hand in thanks and he withdrew it, placing it back in his lap. “So, just know you’re not the only one who has felt fear like you did in that city.”

“But you fought,” he said.

“I did, but all I wanted to do was run. It took me a long time to run towards danger than from it. Rick, Daryl, Carol, Abe, they all taught me to fight.”

“They did a good job,” he complimented. “You are one certified badass (Y/L/N).”

“Who told you my last name?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Judith,” he said with a grin.

“Should have known,” you said with a small smile.

“There it is,” Negan said, pointing at your mouth. “I like seeing you smile.” You went to roll your eyes again, but a loud crash of thunder interrupted you. You jumped.

“Jesus,” you swore under your breath. “That is why I hate storms.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he joked and you pushed his shoulder through the bars, making him laugh. The two of you sat in silence then, listening to the rain. This was only your third time speaking to him, but you were starting to feel a kind of camaraderie between the two of you. It was strange, but it began to feel natural. You wondered if this is how Judith felt when she spoke to him, this kind of calmness. Then again, Judith could make friends with everyone.

Negan’s eyes fell closed as he breathed in deep. In the low light of the cell, you could see the shiny line of the scar that permanently marked his throat and you finally answered his question.

“I would have voted no,” you whispered. His eyes opened slowly and his head rolled to the right to look at you.

“Why?” he simply asked. You kept eye contact as you spoke, making sure he understood every word.

“None of us are saints, Negan,” you began. “All of us, Hilltop, Alexandria, Kingdom, Oceanside, we’ve all killed without a second thought to protect what’s ours. I’m not saying what you did was right, but sometimes I think back to the line-up or when you set the Walkers loose on Hilltop and I can’t help but think that I would’ve done the same if the situation was reversed. Maybe not with a baseball bat, but we’ve tortured and we’ve executed.”

“So, you’re saying that you wouldn’t have killed me because you’ve done shitty things, too?” he asked.

“There is enough death in the world already,” you said with a shrug.

“Unbeing dead isn't being alive,” Negan quotes and you tilted your head slightly.

“E.E. Cummings was a wise man.”

“Indeed he was,” Negan agreed with a smile. “Thanks for saying that.”

“I told you I didn’t hate you and I meant it. To an outsider, we’re both monsters,” you explained. “I imagine that if I had been with the Saviors, I would have seen this side as the villains. All about perception, my friend.”

“Ah, so you agree,” he said with a grin, “we are friends.”

“Oh, shut up.”

TAGS: @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @boom-bunny @delusionalteenagewhispers @sophia-gwendolyn @ritajammer21

#walkerwords #savior sessions #twd #twd imagines #negan imagine #negan x reader #reader insert #The Walking Dead #the walking dead imagines #the walking dead fanfiction #TWD season 9 #Prison Negan

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poetrusicperry · 3 years

Note

hey! so i saw your lil post about wanting some inspo? i love your writing so i jumped at the opportunity haha

i’m terrible at describing myself buuut my name is rose and i go by she/her pronouns. i’m an intj and a gemini who loves to read, write, and listen to music at every chance i get!! i’m super organized and determined and my friends usually see me as the mom friend in the group who knows everything and is prepared for every situation lol. i also play the guitar and love playing sports (especially golf, fencing, and tennis!!). i’m really dedicated to school and cannot wait to go to college (hopefully in the northeast area of the us because i love the seasons and general vibes from over there!). i’m in love with the dark academia aesthetic but also love that cottagecore kinda forest witchy vibe (and i read tarot too!)

anyway, i hope you have an amazing day and don’t worry about getting to this!! i’m sure you’re very busy but i thought i might try to request something 🥰💕💕

@ your strike-through comment: thank you so much, that means everything <3(':

this one is for you. i had a lot of fun writing this, so i'm hoping you like it (:

ship:

i’ve decided to ship you with meeks because of how organized/driven you are (: and i’ve decided to switch up your hcs a bit to be about college instead of welton or high school

hcs:

college applications would be the most stressful experience, but with meeks’ help, it was not as bad (you both applied to about six or seven schools between massachusetts, vermont, new hampshire, and new york)

you getting accepted into all the schools you applied to, choosing northeastern university, and meeks getting into five, choosing mit !!!

a couple back to back weekends going dorm room shopping with meeks and his mom (he’d get a bit flustered at how “embarrassing” his mom was being while she would gush about how her baby was going to college and she was so proud of him)

meeks coming over during the summer to help you pack things to bring with you to college

this was a very long process (and would take all day) because you had a particular way of organizing what went into which box (you’d have to explain this to meeks like four times, and he’d still ask you before putting things into boxes, just to make sure he wasn’t messing up your groove). it would also take a while because half the day was spent queuing/picking music to play

after a long day of packing, he’d take you out to have a milkshake and cheeseburger (:

the next day you’d go over to his house and help him pack, being driven crazy by his nonchalance at just throwing random things into random boxes (“stop. take everything out. we’re going to organize this, or i’m going to organize this, even if you don’t want to”)

after separating all the things into labeled boxes, he’d feel pretty relieved that you were there to help him through this heh

before summer was over, the meekses would invite you to the country club a few times where you’d spend the days beating meeks in tennis and golf, drinking way too many arnold palmers, and taking long golf cart rides with meeks (:

helping him with move in day !!! (“rose, please be careful with my telescope !!” and “meeks, use the hand truck, you don’t have to carry three boxes all at once; you’ll never get up the stairs like that”)

he’d be amazed at how easy it was to unpack when everything was so organized in the boxes and made a mental note, striving to be more organized like you

meeks, of course, would help you move in as well (“meeks, please be careful with my guitar !!” and again, “use the hand truck ! those boxes are heavy, meeks”)

getting to know the people on your floor by doing tarot readings (:

when the poets came to visit meeks the first time, he insisted you be there, too (: you guys had a great night of exploring boston and sitting in boston common reading poetry

blurb:

things had been pretty quiet between you and meeks during the first week of term as you both were getting acclimated to your classes and new surroundings. on friday night, meeks would call you and ask to meet up, to which you, of course, said yes. he’d take a cab to northeastern and knock on your door after climbing the stairs to your floor. when you opened the door, he’d greet you with a huge smile and an even bigger hug,

“hey you,” he’d say, “how was your first week??”

“pretty busy, i’m sorry i didn’t call or anything,” you’d hug him tightly.

“yeah, i was pretty busy, too, don’t worry,” he’d laugh, and you’d notice he was holding a grocery bag.

“what do you have?” you asked, pulling him into the room.

“well, i figured we could both use a relaxing night in, and pitts said i could take the hi-fi, so i figured we could order in some dinner and listen to music,” he ran his hand through his hair and smiled at you.

“i’d love nothing more,” you’d return the smile and you two would spend the rest of the night eating way too much chinese food, talking about classes, and slow dancing to the songs on the radio.

#dps #dps headcanons #steven meeks #dead poets society #steven meeks x reader #angelina writes

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do-y0u-have-to-let-it-linger · 3 years

Note

hi!!! can i get an x-men shift please? i’m bi (but hetero leaning) and use she/her pronouns. i’m a sagittarius, INTP, and am super into pop culture, movies tv shows music stuff like that. i’m an introvert, pretty shy at first but once you get to know me i’m pretty funny and kinda an asshole. i’m 5’7”, plus size and curvy, with longish wavy brown hair, blue eyes, and wear black glasses. i dress pretty comfy, jeans and t-shirts, sweatshirts, but i also have a leather jacket when i want to look more put together. mostly wear vans and converse. i love taylor swift, star wars, and all the superhero movies out there. i honestly don’t know what my mutation would be, i’ve never found one that fits right i guess. can’t wait to see who i’m paired with! love your blog, and thank you :)

I ship you with Peter Maximoff!

Warning: ✨contains swear words, mentions of being high, and grammatical errors probably✨

Peter is the type of person who thinks of bold and outrageous plans, but is horrible at executing them.

This is especially apparent now that he is part of the X-Men, because of the high stakes that often come hand and hand with these plans.

Yet at this moment, standing in front of you, attempting to respond to your simple and reasonable question, he feels as though the stakes of this plan are higher than any other he has previously made.

You and Peter were very close, most of you X-Men were. Shared trauma bonded you all like a family. So you were very comfortable around each other, like the: "We literally laugh at each other's farts and say 'love ya!' When one of us leaves a room." comfortable, so it concerned you that he seemed so nervous. You repeated your, as previously stated, simple and reasonable question.

"Peter, what the fuck."

You were mid-way through Empire Strikes Back when he first appeared, standing in front of the TV. Generally, when someone is watching a movie alone with the volume level barely audible, at 2 AM in the morning, they do not expect to be interrupted, but there he was. Interrupting you.

So you had asked him if he wanted to watch the movie with you and he said no.

Then you asked him if something was wrong and he said no.

But after he had stood in front of the television long enough for you to have paused the movie, you had come to the conclusion that he was messing with you. Hence the two "what the fuck"s.

He finally responded, seemly returning to his body after his brain's small vacation to who knows where.

"I need to talk to you about something important, and I wanted it to go a certain way but that way never actually happens so I'm doing it another way." Well, that was even more incoherent than his usual sentences.

"Wait- are you high again?"

"No! No. Well, maybe a little- but that's not the point."

"Sure, now what's going on."

"We're like... technically co-workers because of us being X-Men and shit, right?"

"If Bat-Man and Robin are co-workers, then yes."

"Don't be self-deprecating, you're way cooler than a silly side-kick."

You raised your eyebrows at him, "I wasn't Robin in that analogy, but thank you."

"Wait, I'm Robin?"

"You are a grown man who just used the world silly un-ironically, and I feel like that's something Robin would do. Just to clarify I don't know shit about Bat-man."

"Hey I'm barely a grown man- I'm not 25 yet, that would entail being a grown man, and I've got time 'till then! Anyway, stop going off-topic."

"Then move on from being weirdly defensive about being an adult in the eyes of the state."

"Touché. So, we're co-workers."

"Correct. What's the point."

"That's a problem."

"Why?"

"Well, ok this needs to be prefaced so consider this me shushing you in a respectful and not sexist way. You have been shushed."

"...Ok?"

"Shh! Now I get to ramble. So you know movies?" He gestured towards the school's collection of movies that sat next to the tv, and you nodded confused. "So in these movies, things happen certain ways, but those certain ways seem just as scary as the opposite of those ways." Yeah, he was totally high. "So, wow I'm starting so many sentences with the word 'so'. Anyway- I want to tell you something but I don't want it to be like a movie but I don't want it to be like not in a movie either. So I just want to say it then leave. Like- I'm going to run after I say it. Is that okay? You are temporarily un-shushed."

"If you're dying it's not, but if it's basically anything else then yeah. Go for it, you speedy coward."

"Cool. I mean- the nickname hurt but cool. Cool." He looked at you for a second. "Can you like... turn around?"

"Turn around?"

He now acknowledged that that was an odd thing to ask. "...Yeah. Is that dumb?"

"No, no, I'll turn around." To lighten the awkward mood, you made a joke. "A reasonable price for your terrible secrets to be revealed to me." It was not a very funny joke, but you tried your best and earned a (pity) scoff from him.

You were now both sitting criscrossed on the couch, facing the same direction. You were staring at a wall you found very uninteresting, and he was staring at the back of the head belonging to a person he found very interesting.

"So- basically I think you're... pretty..." He said the word intending to add another adjective after it, like 'cool', but he decided against it because that would be stupid. "And I have this problem where when I figure out I want to, quote-unquote, date someone, which is a gross word, by the way, I'm always friends with them. That means it has to be this dramatic thing. But I don't want it to be! You know? I just want to tell you that I have a stupid crush on you like a normal person. And- that's why I suddenly started hating training, because who likes to see people they want to smooch almost fake die, huh? No one! That's who! And I want to explain why I like you, but whenever I talk to Wanda about you, I always end up describing you the way a first grader describes their crush! Like: she's pwetty and smawt or whatever but that's fuckin' dumb. I guess that makes sense because I don't have crushes on people ever, and I barely dated in school, so I have no idea how to do this and I just want to pass you one of those 'hey, do you like me?!' notes with the fuckin' checkmarks!! And I am an adult person who is kind of afraid of kissing! What?!? Also, I don't have abs like Scott! Or boobs, and I know you like people with or without boobs and boobs are great! Also, to backtrack, don't think that I think you would go for Scott, even though if you were to, I would be supportive of you, but also sad because I would prefer if you went for me! So I want to be normal. Normal like the people in movies who meet someone cute and ask them out and not like the movies with the big stupid confessions. Trust me, if I had noticed that I whatever you like a year ago, I would have asked you out! Well no I wouldn't of because I would be too afraid to talk to you. But anyway I made you this," He reached around you and handed you a folded-up note. "Don't open it until I run away, but just leave it here with your response. If you check no, I bet if we paid Jean enough money she would erase this interaction from our brains. I only have seven dollars but I'm betting on a 'friends and family' discount. But.. if you say yes, I can ask you out like a dick in a movie, knowing you'll say yes because I am a speedy coward. I want you to call me a speedy coward when I do cowardly shit speedily, then do this cute thing where you'd be like 'but you're my speedy coward''. Anyway, I'm going to leave now. Love ya, but in the way we always said it beforehand, not in a dramatic confession way. Sorry I delved into my childhood there. Bye." You felt him awkwardly pat your back.

There was a gust of wind that ruffled your hair, and you knew he had run away.

You lifted the note up, mind empty, still processing everything he had rambled to you, and started carefully unfolding it.

It was one of his previously mentioned "Do you like me?" notes.

You willed yourself not to straight-up giggle like a 12-year-old at his note. It was messily written, and clearly on the back of a mission briefing.

Shit, you didn't have a pen. You looked under the couch cushions but there was no form of a writing utensil in sight! The audacity.

You knew Peter well enough to know that he was probably not too far away, waiting for the result of his question and trying not to spy.

"Hey... uh... Peter? I don't have a pen."

Peter hit his forehead with his hand, where the fuck was he going to get a pen? It's not like he owned pens that were actually in a designated spot! How ridiculous would that be, who did he look like, Charles? Charles! Charles has pens in designated pen places!

So Peter ran into the headmaster's office and found a pen. He wrote a small note stating that he borrowed a pen and that he would return it. Looking at the note Peter found it did not fully encapsulate the desperate need for the pen. The note ended up something like this:

Hey Charles! It's Peter! I took borrowed a pen because a very serious situation manner situation has arised. arisen. From, Peter. You can't get mad at me because if you could legally marry my dad you would be married and I would basically be your step son! Thanks half dad!

He thought the addition of the 'step' in stepson effectively hid the fact that Charles was a father figure of his. What was he doing here again? The serious manner!

In an instant of you telling Peter that you did not have a pen, one appeared.

"Thank you!"

You checked the yes box, but had a want to write something adorable. You couldn't think of anything so you just wrote "This was weird." under your checkmark. Well played.

You entertained the idea of resuming your movie but decided against it, you thought it would be more dramatic if you left the room.

The minute you made your exit Peter sprinted into the room. He opened your note, jumped, pumped his fist in the air, realized that was nerdy, and tried to make a cool pose to recover.

Now he just had to figure out how the fuck he was going to ask you out.

#me 🤝 juxtaposing fancy words with words like stupid and cool and nice because i think it's funny #the muse has been gone for a few days so i hope this is good #screw you muse i'm writing anyway!#peter maximoff x reader #ship request #the ending is weird and the pacing is off but ily so forgive me

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ravs6709 · 3 years

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These Feelings Inside (How Deep Do They Go)

Chapter 1- Filled With Warmth

Artwork found here by @xkcd2020!

Read on ao3

Masterlist. Previous. Next.

Sophie Foster has been pining after Fitz Vacker for years. With no sign of him returning the feelings, she goes through heartbreak. A siren takes advantage of this, and tries to transfer their curse to her. However, the process goes awry. Now, Sophie must find a way to stay human, or risk losing her memories- or the memories of those she loves.

Aka a Sokeefitz au heavily inspired by Siren's Lament (the webtoon by instantmiso)

Side ships include Marellinh, QPR Dexiana, and some bonus ones!

Okay, so uh... hi! This is my contribution to the @kotlc2021collab! It's a little late for reasons, but it's now here! Thank you to @fanartofthelostcities for being my beta reader, and @xkcd2020 for being my artist! The summary for this fic is above! I'm so excited to share this with you, I've enjoyed myself writing, and I hope you enjoy reading it!

So welcome to chapter 1, aka, the really long prologue! I'm not going to say much else, but just one thing so to not be confused at first. Fitz is a trans guy, but he doesn't come out until later in the chapter.

Warnings: Mentioned death

Anyways, enjoy! Oh, and the art can be found here!

•~•~•~•~•~•

Sophie Foster pulled her grey hoodie further over her head, pulling the strings so everything could be blocked out. The sight, the sounds, everything . But it wasn't working at all. When, just when, would all these people just leave her alone?

•~•~•~•~•~•

Her first day of middle school wasn't as bad. As long as she kept herself invisible, stopped herself from standing out, her experiences from before wouldn't be repeated. She would get through the day, and then meet the new people who had decided to adopt her.

It worked. Nobody bothered paying attention to the small girl wearing dull colours. It was a relief.

She didn't even remember what happened next, only that her temporary guardian had come in, saying that her new parents had arrived. Sophie pulled the hood off of her head, but she still kept her arms in her pocket.

When she stepped out of the room, she saw the two new faces. They looked a little older than she'd imagined, somewhere in their fifties, maybe? Two figures stood there: one with amber hair and a serene smile; the other blond with a more friendly grin.

"Hello Sophie," the amber-haired one greeted. "I heard your pronouns are she and her, right?"

Sophie gave them a hesitant smile, then nodded. If they were polite enough to confirm that, then they couldn't be that bad, would it?

"I'm Edaline, she and her."

"I'm Grady," the other one added. "He and him. If you prefer, you can call us mom and dad. Or use our names, your choice." He added when she didn't say anything else.

"We'll do our best to make sure that you feel happy," Edaline promised. "But for now, small steps. You'll come with us to your new home. If you need, we'll give you space, but we'll be right here."

"Okay," Sophie murmured.

And it wasn't too bad. They were exceptionally kind, and it felt nice. Sometimes, they would look tired and distance themselves a little bit, but Sophie understood, as sometimes, she felt the same way.

With her home life improving, it made her feel better about herself. Still, no one had tried to hurt her at school, so maybe, just maybe, she could stop trying to blend in that much. Maybe she could try and make a friend?

•~•~•~•~•~•

Out of the sports that they had played in gym class, volleyball was her favourite. But even then, it was way more fun to watch than to actually play. There was one girl in her class who just seemed to have a lot of fun though. Her name was Biana, and she was talented. She was light on her feet, and her teal eyes would gleam whenever she made a good volley.

They were like opposites in just about every way. Sophie was frail and pale and blonde and bad at social interactions and physical exercises. Biana was chubby, had brown skin and brown hair, she had plenty of friends and she was actually good at more sports than volleyball. They were completely different people, in different worlds too.

So when Biana came up to her, she was surprised. Because this was Biana Vacker! What was she doing talking to Sophie?

"You're Sophie, right?" The brunette asked. Sophie blinked, because Biana remembered her name? "I'm Biana! Wanna be my partner for volleying practice?"

Sophie looked around. She didn't even realize when their gym teacher had given the order to be in pairs. She looked back at Biana in shock. Usually, Sophie was one of the people who was last to find their partner.

"Okay."

"Great!" She stepped away so they could start the exercise.

The ball went back and forth, and it was enjoyable. The ball hardly ever touched the ground. On Sophie's side, it was a little weak, but Biana didn't make any complaints about it, nor did she tease her. Occasionally, she even received praises.

"You're pretty good actually," Biana stated. "A little weak, but you have potential. Are you just scared?"

Sophie shrugged, before rushing to hit the ball again. It was sloppier than intended, but it made it to the general location it was supposed to, so it was fine.

The whistle was blown, signifying the end of the activity.

"That was fun! I'll see you around!"

Sophie only gave a nod as Biana moved to join one of the groups that would play in a game. This didn't seem too bad actually.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Just like Biana had said, Sophie would see her quite frequently. At first it was only in gym class. Biana came up to her a few more times and asked to be her partner. Then during science.

"Do you understand this part?" Biana asked as she leaned on the desk.

They were doing electricity. The sciences weren't really Sophie’s best subjects, but she was still able to understand them quite well. So Sophie nodded, and explained it the best she could. Apparently it worked, as Biana let out an "oh that makes sense", flashed her a smile and then went back to her desk.

It happened like that. The interactions weren't huge, they were small and comfortable. They were pleasant, actually. But there was just one thing.

"How come you've been talking to me so much recently?" She couldn't help but ask.

Biana froze for a moment, then continued walking. "I just felt like it, I guess. You looked like you wanted someone to talk to."

Sophie wasn't quite sure if she liked that answer. "That kinda sounds like pity."

"No! That's not what I meant! I mean, I know I'm pretty popular, but it's not like I was always like this. I get how it feels, wondering what it's like to have friends. And if I could be that person in someone's life, I think that's a good thing."

That made a little more sense, even if Sophie didn't understand it. "Don't you have your other friends?"

"It doesn't hurt to expand the friend circle, does it? I've wanted to invite you to my place for a while now, but it always seemed like you weren't quite comfortable."

Sophie hummed. "My elementary school experiences weren't exactly… pleasant."

Even thinking about it gave her the urge to pull out an eyelash. This time, she gave in to it.

"Oh. That's awful. I promise you I won't treat you so badly. My class is here, I'll see you later!"

Sophie smiled. "I'll think about it. Your offer."

"That's enough for me."

She went through the next class feeling surprisingly light. It must have been apparent because when she got home, Grady and Edaline noticed.

"I'm glad to see you smiling," Edaline told her. "Have a good day?"

She nodded. "I've made a friend."

Grady looked up from his laptop and smiled. "That's good, kiddo. What's their name?"

"Her name's Biana Vacker."

"A Vacker, huh," Grady murmured. "I knew a Vacker. I haven't heard from him in… close to fifteen years?"

"I think Juline told me that he moved out of the city around twelve years ago," Edaline told him.

"Did you know Biana's… biological father?" The words sounded weird in her mouth, but considering that Biana had once mentioned that she'd never met her father, and that her mom married another woman, it was probably the best term to use.

It was also odd hearing that Grady was familiar with someone. Not that he wasn't friendly- he was one of the more friendly people that Sophie knew. And being friendly helped when it came to working in the shop.

It felt like they were just being polite. They'd have small conversations with the customers, but that was it. They almost never left Havenfield. They were pretty distant. Sophie didn't mind it though, because sometimes, she needed a space where it would just be silent, and she could recharge.

"I don’t know if it's the same Vacker though. Does Biana have an older sister named Reina?"

Sophie thought about it for a moment. Biana was talkative, and Sophie didn't always pay attention, especially when it was more noise than she'd prefer. But she did remember an offhand comment about an older sister named Reina who had started high school. She nodded.

"Then yeah, I knew him. He wasn't the friendliest person I knew though. We worked together for a little bit."

"Oh."

"Tell me about Biana," Edaline said. "Is she a good friend?"

Sophie nodded again. "She's nice."

"That's good, it's always nice to have a friend."

Sophie noticed the solemn looks that Grady and Edaline shared, but she didn't think to question it.

"She wants to invite me to her house, but I don't know when yet. Would I be allowed to go?"

"Just text us when you ask," Edaline said. "We'll let you know if we need you here or not."

•~•~•~•~•~•

It was about a week later when Sophie decided that she's ready to go to Biana's. With each day that had passed by, she found it easier to hold a conversation. It was a nice feeling, and she wished that she'd been able to feel like this during elementary school. Maybe that was how most people felt.

She walked over to Biana's locker.

"Hi Biana," she began, her voice a little quieter than she'd like it to be.

Biana turned to her, her face brightening. "You wanna come over today?"

She nodded.

"You want me to invite some friends too? Or do you just want it to be the two of us?"

"The two of us, if that's okay."

"That's fine with me. Do your parents know?"

Sophie took out her phone and texted them- she was always more comfortable texting than calling. A minute later, she had a reply saying that she could go.

"They do now."

"Great!" she said, slamming the locker shut and then locking it. "Let me call maan first. But we could start walking home by the time."

Biana took out her phone and called Della, and there was another approval. "You wanna link arms?"

Sophie looked at Biana's arm, then back at hers. Before she could decide otherwise, she linked her arm. They continued walking until they reached a large house that seemed to glow. Not a mansion, but still large. If she saw it a year earlier, she'd feel intimidated, but Havenfield Flowers was huge too, so she was a little more used to it. There wasn't any car in the driveway, which meant that Biana's mom- Della wasn't home, and neither was her wife.

"Maan will be home soon, so will mom. Reina's probably inside, or she'll be here soon."

They went inside, and sure enough, Reina was in there. Sophie had never seen Reina before, but it was obvious that it was her. She had the same teal eyes as Biana, and the same brown hair. She was taller though, her hair shoulder length instead of waist length.

"Haven't seen you stare at me for that long," Biana whispered, jabbing her gently with an elbow. "We practically look the same."

"I wasn't staring," Sophie hissed. "That's just weird."

"I mean, I can't control when my aesthetic attraction strikes. People are pretty, I'm not gonna shame you for that."

Sophie thought about the times before. Because people were pretty. Not just boys, girls too. She found it hard to be subtle about it, and it wasn't the first time someone had noticed. Just the first time for this year. She wasn't quite sure if she wanted to directly come out yet, so instead she said something else.

"They are." Then she walked over to Reina. "You're Biana's sister, right? Hello, I'm Sophie."

Her voice was pretty calm, which was a success. It didn't even matter that she wasn't making eye contact at the moment.

"Hi Sophie," Reina greeted. "Nice to meet you."

She nodded back. She didn't know what to say next, but luckily, Biana saved her.

"Sophie, do you play video games? We can play Mario Kart."

She smiled. "I like Mario Kart."

"Be careful Biana," Reina said. "You might find someone that'll beat you."

"If you lose to her I'm making fun of you for the next month."

Sophie had a feeling that she walked into a sibling rivalry. She took one of the controllers, and they started playing. At first she had to adjust to the controls as it had been a while since she last played, so she started off losing to both of the sisters. Reina looked smug while Biana looked almost disappointed.

The next match though, Sophie started off doing okay, but she managed to stay right behind the two sisters. She smirked when she got a blue shell, and waited for the right timing. She shouted in triumph when it hit the both of them and she passed them both, before winning the race.

Both of them gaped at her.

"You- since when were you behind us?" Biana asked.

Reina looked at her smugly. "I told you to be careful."

"Shut up!"

Sophie smiled. If this was what she had in store for the future, she didn't mind it.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Living at a flower shop meant that Sophie learned a lot about flowers. Customers would come in, and ask for flowers to suit an occasion.

"An apology?" Edaline asked. "Purple hyacinth would be nice."

Then she would move and get some of the flowers and place them in a bouquet. "I wish you luck."

The customer would pay and thank her.

So when Grady went to get some dendrobium orchids, Sophie immediately realized.

The shop's closed, why would he need those?

They often symbolized respect and perfection. But there weren't any customers to sell them to. Edaline emerged from her room, wearing green, just like Grady was.

"Edaline?" Sophie asked. "What's going on?"

She felt like she had an idea, but she needed the remaining pieces to connect this puzzle.

"We're… planning to see someone," she explained, her voice sombre. "A… death anniversary. You don't have to come with us if you don't want to."

The words clicked. Dendrobium orchids were also used for mourning. The green they wore represented life. She vaguely remembered seeing a picture of a blonde-haired person, but she had never asked about it.

"I'll come with you, give me a few moments."

She went and took a shower, then changed into a green shirt and black pants. They left the shop and went into the car. It was silent.

"Can… can you tell me about them?" Sophie asked.

Grady and Edaline shared a look.

"She was our daughter. Her name was Jolie. She was a lot like you. Both kind and expressive, though she didn't have as much struggle showing it as you do."

"What happened to her?"

"She… she lost someone important to her. The pain was too much for her."

Oh . That explained so much. While they were aware that she would need space, they also did it because they needed it. If she reminded them of Jolie, then it had to have been painful.

"How… how long has it been?"

"This is the fifth year."

"Don't feel too bad about it," Grady told her. "I think I know what you're thinking. It… it is tough, but we wouldn't adopt you if we didn't want you. You're not causing us pain."

"...thank you, dad."

She looked at the car mirror to see his reaction, and she felt warmth when he smiled.

They arrived at the cemetery. It was quiet as they walked up to the grave.

Jolie Lucine Ruewen.

She was bright and always spread joy with her optimism. She was loved by many. Rest in peace.

1984-2006

She closed her eyes and listened as her parents mourned their first daughter. She never found herself to be that religious, but she sent her wishes, hoping that wherever Jolie was, she was content.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Sophie had stayed by Biana's side throughout the rest of middle school, and then went to high school, the same that Reina attended. Biana had decided to hang out with Sophie some more, and had distanced herself from some of her other friends.

"What about some of your other friends?" Sophie asked.

"I'm still keeping in touch with them, but I find that I don't feel like being around them as often. I just think it's better for my mental health, to not force myself to be around people I don't want to be around."

There was an implication that Biana actively wanted to be around her, but the thought alone was hard to process.

With that, Sophie found herself spending a lot of time with Biana and Reina. She didn't really have any other friends, but she was fine with the ones she had. Besides, she'd also recently met Dex- the nephew of Grady and Edaline.

As time passed by, she grew even closer to both Biana and Reina.

It wasn't love at first sight, like people said it was. There was the warmth, the smile, the joy. All of those things were present when she was with her friends. Biana stayed by her side and always made her feel more welcome. But there was something about Reina that ended up catching her attention.

"Sophie, you're staring again," Biana whispered.

"I'm not!" she hissed, because Reina was right there.

"I'd tell you to stare at me instead, considering we look alike, but I'm too aro for this."

Sophie blinked. "You're aro?"

Biana shrugged. "I didn't tell you?

"She's very much aromantic!" Reina chimed in from the other couch.

"That's cool!" And for some reason, she felt the need to blurt out, "I'm bi."

"I kinda figured with the whole 'people are pretty' incident," Biana said. "But thanks for telling me outright."

It was such a casual response that really made it easier for Sophie.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Sophie was able to admit that Reina did look good. But that was all there was to it. Or well, that had been it.

It happened during lunch. They usually ate somewhere that was relatively peaceful. Her earbuds had broken the other day, so she couldn't listen to music. On top of that, a crowd gathered in the hallway that they were sitting at.

She didn't know why they were there, but what she did know was that they were loud . Each sound felt like it was piercing through her ears. It was too loud, and she didn't have the music she needed to drown it out. She pulled her hoodie over her head, and put her hand over her ears. But it was still too loud.

She was pretty sure that she wasn't breathing, but she couldn't get herself to do it. There was too much, and she couldn't handle it. But then the world went quieter. There was only the soft melody of a piano.

Sophie opened her eyes to see concerned teal eyes. She always struggled to make eye contact, but in this case, she found herself drowning in those eyes. It took a moment to realize that it was Reina who'd been in front of her, and another to realize that she was wearing headphones.

Did Reina… put her headphones on me?

Reina didn't say anything, just looked at her, breathing visibly. Sophie realized that she should do the same. Each breath was easier to make, especially with the piano in the background.

"Th-thank you," she whispered.

"I'll always help you, okay? Next time, if you feel overwhelmed, just give me a signal, okay?"

All she could do was nod. Because it was that moment when she started to fall in love.

•~•~•~•~•~•

"I know I've joked about it before, but you have a crush on my sister, don't you." It wasn't a question.

Sophie turned to Biana in shock. Because she did, and was it that obvious? Also, Reina had gone to the washroom, and who knows when she'd be back. What if she accidentally found out?

"No," she lied. It was probably an awful lie, but it was a lie. "I don't."

Biana raised an eyebrow.

"I don't."

"I see."

•~•~•~•~•~•

It was a typical tradition to start walking to one of their houses, and then the other would go home. Biana had volleyball tryouts, so she wasn't able to walk with them.

"Hey Sophie, you work in a flower shop, right?" Reina asked. "Would I be allowed to join you, if I ask for permission?"

Neither of the Vacker siblings had asked to go to her house, but she knew that it wasn't because they didn't care, but because they did.

"Sure." She was a lot more familiar with Reina, she didn't find herself opposed to the idea. "Let me call my parents."

Some phone calls later, and they were on their way to Havenfield.

"Biana's going to be jealous," Reina remarked.

Sophie laughed. "Definitely."

•~•~•~•~•~•

When Reina walked around the shop to peer at the flowers, Sophie noticed.

Is she going to give them to someone?

Her suspicions were confirmed when Reina went to the counter and ordered some yellow roses.

Friendship. That's not so bad.

It wasn't, until she offered them to Sophie. She smiled, because Reina was giving her flowers, but they were purely platonic. She resisted the urge to scream. She took the flowers, because it was still sweet that Reina would buy them for her.

"I'm glad I met you," she said. "You're really great to be around."

Sophie really hoped that she wasn't blushing.

•~•~•~•~•~•

"Here," Sophie murmured, and thrusted her arms out.

She could feel her cheeks warm, which was a horrible idea, considering what she was doing.

"I felt like giving them to you… like how you gave me the roses a few days ago. They're alstroemerias."

Yellow ones, to be exact. They were another flower that meant friendship. Reina already made it clear what her feelings were.

But Reina's reaction confused her. She looked happy, but there was something off. But when Reina smiled and thanked her, she attributed it to her imagination.

•~•~•~•~•~•

"What's the gathering here for?" Biana asked.

"Okay, so," Reina looked nervous. "I'd like to announce that I'm a boy."

"Are you changing names too?" Sophie asked.

"Yeah, you can call me Fitzroy… or well, Fitz probably works better for me."

"Okay Fitz," Biana said.

"I'm glad you told us," Sophie said. "Are you gonna use he/him pronouns, or something else?"

"He/him."

•~•~•~•~•~•

When Sophie was old enough to start working at Havenfield Flowers, she gladly took the chance. To be honest, she didn't really know what she wanted to do with her life, she didn't have any big plans. She liked helping Grady and Edaline, and she wouldn't mind if she worked there for the rest of her life.

So because of that, she chose not to go to university. Biana continued with playing volleyball, while Fitz went into business, because he wasn't sure what he quite wanted to do either. Though he decided to also start working at Havenfield Flowers.

She was surprised when one day, Biana walked into the shop with Dex.

"Wait what?" Both Dex and Sophie asked, pointing to each other.

"You know each other?" Biana asked.

"Uh…"

"Dex, what a surprise!" Edaline greeted. "How's Juline doing?"

"We're cousins," Sophie explained. "Where'd you find Dex?"

"He goes to my uni."

It was all the explanation that they needed. The four of them took the chance and caught up with each other. Fitz looked a little lost, considering that he hadn't met Dex once.

It may have just been the four of them, but Sophie found herself feeling warm. She wouldn't ever want to give up the life that she had.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Translator note: Maan means mom in hindi (but anglicized)

Kotlc Taglist: @keefeinnit @impostertamsong @my-swan-song @subrosasteath

Wanna be added/removed from the taglist? Just let me know!

#sophie foster #fitz vacker #biana vacker #sokeefitz #(eventual)#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc fanfiction #fanfiction #ravi writes a thing #these feelings inside (how deep do they go)#kotlc 2021 collab

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