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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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raggaraddy · 3 years

Note

hello, so if you still take requests i want to request yandere reaction where the reader is as possesive as them, or like she willingly do anything for them and obey them. its totally okay if you dont feel like writing it or maybe you dont take request.. its just im craving reading something like that and youre a great writer :)

A/N: Hi, I am still new to writing reactions, so I hope that this is what you wanted or you at least like it. Thank you for your sweet comments. Enjoy!

Mine

Summary: When another girl gets a little too comfortable with Jungkook your reaction's a surprise to the both of you.

Trigger warnings: Fighting, mentions of abuse, violence.

Jungkook

You had begged Jungkook to take you with him tonight. He'd been so busy with work lately and you'd found yourself missing him too much when he was gone. So when he said he wasn't staying home tonight, but he was instead going out to a bar with some of his friends, you were enthusiastic for him to take you with him. It had used to be the complete opposite. Every time he left you alone, gave you some time to breathe on your own, you were thrilled. But more and more you'd started noticing him in a new light.

Sure he's rough and demanding sometimes. And yeah, he can lose his temper every now and then. But you're not perfect either, and you know it must be hard for him, especially when you behaved so insensitively at first. However, despite your flaws or his, he deeply loves you. He accepts you for who you are and he wants nothing more than to keep you safe. How could you ever find anyone else who cared for you as much as your Kookie did?

The night started as every night out with Jungkook did. He listed out the same rules over that he had said dozens of times before.

You have to listen to everything he says and do everything he says. You don't talk to anyone unless he's with you, and most importantly, you never leave his sight. You had tried to run off a few times in the past, so you knew how deathly serious he was about that last one.

After thoroughly prepping you, and dressing you, and warning you one last time to mind the rules, the both of you finally went to meet his friends.

"Sit. Here." Jungkook pointed to the booth table at the back of the bar. You slid in and he right away pushed in alongside you, nudging you in further and further until you were all but barricaded against the wall. As his friends began to come in one by one, they all joined in a large group. While the night went on, you talked among his friends and their girlfriends. A few people got food, but most people were just drinking to excess. You of course got the choice of soda or water. Every now and then throughout the evening, you could feel JK's attention on you, and you would hug his arm a little tighter to let him know you were paying attention to him too.

At some point, it was Jungkooks turn to buy the next round.

"Y/n." He whispered lowly. Even in the middle of a conversation and with the music playing in the background, his voice caught your focus right away. You looked up to him, a small smile and big eyes. "I'll be back in a few minutes." His lips pressed to your ear, his warm breath blowing along your neck spiking tingles down your side. "If you even try to move while I'm gone, I'm going to pin you to the table by putting this butter knife through your hand." He twirls the point of the dull knife into the table, scratching the wood.

Your smile grows a little bit bigger at his threat. Not because you think he wouldn't do it, but because you know there is no way he would ever need to do it. You're not going anywhere.

Your fingers linger with his, holding on for a few seconds extra as he gets up. While the conversations go on, your concentration keeps flicking to Kookie. Watching every now and then to make sure he hasn't left your sight either.

On one momentary glance, you catch sight of some random woman standing too close to him. They're at the bar, and it's quite crowded so it could be nothing, but she doesn't look like she is ordering drinks. She's completely facing him. Talking to him.

Slowly your frustration starts to build as a few minutes pass and they stay in the same position. You don't know who she is, you've never seen her before. Jungkook's body language expresses that he doesn't know her as well. She, however, is acting way too familiar. Laughing, smiling, flicking her hair and pushing her chest out like some kind of desperate slut.

You're trying to let it pass. But after only about 10 minutes of silent stewing, that's all you can tolerate. You know your Kookie has no interest in any other girls. He's just too innocent to realize that this girl is flirting with him. That, or he is only trying to be polite.

She crosses the line though when she decides to put her hand on his arm.

He might have told you to stay in your seat, and you know he is going to at the very least slap you for willingly going against his rules, but you have had enough and you're not going to allow this bitch to paw all over him anymore.

Shuffling out of the booth, you take heavy, furious steps towards them. The second you're in reach you draw against Jungkooks side, wrapping your arm around his. At the same time, you roughly and forcefully shove the heel of your palm into this girls shoulder, knocking her back and off of him. She stumbles looking shocked and fleetingly frightened. You're not done sending a message yet.

"The next part of you that tries to touch him is going to get stabbed!" You growl. Jungkook leans back a little to look at you. A mix of intrigue and surprise coming together to form a smirk on his face. It's not just from the forceful action you made, but also the confident, ruthless way you spoke to intimidate her.

This woman is dumb though. She either doesn't see or doesn't understand how sincerely you made that threat. "Wow," she scoffs. Yelling, trying to be louder than the music, "Is this your girlfriend? She's a psycho." she mocks, stepping forward, speaking directly to Jungkook. You pull yourself in front of him, dragging his hand around your waist to wrap on your hip, your fingers lacing over the top of his. Even with you standing between them, eyes burning with hostility she still doesn't back down. "If you want a cool girlfriend, you can come home with me, baby." She propositions him, with the cherry on top of calling him baby. Calling your Kookie baby! Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?!

You snap forward and slam your curled up fist into her face as hard as you can. She mustn't have been expecting that at all because she falls like a ton of bricks. Knocking into two or three other people behind her before she ultimately falls on to the floor.

Honestly, you've never hit someone before, and you didn't realize it would hurt so much. So you have to quickly shake your hand feeling the bones bruised and jarred. You regain your composure by the time she can gain hers and looks back up to you. You step over the top of her getting into her personal space. "Go find someone else to be a pathetic whore with." You snap. "He's mine!"

She scrambles out from under you and back to her feet, sensibly darting away. Over your shoulder, you can see Jungkook taking control of the consequences of your interaction, assuaging the bartender's concerns. JK knows them all, so if they know that it's him, they're not going to make a fuss over it, they'll just let it go and assume there was a good reason.

You latch onto him again as he focuses back on you. Grabbing your hands into his shirt, you hold him closer. "Don't let other girls touch you." You whine, taking the aggression out of your voice when you talk with him, but not the seriousness.

"Why? Because I'm yours?" He looks down with a smug smile, and a salacious glimmer in his gaze. His tongue running over the inside of his cheek.

You're still so pent up and frustrated, you just want to be as close to him as you can be for comfort. You press your whole body flat to him, feeling warmed by the firm shape of his arms and chest. "Yes, you're mine."

He insists on a small amount of space between you two, gripping onto your upper arms harshly he pushes you back. His free hand comes up and his fingers cling into your jaw keeping you still.

This is it. You knew he was going to hurt you for disobeying. But honestly, it was worth it to keep her off of him.

Looking down at you so intensely, he isn't reacting the way you had expected. His eyes are instead filled with an infatuated allure that's making your stomach tingle and your cheeks feel warm. He rests his mouth next to your ear like he had earlier. "That was so fucking hot Kitten." His teeth nip at your ear lobe, making you shiver. "We're leaving. Just wait until I get you alone. I'm gonna prove I'm yours."

#bts #yandere bts #yandere #bts fanfic #bangtan #bts smut #yandere bangtan #yandere jungkook #bts reactions #bts requests #jungkook

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himitsu-luna · 4 years

Text

Headcanon

⸰ֺ⭑Nct 127 - Ideal types⭑ֺ⸰

❥︎𑁍 Taeil

Someone like the moon. Serene, a comforting presence, humble, but that still possesses various interesting facets and is able to light the darkest room. Someone with a magnetic aura, whose presence is subtle, but when they are not around, they are definetely missed. Someone soft who inspire romantic thoughts and actions. Someone cute but that doesn't realize it. Someone silly who makes him smile and laugh at the smallest things, that vibes with him in a deeper level. Someone simple, as chill as him, as free spirited as him, who will be up to do anything with him. Someone who has the ability to make the most complicated thing look easy, that can vanish any bad feelings with a reassuring smile or touch. Someone that appreciates his entire being and all of his perfect imperfections.

❥︎𑁍 Johnny

Someone like the sun. Spontaneous, warm, bright, inviting, that makes him feel that life would be impossible without them. Someone that smiles a lot and laughs easily, that is kind of random. Someone visionary, free, that just catches his hand and says "let's go!". Someone who is genuine in everything they do and say, that sees no problem in saying "I'm sorry" or "I was wrong". Someone hardworking, that works more for others than for themselves. Someone with whom he can have cheesy pick up lines battles and that can make him flustered at the end. Someone that has firm steps and knows where they are going, that has a broad vision of life. Someone balanced, 50% emotional and 50% rational.

❥︎𑁍 Taeyong

Someone like a lighthouse. Always there to guide him, to show him that he is not alone, to show him the way when he feels lost, someone he knows that will be there for him, waiting for him at that same spot, with unchanged feelings. Someone dependable and reliable, with a motherly instinct, but that still has their inner child jumping and playing at times. Someone wise, from whom he can always learn a new thing. Someone that can make him slow down sometimes to enjoy a peaceful afternoon. Someone that can read, match and change his moods, that knows exactly what to do in every situation, that makes him feel safe and understood. Someone that goes to him with open arms and always listen to him before listening to anyone else.

❥︎𑁍 Yuta

Someone like a painting. Expressive, colorful, admirable, interesting, full of layers, that show themselves completely, but there's always some detail yet to be discovered if you look at them from a different angle. Someone fair, just, loyal, that kind of person that you can trust completely. Someone that actually doesn't fall for his pranks, because they are always one step ahead. Someone playful, sincere, open minded, free of judgements, that just want people to be happy and prays everyday for this world to get peace. Someone who matches his intensity, but is far from being competitive. Someone strong, maybe tough, but that has soft spots for a lot of cute little things. Someone kind and generous, that is always ready to help others.

❥︎𑁍 Doyoung

Someone like a precious crystal. Beautiful, transparent, formed with a lot of patience, that takes the hardships in life to become a better person, that seems delicate but is actually very strong, extremely precious and valuable in every way. Someone with an extremely good heart and a charming great mind. Someone who forgives easily, even though they shouldn't. Someone who is good with words, that expresses themselves well, that is honest with their feelings and share them with him. Someone who has the sense of commitment and give their all in the relationship. Someone who gets along with his family and friends. Someone who has eyes just for him, that is his supporting system, his number one fan, that recognizes all of his efforts. Someone who truly listen to others and keep in their hearts everyone's story.

❥︎𑁍 Jaehyun

Someone like an old love song. Filled with tender emotions, ageless, classic, someone who evoque sweet memories everytime he looks at them, someone who validates his thoughts and feelings. Someone who makes him miss them, that makes him smile with just one text message. Someone that doesn't push or rush him, that is in the same wavelenght as him, that walk in the same pace as him, that makes him feel comfortable and relaxed, that brings harmony to his life. Someone encouraging, that makes him gladly go out of his comfort zone sometimes. Someone entertaining, creative, that comes up with the most brilliant and funny thoughts from time to time. Someone fascinating, charming, passionate, that speaks with their whole body when they get excited.

❥︎𑁍 Winwin

Someone like the ocean. Deep, pacific, that makes him feel free and calm, that has the strong power to pull him to them, that gives him that feeling that the world is huge and there's so many things he doesn't know yet . Someone who gets his walls down, that makes him wanting to be the chaser. Someone who accepts him, who understands him, who doesn't suffocate or pressure him on acting in a certain way. Someone considerate, respectful, a gentle and ethereal soul. Someone that people may label as traditional, but that has a truly rich inner world, that they share only with him. Someone that quietly takes care of him just for the sake of caring, without any greed or second intentions.

❥︎𑁍 Jungwoo

Someone like a flower. Sweet, unique, fresh, that attracts people to them, fill everyone with happiness and with the feeling that at the end things will be alright and that life is indeed beautiful and worth living. Someone supportive, that will stay by his side and will make him their priotity. Someone who shows unconditional trust on him, on his feelings, on his thoughts, that makes him feel confident about himself. Someone with a hint of a genius mind, that can follow his thoughts, and that has thousands of hobbies, because they like to keep their mind running. Someone who won't deny his affection and will give him all the hugs he needs.

❥︎𑁍 Mark

Someone like the sky. Pure, sincere, soft, clear, that shelters everybody under their veil with no prejudice, that makes him want to fly high. Someone easy to deal with, that doesn't like conflicts, but that also knows how to protect themselves and the ones that need to be protected. Someone who gets involved in his daily life, that shows interest in the things he does. Someone empathetic, positive, cute, kind, soft spoken, that sees the bright side of the world. Someone who feels like a best friend, that greet him with a high five followed by a sweet little peck. Someone overall calm and chill, but that also has lots of chaotic moments that makes him burst into giggles.

❥︎𑁍 Haechan

Someone like the stars. Cute, special, lovely, that shines on their own and helps others find their own light, that is there even if you don't see them, that makes his eyes sparkle. Someone as wild as him, as intelligent as him, that thinks quick and acts quicker. Someone sweet and friendly, that makes sure everyone feels included. Someone who recognizes him and takes him seriously, that talks to him about any subject: politics, food, tv shows, science, business, everything. Someone affectionate, that hugs him, kisses him, that says him at the end of the day "You did great!". Someone that gently point him his hits and misses, that is always leading him to improvement. Someone mature yet carefree, funny and bubbly at their core.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

•° Anon, here is your request! I hope you like it! (I'm not actually satisfied with it, maybe I'll change it in the future, but feel free to give me a feedback! )✨

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•° Masterlist

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#nct #nct 127 #nct reactions #nct 127 reactions #nct ideal types #nct 127 ideal types #nct headcanons #nct scenarios #nct imagines #taeil #Taeyong #johnny #yuta #Doyoung #Jaehyun #jungwoo #mark lee #haechan

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bucky-barmes · 3 years

Text

☾✧✧✧ I'm just looking for a good night ✧✧✧☽

female enhanced!reader x tfatws!Bucky

In which you get dragged into a mess in Madripoor while just trying to enjoy yourself. But is the infamous Winter Soldier as bad as you always thought?

[ a/n: idk what this exactly is but i don't hate it, and who doesn't love asshole bucky? maybe i just have a problem, also loosely based on that madripoor episode. also also tried something new for the writing style so i hope you don't mind lemme know if it's shit ]

Minka is polish for strong-willed one, and is a name but here it’s used as a nickname as it’s reader insert

[ word count: ~3,580 words (this started as a lil drabble of reader meeting bucky at a bar, but i guess my brain had other ideas)

includes: asshole bucky, swearing - like a lot (i'm aussie okay?), drinking (alcoholism?), it's pretty fkn angsty, asshole bucky (i'm warning you ok), no -18 pls as it's not entirely g rated & has some implications

[ all works are my own, do not steal, repost or translate ]

tagging some friends (message if you wanna be on a perm taglist/if you don't wanna be tagged in future (i won't take it to heart i promise)) @sweetdreamsbuck @beefybuckrrito @mymindslabyrinth @igotnoname4thisblog @theluxuriousfangirl @posinhay @barnesand1

The music was blaring, sending vibrations through her body as she swayed to the fast beat. Drink sloshing around as she waved her arms around her above her head. This was it. This was living. Drunk, surrounded by strangers. No one knew her and she knew no one. She was free. And it was incredible.

Going to clubs alone was dangerous, she couldn't remember the number of times her mother had warned her not to. She must have been rolling in her grave at her daughter not only going to a club alone, but to a club in Madripoor no less. The thrill that anything could happen only exciting her more. That, and knowing that the Powerbroker wouldn't let anything happen to her, wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on her. That was the perk of being enhanced and not looking like it, it made you useful.

She had lost track of the hours, and the drinks, thinking only of how good the music made her feel. Of how nothing had felt this good in so long.

She waded through the sea of people, already locking eyes with the bartender as she made a beeline for the bar. She was stopped in her tracks, however, by a wall of bodies.

An almost animalistic growl ripped through her as she slapped her hand down on the shoulder of the man in the middle, a big fur collar adorning his coat. A hard hand gripped her wrist in response and her eyes shifted slowly from the back of man one to the owner of the hand.

Her eyes widened at who they landed on, then narrowed to barely visible slits. Yanking her hand back she didn't break her glare.

"I'm sorry, Dove, did we cut in?" The voice of the middle man broke her chain of thought, and when she looked back to him, he had turned to face her. "How about we buy you a drink to apologise."

"I don't want your handouts, Baron." Venom dripped from her words as she spat back her response. She wedged herself between the Baron and the third man, not someone she recognised, to snatch the drink the bartender placed out for her. "Besides, I don't pay here anyway, don't want you wasting your money."

She was about to work her way back through the crowd of people and to the middle of the dance floor again when she had a thought.

"Hold the fucking phone." Spinning on the spot, her eyes narrowed again, this time at the Baron, but that didn't stop her from seeing the man to his left step forward defensively.

"How are you even here? Last I heard you were stuck in a prison in Germany." Her drink was down and she slammed the glass down on the bar, getting threateningly close to him as she did. "Thought you were never getting out after what you did to them." Her sentence trailed off as her eyes flicked to the man next to him, the one with the metal arm.

The Baron offered her his signature smug smile. "Some people had other plans."

"Well, whatever you're planning," She closed the gap between them further. The shifting of bodies next to them was halted with a raise of the Baron's hand. "Stay the fuck away from me." Hatred seeped from her whole body.

Snatching the new drink that was placed on the bar, her gaze was turned to the apparent bodyguard.

"And I'd think twice before you lay a hand on me again." There was no response, but a subtle cocky smirk instead that only heated her further. She was gone before any of them could speak another word to her.

She was only able to start enjoying herself once more when the sight of the three men had disappeared, then, she was able to let her guard down and the beat of the music slowly took her over again. Until she got a call.

Plugging her other ear so she could hear, she took mental note of the location she was told to move to. The call ended abruptly, they always did with the Powerbroker, but this one was serious. She had begun picking up on the subtle differences between the calls.

Her gun was pulled from her thigh holster as she advanced towards the room Selby used for meetings.

She listened from a distance, the ability being one of many. A phone rang. An awkward silence as the conversation started. Names were thrown around, first Smiling Tiger. 'Yeah, that guy was definitely not Smiling Tiger', she thought to herself as she listened, remembering her run in with him one time. The phone call ended with a goodbye to "Sam"?

There were gunshot before she had time to process anything further.

Kicking the door down, she stepped through slowly, gun raised. It had fallen silent, the three men stood in the middle of the room.

"Holy fuck, what did you do?" Her voice was a mix of shock and anger. The men snapped their heads up.

"Things didn't exactly go according to plan, Dove." The Baron regretfully shrugged as he looked around at the collection of bodies on the floor, inclusive of Selby's.

"Well, why the fuck am I-" A fifth person joined the room before she could finish.

"Because the Powerbroker requested it." Sharon Carter approached her, stone-faced. “And nobody disobeys the Powerbroker.”

“I don’t know, I might’ve had I know it was for these idiots.” She was dead serious as she said it, glaring at the men responsible for the bodies strewn about.

Sharon shot the other woman a look, a look that said ‘you better cut it out right now’.

"Don't, Minka." Sharon's use of the others' nickname amplified the seriousness of it all.

The men in the room didn’t know it, but she, Minka, was the only one who knew who the Powerbroker really was. And you could say she was somewhat of a bodyguard for them.

“The Powerbroker requested it. End of, so get over it.” Sharon snapped at her.

“I can’t believe you’re helping these people.” Her grip on her gun tightened as she interrogated Sharon. “After everything that happened last time.” Her sentence ended with a scoff, clicking on the safety of her gun. She didn't place it back in her holster just yet though.

“Enough.” Sharon’s remark was a bark. An order. “Whether you like it or not, you’re involved now, you’ve seen the bodies. You’re part of it now.”

Minka just glared at her, mumbling “lucky me” under her breath as her daggers turned to the men again. Her anger only bubbled more when she saw the one with the metal arm, the Winter Soldier, staring right back, something she couldn’t quite pick up on behind his cold eyes.

Many hours and gun fights later, everyone made it Sharon's place alive, much to the acrimony of some of them. Of Minka.

"You have a beautiful place, Miss Carter." Baron was walking around, admiring the art as he made the genuine compliment, but he was being eyed. Sharon's personal guard wasn't about to let him touch, ruin, anything.

"Don't touch anything, and get changed, everyone knows what we're wearing now." The last part was directed at the whole group. "And you look like shit, too." Her nose scrunched as she looked them over. Even her associate was included in the statement.

Sharon watched as her figure retreated to the room she had set up, she was there often enough to warrant her own one, and then directed the men to where they could pick out some clothes and change.

There was a soft thump as her body landed on the bed, and she released a long sigh into the covers.

"Yeah, Sharon, I'm not in the mood." Her voice was mumbled from the bed, but was loud enough to hear the frustration.

"Minka, huh?" That was not the voice of Sharon Carter. Her head snapped up to face the door to her room that she swore she locked.

"You don't get to call me that." If looks could kill, the man in the doorframe would have dropped to the floor in record time.

"Is that not your name, Doll?" Arms folded over his chest, a mix of metal and flesh.

"Is your name The Winter Soldier?" The words were laced with malice as she slid off the bed, moving towards him to push him out of her room, her safe space. "Now if you don't mind getting the fuck away from me."

A heavy boot stopped the door from clicking into place, his metal hand forcing it back open, eyes dark. "No, I don't think I will." He stepped into the room, pushing the door closed behind him. This time it was her that stopped the door from closing, hand gripped tightly on the handle, pulling back.

"You've got some fucking nerve coming here like that." Minka yanked the handle as the soldier pushed the door harder, breaking it clean off. "Coming back into Sharon's life like you aren't the one that fucked it up in the first place." The handle dropped with a loud thud.

For a moment, something flashed through his eyes. Regret? Sadness? Whatever it was lasted a mere second before he regained control.

"So, you're like me?" His gaze dropped to the handle on the ground, taking the opportunity to gaze down her body as he did.

It was all she could do from punching him right then and there. "Absolutely not!" If the venom in her voice wasn't evident before, it definitely was now. "I don't kill innocents."

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The soldier staring down darkly at the smaller woman.

"It's Bucky."

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"My name, it's Bucky. And you can call me that."

She couldn't hold back the scoff that fell from her lips. "I won't be calling you anything. After all this shit is cleaned up, you'll never see me again."

Bucky's head tilted ever so slightly, his voice soft but dark. "I wouldn't be so sure of that." But before she was able to punch question him, Sharon's voice bellowed through the building.

"Downstairs, now."

The pair ripped their eyes from each other, Minka's falling to the handle on the floor. "I'm telling her you broke that. Now fuck off so I can change." And she shoved him out of the room, closing the door over between them, making sure to not close it the whole say so she could actually get out when she was ready.

By the time she had finished getting ready and made her way down to everyone else, people had begun meandering in, admiring the art.

"Took you long enough." Sharon walked up behind her, whispering harshly in her ear.

"Yeah, well you can thank your old friend for that. He's an asshole, by the way." "And he's not a friend." "Well he's the reason I need a drink." She turned to face Sharon, giving her a look of 'I hate you for dragging me into this' before heading to the bar, fully intending on double parking it the whole night.

It didn't take long for her to finally loosen up again, 5 drinks to be exact, and be back in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by sweaty bodies. It may have been an art auction, but nothing was ever not a party in Madripoor, especially if it was organised by the Powerbroker themself.

Minka was so caught up in the moment that she had forgotten entirely about the events of the day, the people of the day.

She had, yet again, lost track of the number of drinks she'd had. But every drink handed her way was downed immediately, not taking any time to register where, or more like who, they were coming from. That was always her greatest weakness, denying alcohol.

She was happily about to take yet another unknown drink being handed to her, when it was snatched from her reach and discarded on a nearby table.

"Hey, what the fuck, that was mine!" She growled, turning with her fist ready to launch into whoever had the nerve to steal her drink.

"Stop taking drinks from strangers, are you an idiot?" Suddenly the memories of the men she had to deal with throughout the day came flooding back. "You're gonna get spiked- in fact, you were about to with that one."

"What? Have you been keeping an eye on me? That's not very Winter Soldier of you." Her tone was mocking as she glared up at Bucky, struggling to stand thanks to the combination of copious amounts of alcohol and continuous movement of people around her.

Bucky placed his large hands on her biceps to keep her steady, eyes narrowing at her words. "You really don't know how to be nice to people, do you?"

"You really don't know how to stay the fuck away from people that don't like you, do you?" She retorted immediately, pulling herself from his grip. "I don't need a goddamn babysitter, especially not you. You don't exactly have the best track record with protecting people." Her back was turned to him and stalking off before she even finished her sentence, but she was yanked back in by her forearm.

"Yeah, I don't think so. You're being watched like a hawk by at least 3 men. Who knows how many of them are trying to spike you and get you separated from the crowd." Bucky's eyes were anywhere but hers, scanning the vast room for anything suspicious, clearly on high alert.

"I don't understand why you fucking care?" Bucky's eyes snapped down to hers, alarmed by her intensity.

"Keep your voice down or you're gonna draw attention to us." He hissed at her, lowering his head and pulling her arm to move her closer to him.

"Good, maybe security will see you're harassing me and escort you out." She snarled, anger rising with every word he spoke. "I'm just looking for a good fucking night and you've managed to ruin it twice now."

"Well take it up with Sharon then, she's the one that told me to keep an eye on you. So clearly she thinks you do need a babysitter." He dropped her arm, that would be enough to keep her in her spot for now.

"You're lying." Her words were barely above a whisper, eyes narrowed at him. "She knows I can hold my own. She's literally hired me for personal protection before."

"Clearly not this time." Bucky's eyes were back to scanning the room. "Not with the types of people here tonight." Minka couldn't help but scoff.

"Oh, because you know Madripoor, right? You've spent how many years here? Oh, that's right, none." She suddenly saw her opportunity to escape, Bucky's eyes not trained on her and her arms free.

"Tell her, as much as I appreciate it, she can shove it." And with that she had weaved her way though the crowd of bodies.

But her abandonment didn't last nearly as long as she had hoped.

All of a sudden she was being pushed against the far wall of the room where she was escaping to, breath knocked out of her.

"What the fu-" Lips landing on hers cut off her protests. Her eyes widened when she realised who said lips belonged to.

"Get off of me!" She spat when she was finally able to push Bucky off. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"People are following you. If they know you're with me they're less likely to try something."

"I'm not with you. In fact, I want to be as far away from you as physically possible right now." Bucky's arms, which were trapping her in by pressing against the wall either side of her face, fell to his side. His face turned emotionless for a moment before returning to his usual arrogant demeanour.

"You can't tell me you didn't feel the spark." He winked, a cocky grin plastered on his face when he saw the heat creep to her cheeks.

"Please, you wish there was a spark." Her eyes rolled as she paused. "I've had knife fights with more spark than that."

"Maybe we should have a knife fight sometime then." Bucky's response was quick, and smooth.

"Have you forgotten that you're never going to see me again after all this shit? Although," Minka tapped her chin in mock thought. "If you're offering to let me stab you, I'll gladly take you up on that." Unlike Bucky's, her face held no semblance of humour.

"I'm sure you'll change your mind by the end of it." Bucky eyed her suggestively.

"God, please don't tell me you're into me. Maybe I do want those supposed guys to take me, seems better than the alternative." She groaned at the thought of having to deal with him fawning after her.

Bucky's face indicated that that was definitely not he case. His eyes, however, suggested her words had hurt him a little. "God, never. But if you really want, I can hand deliver you to them myself." He pointed in the direction of said men.

Her nose crinkled. "Okay, maybe not them."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Sharon, we have a serious problem!" Minka stormed into the kitchen after the last few people had left and the party was over, Bucky not far behind her. "So I need a babysitter now? I thought I was the personal protection around here." Her fist collided heavily with the table.

"You are," Sharon looked at her nonchalantly as she poured herself a glass of whiskey. "Until alcohol is involved. You're as useless as that new Captain America when there's booze around." A sip. "Case in point." Sharon hummed, watching your eyes follow her glass from bench, to mouth, to bench again.

"Oh please." She snorted. "And you thought pairing me with this idiot was a good idea?" He hand gestured back to Bucky at idiot, not caring if it offended him. "He just makes me want to drink more."

Sharon was about to give her a look, but Minka just shook her head, throwing her hands up. "No, I'm not dealing with this tonight. I'm going to bed." "Take him with you." Sharon nodded towards Bucky.

"Oh fuck no, why the fuck would I-" "Because everyone knows you're involved, and your head is on a spike now, too. They want you dead, Minka." She couldn't argue with Sharon when she used her nickname for her. And the pain in her voice was evident.

"Fine, but you're sleeping on the floor." Bucky just shrugged, "nothing new."

"You sleep there." A finger pointed to the sofa on the far side of the room. Conveniently away from the bed. "I'll get you a blanket."

Bucky's brow quirked. "I thought I was on the floor?" He feigned confusion, head tilting to the side before his cocky smirk returned.

"Keep going and you will be." The blanket was thrown at his face, along with a pillow.

"A pillow too? Wow, it's like a 5 star hotel." She just glared.

"If you snore, you're out. If you sleep talk, you're out. You make any sort of noise and you're out. Capisce?"

"Guess it's a good thing I don't sleep then, huh?" Bucky threw the blanket and pillow onto the sofa.

"Now see, that just makes it weird. Like that scene from Twilight." "Well, yeah, when you put it like that it is." His face screwed up at the thought, recalling the scene.

"How do you- Actually no, I'm tired and I don't care." She had been about to ask how he understood the reference, but decided that was going to open a whole can of worms that she didn't care about.

"I may be over 100, but I have seen Twilight. Wanda made me watch it with her." He didn't need to be a mind reader to know what she was about to ask. And he didn't blame her, it probably would be surprising that a 106 year old had seen Twilight.

"Don't worry, Doll, I won't stare. Much." And now it was her turn to scrunch her face up.

"If you fucking touch me, I'll rip that metal arm from your body and shove it so far up your ass." Her sentence trailed off, however, when Bucky stepped closer to her, his gaze intense as he looked down at her.

"And how do you think I would touch you?" Another step closer, making her step back and gulp.

With her mouth agape, Minka was lost for words, probably for the first time in her life. Sharon unknowingly came to her rescue, though, when she knocked on the door while entering.

"Set your alarm for 6," Her eyes narrowed at them both and the distance, or lack there of, between them. "We've gotta be out of here asap tomorrow. Make sure you get enough sleep." "Will do, Sharon." Minka's gaze flicked to her, nodding once before she left the room, confusion plastered on her features.

"Right, well that's bed time then." Her tongue ran over her lips nervously, and she was painfully aware of Bucky's eyes watching. "I'm going to get changed." She turned and basically ran to the bathroom attached to her room.

"I'll be out here waitin'." "You're disgusting, don't think anything." "Wouldn't dream of it, doll."

#ya'll this gif makes me feel things #also i suck at knowing when to end & start paragraphs i'm sorry #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #marvel #marvel oneshot #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #avengers #avengers oneshot #avengers imagine #avengers x reader

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avacoleman · 3 years

Text

I’m hoping this is my last WIP Wednesday for this fic but we’ll see how the next few days play out. In the meantime, please enjoy these two pining fools

Today has felt off-kilter and TK doesn’t have to dig deep (or at all) to know why. He and Carlos passed like ships in the night, Carlos’ hectic work schedule keeping them from touching base for almost 24 hours.

TK shuts off the bathroom light once he’s done with his nightly routine. The apartment is silent apart from his footsteps down the hall back to his room.

Usually he’d hear the clacking of his mother’s nails on the keyboard of her laptop while she worked but TK has the place to himself for the next few days while she’s away on business.

TK enters his room and goes for his phone, plugging it in to charge. The screen lights up instantly to notify him it’s charging but TK notices something else.

A missed text from Carlos six minutes ago.

Carlos: Are you free to FaceTime? No worries if not. I know it’s late.

TK smiles and unlocks his phone, quickly opening his messages.

TK: ready whenever you are

A few seconds later Carlos calls and TK wastes no time in answering.

“Hey, you,” he greets.

Carlos looks exhausted but he gives TK the warmest smile.

“Hey. Sorry for the late call. I just wanted to see your face…hear your voice. Is that weird to say?”

TK shakes his head. “No, no it’s definitely not.”

“Good. Tell me about your day?”

TK recounts his day sharing stories of calls he and the rest of the 252 were called to. He wraps up their last call of the day at Bryant Park.

“How about you though? You seem so tired. You should be hibernating.”

Carlos chuckles. “Working a double will do that but I wanted to see how you were. We didn’t get a chance to talk today and I’ve felt kinda off because of it.”

Carlos cringes like he regrets his words.

“I swear, sometimes I feel ridiculous for how badly I miss you. I know we talk all the time but still.”

TK feels the same way too. Talking to Carlos is as much a part of his daily routine like brushing his teeth or getting dressed.

“I’ll be there before you know it. Just a few more weeks in the New Year.”

Carlos frowns.

“Sounds like forever from now but I’ll do my best to be patient.”

Carlos yawns then, a deep one that makes his body shake. As greedy as TK has become for Carlos’ attention, he can’t help but feel a bit concerned.

“Sleep. Now,” he urges.

Carlos pouts and TK feels butterflies erupt in his stomach at how impossibly cute he looks. This crush on Carlos is actually painful.

“But I don’t want to stop talking to you yet.”

Perhaps more than painful, TK laments. It’s downright torturous when Carlos says things like this so freely.

“Do you want me to stay on until you fall asleep?”

Carlos is visibly taken aback by the offer, his brows lifting.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. Besides,” TK says with a shrug, “it’s a good view.”

TK is fairly certain he has this late hour to count for his boldness. His tongue is far too loose but there’s something liberating about making such a statement, even if Carlos probably thinks he’s trying to be funny.

Carlos smiles and shakes his head.

“You’re too much.”

“I was told honesty is the best policy. I’m just saying what I know to be true. You’re beautiful, Carlos. And insanely adorable when you’re sleepy like this,” TK muses.

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue this ridiculous claim so I’ll just say thank you.”

Carlos’ lips twitch for a second, his face growing a bit serious.

“But you are too, you know. That’s the first thing I thought when I saw your picture all those months ago.”

TK’s brought back to the first day they met. He’d been curious about Carlos’ mention of it, more so the fact that an image of him could stick in Carlos’ memory after just one time.

“Seriously?”

Carlos nods and rubs his left eye.

“I told you it was a good photo. It left a pretty solid mark,” he laughs though it quickly turns into another big yawn.

“Go to sleep, babe.”

The pet name comes out without TK meaning for it to. He’s ready to apologize for it but Carlos bites back a smile and appears to blush.

Warmth spreads in TK’s chest at the sight. Being able to reduce Carlos to such a state feels like a major accomplishment.

TK gets under the covers and situates the phone on the pillow next to him. It’s the next best thing to having Carlos beside him and TK wishes so desperately that he could just reach out a hand and touch him or bury in closely against him now.

He could only imagine how comfortably he would sleep against Carlos’ warm body, how at ease he would be in his arms.

TK sighs softly to himself, loathing every mile that separates them and simply watches Carlos drift off. The man’s features smooth out and relax until he surrenders to sleep just a few moments later, lamplight still on.

TK isn’t sure how long he lays there watching him. It should scare him just how hard he’s fallen for Carlos in a few short months. But he knows in his heart there was no other way this was going to end for him.

He’d been a goner since day one and each day since has only reaffirmed a truth that’s been building from the moment he first laid eyes on Carlos.

He’s been barreling headfirst into something he didn’t stand a chance against. The riptide had swept in the second he shook Carlos’ hand. He’s already been pulled under.

#911 lone star #911lsfic #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #wip wednesday #ronenrubinstein #userthai #tuserpaige #useralie #pragmaticoptimist34 #usernicholas #userbones #bellakitse #jazzyjess

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procrastinatingsapphictrash · 4 years

Text

Affection

Word count: 1251

Genre: Fluff Pairing: Natasha x gn!reader

Warnings: Mentions of sex but nothing sexual (let me know if I need to add more)

Request: Hii! I'm loving all your fics about Nat, and I wanted to request something. Nat x fem reader and she's touch starved since she never really had any kind of affection in her life, and when she starts dating reader she realises she really needs physical affection! I just need some fluff with Nat

Summary: Reader and Natasha watch a movie and Natasha realizes how much she likes affection.

A/n: This request was for @stephanieromanoff, so I hope you like it because I had a lot of fun writing this one. So I feel kinda bad because I have a ton of requests to get to and I only got this request today (I did warn you guys I was’t going to do them in exact order) but I figured writing this was better than writing nothing. This request really inspired me because I love writing soft Nat fics and it got me back into a writing mood after hitting writers block on my series. Because of that I may not get part two of Feel out tomorrow like I hoped but I am trying to catch up on requests and will get part two out soon. Anyways I hope everyone enjoys and as always my requests are open, especially since I’m in a writing mood and I want to put something out every single day.

You flick through the titles, not particularly wanting to see any of them. It’s interesting that before when you had to pay for movies you seemed to want to see so many but now that you lived in the tower and you had pretty much every streaming service for free (thanks to Tony), every movie and show looked a little more boring.

“Tasha do you have any suggestions?” You ask, looking over at your girlfriend. You still were in shock you could even consider Natasha your girlfriend and although it had only been a week since your first date you would do anything not to mess this relationship up.

“I haven’t been paying attention to the choices.” She admits and you laugh a little.

“Why don’t you look through some of the options while I get some popcorn and drinks ready?” You suggest.

She nods. “Sounds good, can you please pass over the remote?” You smile and stand making your way over to her with the remote in your hand. Handing it to her you lean over and kiss her forehead and nose lightly while touching the sides of her face before you pull back and walk to the kitchen, satisfied with the blush that spread all over her face at your actions.

The popcorn doesn’t take too long to make and you pour some ice water with lemon slices while it pops so you make it back to the living room in under five minutes. The sight that you are greeted with might just be the cutest thing ever in your opinion. Natasha has the top of the blanket over her head and it wrapped around her entire body except for her eyes and she looks tiny while buried in the blankets because she has her knees pulled up to her chest.

“Did you pick a movie?” You ask her.

She jumps a barely noticeable amount in surprise, having not heard you coming. “Yeah, I thought we could watch Little Women.”

“That sounds good,” you tell her, “and by the way you look absolutely adorable wrapped in the blanket like that.”

She blushes. “I was going to take it off before you got back but it’s too comfy.”

“Well I’m very glad that you didn’t.” You tell her honestly, openly admiring her. She blushes again and starts the movie instead of answering. Even before it truly starts you know you’ll spend a good portion of the movie watching her because it was hard to take your eyes off of her and you had read the book so you knew the plot anyways.

As you originally suspected you spent almost the entire time watching her watch the movie. You love the way the emotions flit freely over her face, her giggling along with the happy parts and biting her lip when things get sad. You were just watching the scene where you (and probably everyone else) cried while reading the book when she pauses the movie.

“What was that for?” You ask, turning to her. She faces you, her eyes teary but none of them falling.

“I just need a minute to gather my bearings,” She says and you know the movie must truly be affecting her because usually she doesn’t like to reveal her emotions. “I chose this movie because you said you really liked the book, I didn’t realize it was sad!”

“You do know it’s okay to cry while watching this, pretty much everyone does.” You tell her.

Your permission seems to be the thing she needs and she breaks down into sobs. “I just can’t believe that happens, it’s so sad, none of them deserved that.”

You move over to her end of the couch, hesitantly putting your arms around her, ready to remove them when she seems to stiffen but then tightening her grip when she seems to relax into your arms. You pick up the remote and press play again, putting your arm back around her. Almost the entire rest of the movie you can feel her silently shake because she is crying and even though you already knew exactly what was going to happen you can’t help but let a few tears spill out. By the time it ends she is even further curled into you and manages to let out a small watery smile at the happy ending. You move to release her and stand up but she pulls you back down.

“No.”

“No what, Tasha?” You ask, amusement lining your voice. “No getting up.”

“No getting up.” She repeats before resting her head on your shoulder, her breath tickling your neck. You are happy to oblige her, keeping your arms around her and absentmindedly running your hand up and down your back. She hums in contentment and you can feel the vibrations in your shoulder.

“You know if someone had told me two weeks ago that I’d be dating you, I’d say they were optimistic, but if they told me you liked cuddles I’d get them tested in a mental institution!” You tease her.

She takes her head off her shoulder and looks up at you. “I didn’t even know I liked this until now, nobody has ever done this for me before.”

You feel your heart simultaneously break and fill with affection for her. “I’m sorry about that, but I’m honored to be your first.”

She giggles. “You make it sound like you mean it in the first to have sex with me.” Her expression turns to a frown. “You will be far from first with that.”

“I know and I don’t care about that.” You look into her eyes so she knows you’re telling the truth. “This is more important to me. Sex doesn’t always mean love, this, this means love.”

“Did you just say you love me?” She asks incredulously, her eyes wide.

You think about denying it, worried that it’s too soon because your relationship is so new but you’ve been in love with her for years and you can’t keep hiding it. “Yes, I did.” She continues looking up at you and as much as you try to, you can’t begin to read what she’s thinking.

“I think I love you too.” She whispers after what feels like an eternity and you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

“Thank god, it would have been pretty awkward otherwise.” Placing a small peck on her mouth and then going back for a peck on her forehead. “However as much as I’d love to stay here, it’s getting late and we should probably get ready for bed. She pouts but untangles herself from you and brings your empty dishes to the kitchen while you exit out of the movie.

“Will you sleep with me tonight?” She blurts out when she returns to the living room and you start to splutter. “No, no, no, I didn’t mean for that to come out like that. I meant will you sleep with me literally, like more cuddles.”

She hides her face in her hands embarrassed and you laugh loudly at her mistake. “Of course Tasha, I’d love to.”

She practically beams. “Thank you!”

“You really enjoy being held, huh?” You teasingly ask her, enjoying her flustered expression. “But seriously,” you add on, taking pity on her, “I love to hold you as well, so ask anytime.” She smiles again and takes the hand you hold out for her as you lead her through the halls to her room.

---

Taglist: @fayhar @stephanieromanoff @acertainredhead @stop-drop-and-drumroll (if you want to be added, comment, send an ask or message me)

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #avengers #marvel fanfiction #x reader

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luxwritesfanfic · 3 years

Text

Right Where You Left Me

Reader gets déjà vu in a way she never expected. Or, the one where Sherlock is the gift that never stops giving. AU!Bucky because he always has your back. Enjoy!

Author’s Note: There is a lot of angst and multiple different aspects that could be very triggering for some within this work. Please be mindful of the trigger warning below and if you see something that you feel should be listed, message me and I will edit accordingly!

Trigger Warning: Severe depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt (overdose), forced vomiting, talk of death in general, angst with a happy ending

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You couldn’t really tell how long you’d been lying in bed for. Time was such a foreign concept to you now. It was either before the fall, when you were happy and he was with you, or after the fall, where you were all alone. You weren’t alone physically because your friends would never allow for that. Since the fall, you’d been staying in Sherlock’s flat, and Mrs. Hudson would always bring you a plate of whatever she was cooking and put it in the fridge. And like clockwork, she’d come every Sunday and clean the fridge out from where you didn’t touch any of the plates. She never seemed to mind, though, and she never stopped bringing you food.

Bucky would come by every day and check on you and help you do things around the house. And by help you, he did everything for you. Mrs. Hudson would let him stay in John’s old room whenever he needed, and he’d make sure you showered and that your laundry was done. He would tell you he does this because he loves you and that even though you weren’t born his sister, you would die that way.

John had moved on and moved out and you were happy for him. Mary was lovely, and you wished you could move on with your life, but you couldn’t. You knew he was taking it just as hard as you and that you both just had different ways of coping with the pain.

When you had to quit your job, Mycroft was immediately there and offered to take care of you financially. “Please, allow me to do this for you. It’s what my brother would have wanted. He couldn’t stand me when he was ali—here, so the least I can do is make him happy where he is now,” he said quietly. Pigs must’ve been flying in the window behind you because when you reached to hug Mycroft, he met you halfway. You cried nonstop for days after that.

You had tried to be better after the scare, not for you, but for your family. You don’t remember much from it, but you do know that no one brings it up around you and you haven’t been left alone for longer than a few hours since.

You woke up with your face propped up against something cool, but you could barely open your eyes to see where you were. Your stomach was in the most pain it had ever been in and everything around you sounded so far away. You remember being yanked back and fingers were shoved down your throat and someone, Bucky, was standing over you and holding you up saying through tears, “I know it hurts and I’m sorry, but you have to throw it up, Y/N. You have to. I can’t lose you, too.”

Everything hurt and in between gags you could hear Mrs. Hudson crying and begging whoever was on the phone to get there faster. You had never heard anyone scream like that and you were sorry you were the one who caused it.

Even though you’d promised Sherlock he would never lose you, Fate stepped in and you lost him. When you thought about the turn your life had taken, you just told everyone you were keeping your end of the deal.

Bucky knocked on your door and stuck his head in. “Mornin’, Y/N. I’m gonna start some laundry and make us some coffee and then I’ll be back, okay?” You could tell he was worried by the tone of his voice, but he did a good job of hiding it. You didn’t say anything back to it and he didn’t expect you to.

Bucky came in a little later with some towels in his hand and a coffee in the other. “I know you’re not feeling real good today, so I was thinking I could wash your hair for you? You can just bend over the tub and I’ll do all the work. I’ve even been watching some videos on how to braid and then you won’t have to worry it matting up either.” He set the coffee down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed next to you.

By this point you were already crying into the pillow because how could the people in your life love you this much when you had nothing to offer them anymore?

“I love you so much,” you cried, and Bucky’s heart broke at the sound, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry and I love you.”

He brushed the hair away from your face. His hands were warm, and it made you feel human again. “You don’t have to be sorry. I love you and I will take care of you for however long you need me to. God knows you would-- and have, done the same for me. So, let me wash your hair for you and I can tell you all about how Lestrade constantly shits on Anderson now as an eternal tribute.”

You smiled and although it wasn’t full of life, he was just as happy to see it. You ended up just getting a shower and Bucky rushed next door to get you a sandwich in hopes that you’d eat for him, too.

As you were brushing your hair out, you heard multiple voices. You heard Bucky, and he sounded… shocked? And then there was John and then just as you were about to reach for the door you heard it. You would know that baritone voice anywhere. Barging out of the bathroom and almost tripping over your own two feet, you came to a full stop.

“Sherlock?”

There he stood in the middle of the room with John a few feet behind him, and Bucky with his back to you, seemingly always ready to protect you. It looked like him and it sounded like him, and hell, it even smelled like him. You couldn’t believe it.

“Y/N.” He went to make a step towards you but seemed to have think better of it. It was better if he assessed your reaction to seeing him first. It had been so long since he had last seen you and while he silently fought the raw want he had to hold you, he knew you were seeing red.

“I don’t even—I can’t-- can’t even comprehend this. Where do I start? Where the fuck have you been? You were dead, Sherlock! I watched you…” You squeezed your eyes shut, steeling yourself the best you could. You weren’t going to cry. You had too much to say. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw John and Bucky slip through the front door. You were sure that was their best bet.

Sherlock said nothing as you went off because there was really nothing for him to say. He understood why you were so mad with him, even if he wasn’t generally self-aware when it came to his own feelings, he wasn’t that daft. He had come prepared for this and he was going to make it right.

“No, you know what? Don’t say anything. I don’t even want to hear it. I have been fucking rotting in this flat while everyone else was able to move on with their lives. I was here, because I couldn’t live without you. My world stopped. I do nothing, Sherlock, nothing but sit and lay in your bed and cry into your old shirts!” You were yelling now, hands running through your hair as you tried to make sense of it all. Somewhere in the back of your mind you made a mental note to thank Bucky for making you get up and shower this morning.

“I quit my job, Sherlock. Mycroft has been paying to keep me alive and Mrs. Hudson and Bucky take turns to make sure I’m still breathing every other hour because they’re scared that if I’m left alone for too long, I won’t be. And poor John, I see him and start fucking bawling because then all I see is you. I stopped caring about everything, and everyone else, because the only person I cared about looked me in the eyes and walked off a fucking building!”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but you quickly cut him off.

“Seriously, don’t speak. You don’t get to just waltz in with John after all this time—you know what? There’s the million-dollar question. Was I the only one who didn’t know you were alive? Because so help me God, Sherlock, I’m this close to losing it.”

He didn’t know whether or not he should actually speak, but he took the cue after he started to physically feel the heat from the deathly glare you were giving him. You quite literally looked deranged but that didn’t stop him from taking a step towards you. He always seemed to chase danger, and you were no exception.

“No… you weren’t the only one. John only just found out a few weeks ago, and only a few select people knew the whole time.” Sherlock was careful with his words. He knew he was walking on thin ice.

You didn’t say anything to that, and Sherlock found that even scarier than when you were yelling.

“Hah, select people, huh? I like that one. So, where were you staying? Were you in London this whole time? Shit, you could’ve been downstairs for all I know. I guess I wouldn’t be a select person to know that, though, would I?”

Sherlock grimaced. Things were going worse than he imagined, and he already figured it would be pretty bad. That was an understatement. “I had to jump around often for everyone’s safety, but I stayed in London for the most part. I stayed with Molly when I could.”

You laughed in his face at that, and you clamped your hand over your mouth, turning your back on him lest you start laughing again. He watched you with furrowed brows and you knew he wanted to speak but you couldn’t do it right now. You took a few steps towards the kitchen window and looked out at the bustling London streets beneath you. For months your world stopped, and it seemed so real when in reality nothing stopped at all.

“Great, great. That’s so great. Splendid, really.” You murmured to yourself and perched your free hand on your hip. Drumming your fingers against your lips, you began again.

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because he thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly.” The tone of your voice was venomous and if looks could kill, Sherlock Holmes would be dead for real this time.

Sherlock winced. “Y/N, please, let me—” You cut him off, speaking louder this time. Your face was void of emotion, but your eyes betrayed you as the tears started to fall freely and your voice cracked under the weight of everything that was being said.

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because I thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly! Damn you, Sherlock Holmes! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” You grasped at the kitchen counter to steady yourself as you gasped for air between the sobs that you couldn’t contain anymore. Your heart ached so badly that you actually clutched your chest, afraid that it was going to break through your ribcage and abandon ship. You could barely register Sherlock coming up behind you through your tears and as he willed you to face him, you noticed that his eyes were brimmed red and glossy. Even sad, Sherlock looked as beautiful as a doll.

“I always come when you call, why didn’t you come for me?” You cried, fisting your hands in his shirt so tightly that you thought heard buttons pop. Your head was swimming and you had never felt more betrayed in your life. How could Sherlock turn to anyone but you? Had you not made it clear that you would do anything for him?

“I called for you every single night, Sherlock! Begged for you, mourned you, I—” The tears wouldn’t stop flowing and your voice was starting to crack from its sudden and harsh overuse.

It was then that Sherlock wedged himself so close to you that you didn’t even have the space to move your head and look up at him. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your back and you were being squeezed so hard to him that you thought you’d either die from a heart attack or suffocation. And even now at the hands of Sherlock, neither seemed that bad. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispered against your forehead again and again as if he was repeating a chant he had been practicing for some time.

“I love you so much and you didn’t even call! Why didn’t you call?” Your words were lost to the both of you now, spoken into his shirt and distorted by your sobs. Sherlock held you as you cried and tried to contain your shaking body against his as you let out months of sadness and pain and despair. You were so overwhelmed that you couldn’t think straight.

“I know, I know you do, and that’s why I couldn’t call. I couldn’t call for you.” He held onto you as he spoke like you would disappear. Sherlock had decided before he even stepped foot into the flat that he would not lose you again. In his time away from you, he was subjected to feelings he could only describe as both love and heartbreak in equal measure. Being apart from you had left him feeling a void that nothing could fill, but it was his love for you that he relied on to keep you safe and away from him.

Sherlock pulled back from you and while it was only by a few inches, you suddenly felt worlds away. You go to pull him back to you when he gathers your hands in his and leaves a trail of ghostly kisses along the spread of your knuckles.

“I have never begged for mercy in my life…” He murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. He was determined; that much you could tell. Your eyes widened as he lowered himself to one knee, and then two. “Until now. I have hurt you in ways that are beyond comprehensible. Please, grant me the mercy I do not deserve to explain myself. I am willing to bare myself before you if you’ll have me.”

You were in shock at the sight of Sherlock on his knees before you. You had heard him apologize maybe twice in your time of knowing him and here he was, begging for you to hear him out. All you could do is nod.

You expected him to stand up again, but he sat in place and looked up at you with so much love in his eyes that felt all the anger you were harboring dissipate under his gaze. He took a deep breath and prepared himself. If you were ever going to forgive him, he knew that he would have to be honest. And he knew that if he was going to be honest, he would have to admit the feelings he had for you and hope that he could express them in a way that you could understand.

“There were constantly people watching you, and John, and pretty much everyone else who held any value in my life,” he explained, rubbing his thumbs over your fingers as he spoke absentmindedly, “they knew you would be suffering, they counted on that. And if you weren’t, they’d know something was going on. Your suffering had to be real, or else it wouldn’t have been believable. I didn’t want to keep you in the dark. But I had no choice. When I faked my death, I had some help. I stayed with Molly here and there because she already knew, and my relationship with her is is…different for ours.” He paused.

You were hanging on every word he said. You could tell he was being sincere, and even though you were upset, you understood. If leaving Sherlock meant protecting him, you would do it too.

He cleared his throat and started again. “Molly was a safer option. They would have expected less of a reaction from her. And if things were to go wrong…” Trailing off, Sherlock squeezed your hands. You knew what he was trying to say, and you didn’t dare breathe. “You were not someone I could lose. It couldn’t have been you. So yes, I stayed with Molly, but I worked constantly to make it so that I could come home to you.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Sherlock,” you whimpered, pulling him to his feet by his collar and back to you where he belonged. He followed suit quickly like he was reading your mind.

For what seemed like the first time today, you were truly taking him in. He was just as beautiful as he was the day he left you. You reached up to brush away a stray curl from his eyes and smiled at the way he seemed to try and follow your touch.

There were so many things that you couldn’t be sure of, but this is something you’d always know to be true. You loved Sherlock, terribly, terribly, so. If loving him was the only purpose you ever found in this lifetime, you would be sure not to fail him.

You were lost in other when the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs drew your attention. Sherlock followed your gaze as you watched John enter the flat from the living room.

“Is everyone okay up here? There was a lot of yelling and then it got pretty quiet…” As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of you braced against the counter with a small amount of space between you and Sherlock that he must’ve recently graced you with because you could barely move before. His hands rested on your hips and your hands had found solace on his shoulders. John looked like a deer caught in headlights before he covered his eyes with his hands and made to walk back out, determined not to ruin the moment that all of London was waiting on.

“Fuck, I’m sorry! Don’t mind me, pretend I was never here!” He called out as he dashed back down the stairs so quickly you thought he had fallen and you were sure you heard him say to someone, “I told you so!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the whole situation and when you looked back at Sherlock, you realized he was already looking at you. Even after everything today, you still caught yourself feeling nervous under his heavy gaze.

“So, it’s okay when you stare but not when I do?” You teased, hoping that he couldn’t see the blush you could surely feel. Sherlock squinted his eyes at your comment as if he didn’t understand what you meant but gave you a devilish smile all the same.

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. “But you are confirming that you do stare at me, right?”

You were torn between smacking the smirk off his face or kissing it, whatever compelled you the most and right now it was a tie. Rolling your eyes, you brought your hands down to his arms and gave them a squeeze. Not even realizing you were thinking out loud, you whispered something about having déjà vu. This caught Sherlock’s attention, and he moved tiniest bit closer to you. “Déjà vu? How so?”

Cursing yourself under your breath, you laughed and dipped your head down between the two of you, laughing at how ridiculous all of this was. “Jeez, it’s been years now. I had the most realistic dream that’s stuck with me all this time.”

Sherlock tsked at you and moved to bring your head back up so that he could properly see your face. He cupped your cheeks and in the most familiar way and just like in the dream, you were breathless.

“Go on,” he urged, voice like velvet, “tell me what happened in your dream.”

You all but melted under his gaze. Sherlock, in any form, would always have this effect on you it seemed. His thumb brushed along your lower lip as his own parted. Physically he was with you, but mentally he was far away committing this memory to only a place he could see.

“Use your words. I’m paying raft attention, aren’t I?” Once again you thanked Mrs. Hudson and her choice in countertops because if it was any less sturdy you were sure you would collapse and bring him down with you. On second thought—

Any coherent thought was lost to you when Sherlock nosed your cheek, and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips or the words after.

“I told you I loved you, Sherlock. That’s what happened in the dream.” Your words were spoken so quickly in the effort to chase after his lips but he held you still, waiting and wanting in front of him.

You whined like a child. None of anything that happened today was fair to you, but one kiss and you would forgive all of London for keeping your detective’s secret.

“Well, I guess the only proper response to that is for me to tell you that I’ve loved you for ages, my dear girl.” He smiled against your skin and you thought that this was it. You had officially lost your last marble, and this was the delirium finally setting in. You welcomed the insanity happily.

“Say it again, please. I need to hear you say it again.” You begged, everything hitting you at all at once.

“I love you,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “I love you, and it’s only ever been you. It couldn’t be anyone else but you. You…didn’t you know that?” His eyebrows rose up and you stopped him in his tracks. That was Sherlock for “are you dumb?”

It was then that you decided you were done with talking before he had the chance to say anything smart. You pulled him down to you so quickly that you missed the shock that flashed in his eyes when your lips finally met. After years of yearning and pining for the man in front of you, you finally had him right where you wanted him. There were so many things you wanted to say to him, but no words would express how you truly felt about him and lucky for you, Sherlock was more of a hands-on learner.

When you finally broke apart, you got to admire the man of your every hour in all his glory. The mussed hair and kiss swollen lips really added to his already suave look and you couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. “You’re handsome. So handsome, seriously, it should really be a crime. I can finally tell you that without any shame.”

He returned your smile tenfold, and you thought if you could make his eyes crinkle like that just one more time in your life that it would be a life well lived. He acted as if he was mulling your statement over, rolling his bottom lip between teeth. “You could’ve mentioned it before. It might’ve helped me make my deductions much sooner.”

You slapped him on the shoulder but then worked on smoothing his shirt out while he watched you with a gentle fondness that he reserved just for you. You still had so many questions that you wanted answered but you knew those could wait. Something had been generous enough to answer your most asked prayer and you weren’t about to be ungrateful for even a second.

Placing one last (for now) kiss on his cheek, you led him to the door to the flat and swung it open. “Hey, has Mrs. Hudson seen you—”

As if on perfect cue, Mrs. Hudson shrieks so loudly that any bad memory you have of her yelling is now a good one.

“Sherlock!”

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peaceisadirtyword · 3 years

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Heathen V (Ivar/Edlynn)

A/N: Hello! I might have gotten a bit carried away with this(?) Sorry😅 I hope it’s not too boring though🥺 I was just going to rewrite the ending and suddenly... I had 1000 more words💀 anyway, I hope you like it!♥️ In this chapter I talk about norse mythology and christianity, and even if I’ve read about it (norse mythology, at least) I’m by no means an expert, so I had to consult some friends and people I know that are professionals. In any case, I’m sorry if I wrote anything wrong, please tell and forgive me.

Btw, thank you so much for your messages! I’m feeling better now🥰 I watched some videos of Alex and Marco and I calmed down a bit! I suppose I just need to relax a bit, it’s okay, but seriously thank you for your messages and for always being so understanding with me💞🙏🏻

Warnings: talk about religion, mentions of violence, war and all that sh1t... Ivar is too perfect I’d like to marry him but, unfortunately, I can't

Words: don’t hate me but there’s 5492 words under this... I hope it’s worth it (?)

Heathen Masterlist

gif belongs to @therealcalicali

For Edlynn, it was both scary and hypnotizing to see Ivar learning how to read. He seemed to understand things quickly and even if they didn't really have any materials for him to practice writing, Edlynn saw him carving letters on wood more than once, like he did with the runes. In a few days, Ivar could understand some parts of the books, even if he still needed help, and Edlynn remembered bitterly how much time it took for her to learn basic words and how many times the priest that taught her and her siblings scolded her.

In return, Ivar agreed to tell her a bit more about his culture. He talked about the Gods, even showed some runes to her, she asked him to show her their longships, and was amazed by the carvings and the designs. Sometimes, she'd ask him to translate some words from English to Norse, and soon became obsessed with his language, trying to memorize everything she could for when she went back home. Mildrith would love it.

"Can we go back to reading?" Ivar sighed, raising an eyebrow when Edlynn asked him to translate a few words more. He had spent the entire day with Hvitserk and was on a good mood, but he was also tired.

"Yes, sorry" she blushed a bit, realizing her eagerness was probably improper "Just one more, please"

Ivar nodded slowly. He found her excitement adorable, and he had to hold back a smile more than once when she tried to repeat some words with a soft voice.

"How do you say sun and moon?" she tilted her head, curiously "It's true that they are Gods for you?"

Mildrith had told her once that the northman she had been with had told her that they worshipped the sun and the moon, as if they were Saints or Gods. And, for some reason, Edlynn became obsessed with it.

"Those are two words" Ivar smirked "But they are Sól and Máni, and they are Gods, yes, but slightly different from the Aesir and the Vanir" he shrugged "It's a long story"

Edlynn waited a few more seconds, maybe expecting for him to keep telling the story.

"So the moon is a Goddess?"

Ivar hummed, nodding.

"She's a woman, sister to Sól, the sun" he shrugged.

"That makes sense" Edlynn bit her lip, interested "But, how can you say they are a man and a woman? They're not humans" she smiled softly, amused "They can't be man and woman"

"But they are" Ivar frowned "It's like that story of yours about the Virgin, I've heard that one before, how can you tell she was a virgin?" he shrugged.

"Because God chose her to carry his son, the one who would bring His word to us"

"You christians are too obsessed with virginity" Ivar rolled his eyes. Edlynn felt her cheeks burn, and cleared her throat.

"It's a sin not to be a virgin when you get married"

"Yes, I've heard a lot about those sins" Ivar nodded "And I still think it's ridiculous, why would your God demand that you deny the pleasure of having sex to yourselves?"

"It's an act of purity, of faith" Edlynn narrowed her eyes. She knew the northmen were much less... Traditional, with these things, and sometimes she felt somehow curious. It wasn't a topic that was very discussed at the court, and much less at home with her father... Once, Edlynn and Mildrith saw a couple on the stables and asked Hilda about it. The nun was so angry at them that she made them pray for hours, and then made them promise they wouldn't go around talking about it.

"It's stupid" Ivar shrugged "You would be much happier if you forgot about that"

The girl pressed her lips together, a bit bothered. Ivar's smirk showed he was trying to get a reaction from her, but Edlynn wouldn't start arguing.

"I didn't expect a heathen to understand it" she shrugged.

Ivar chuckled, shaking his head.

"I've spent maybe too much time around christians to understand many things, but I still believe your God is weak" he licked his lips "Compared to Odin and Thor, he's weak and demanding"

She ignored him, looking back at the books and parchments they were studying. Finally, Ivar stood up, making Edlynn raise her head as he walked over to the bed, and sat down to take his braces off. She watched as his fingers worked quickly on them, freeing his legs. When Ivar started taking his clothes, she stiffened, blushing again, and stood up to tidy the books and avoid looking at him. If she had looked, she would have seen Ivar's amused smile.

"The day and the night are also man and a woman" he continued, startling Edlynn. She turned to look at him, curious, but turned around when she realized he was shirtless "What? Are you also not allowed to look at me?"

"It's not proper" she muttered, looking down. During the nights she had been sharing his tent, she always slept with her back turned to him, and usually she would already be asleep when he went to bed.

"Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?"

Edlynn hesitated, but finally turned around. He was doing it to bother her, and wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it was working. The sight left her breathless. Ivar was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, but not only his face was beautiful; he was strong, she had already noticed it when he grabbed her for the first time. Edlynn tried her best to avoid staring at his beautiful hair, collected in braids and tied that fell down his back and shoulder.

"Dagr is the day, and he's the son of Nótt, the night, Odin gave each of them a chariot that they can ride on the sky... And two horses, Skinfaxi and Hrímfaxi" his own finger pointed at his chest, which was crossed by dark lines. Those strange drawings on his skin were normal among the northmen; she had seen those on their arms, necks, faces... It was weird but she had to bite her tongue more than once to avoid asking about them.

Ivar had also another one on his back. Edlynn couldn't see much, but from the few glimpses she had caught, it looked like a snake. The ones he showed now had an intricate pattern, and she frowned softly while looking at them.

"They don't look like horses"

That made Ivar chuckle, but he didn't say anything else as she approached him, her eyes still fixed on his chest. When she was close enough, she raised her hand slowly.

"Can I?"

Ivar tensed, but finally nodded softly. Edlynn didn't know what to expect when her fingers touched the dark ink, but was somewhat surprised by the feeling of his skin. It was warm and his muscles tensed under her touch when her finger roamed around his chest following the lines. It was hypnotizing, and she couldn't feel anything else that wasn't Ivar.

She found his necklace. It was always hidden under his clothes, so it caught her attention. The question was written all over her face when she looked at his eyes again.

"Mjölnir" he answered quietly "Thor's hammer"

Edlynn nodded. She had heard about that, and thought it would be something like the cross that hang from her own neck.

Finally, she moved her hand backwards, almost like she just realized what she was doing and was suddenly too shy to keep touching him. Ivar's eyes were still fixed on Edlynn as she turned around, getting away from him faster than he would have liked, and soon she was laying on her side of the bed, with her back turned to him and her body tense and stiff, not bothering to cover herself.

______________________________

Edlynn was amazed by the shieldmaidens. She had heard about them more than once, since she was a kid, and sometimes imagined herself with a sword when she watched her brother, Edward, train with their father. But when she said it once, during dinner, everyone turned to look at her with widened eyes. Both her father and her sister reprimanded her; the battlefield is no place for women, you're needed at home, praying and taking care of the children.

Since then, the thought hadn't crossed her mind again.

She also saw the two viking women training when they were staying with King Alfred. They moved gracefully, and easily defeated male warriors, it was entertaining and interesting to see, and Mildrith and her would always sit and watch her, but always under the stern gaze of their fathers. Once, the blonde woman she had often seen with Bishop Heahmund offered them to try. Edlynn remembered the soft smile and how she approached them. She was sure her face lightened up, but as soon as she opened her mouth, Lord Eldred was behind her, he gripped her shoulder with maybe too much force. His daughter wouldn't go near a sword, he had said sternly. And the viking woman sighed, shooting her a sad smile before leaving.

But in that camp, even with her wrists tied and three northmen around her, she was free to watch as much as she wanted.

There was a group of many women, training with her swords, axes and shields. They fought fiercely, but laughing and hugging each other, and Edlynn was amazed. She barely blinked and didn't know how much time she had been there watching them. The women didn't seem to care, and she felt more at ease around them than around the men.

But when she turned her head, startled by some other sounds coming from her right, something else caught her attention. The first thing she saw was Hvitserk dodging a dagger as he trained with another viking. She knew that dagger, and soon her eyes fixed on Ivar, who was leant on a tree and smirked softly. He had a horn on his hand, and his eyes shone as they only did when he was around his brother. Next to him, Edlynn saw some arrows and a wooden bow, an axe and another sword.

He hadn't seen her, and she stayed silent and still, watching. He was relaxed, laughing and had a playful smirk on his lips. In some way, he was even more handsome. Soon, he got tired of just watching and grabbed the bow and arrows, tensing it slowly. His gaze was fixed on the tree in front of him, and Edlynn couldn't help but stare at him as his whole body tensed. She remembered when her brother learnt archery, when his arms were always shaking. Ivar didn't move a single muscle until he shoot the arrow.

"Don't miss, brother, you have an audience" Hvitserk's voice startled both Ivar and Edlynn, and when his eyes finally landed on her, his expression changed. She wasn't able to point exactly what changed, but Ivar barely looked at her.

"See something you like, princess?"

Edlynn felt her cheeks burn, and pressed her lips together when she heard the guards and some other men chuckling behind her, refusing to let them see her. Ivar also smirked, leaning to grab another arrow.

"I was just watching" she muttered. Ivar looked amused when he turned his head to look at her.

"Want to try?" he pointed at the tree. Edlynn hesitated, knowing that grabbing a bow and shooting arrows wasn't proper. But then again... There was no one there to scold her, right? And probably, if King Alfred reached an agreement with them, she wouldn't have to see any of them again.

She nodded softly, feeling a strange rush of excitement like the ones she used to feel when she was little and did something that was strictly forbidden. Ivar nodded at the guards and they let her go after untying her wrists.

"I don't think you have done this before, am I right?"

Edlynn narrowed her eyes at him and snatched the bow from his hands, making him laugh. It was heavier than she ever thought, and nearly let it fall to the ground. But she could already imagine how much the men would laugh if she dropped the bow.

"Turn around" Ivar ordered, and Edlynn obeyed slowly, still hesitating and nervous because of all those pairs of eyes fixed on her, studying her every move. She wasn't a warrior, but a noble lady that lived in a castle, so her movements were clumsy and not graceful at all.

She startled and nearly jumped when Ivar's hands touched her waist.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, widening her eyes.

"Don't you want to learn?" Ivar shrugged, an innocent tone on his voice that Edlynn didn't believe.

His strong hands moved her effortlessly, and she tried not to blush even more when she felt Ivar's body closer to hers. She could even feel his breathing behind her neck.

Ivar worked in silence, making sure she was on the right position before taking a new arrow. Edlynn frowned when she tensed the bow and her arms started shaking, even if Ivar was the one that practically held it behind her.

"Stop shaking" he scolded her, and Edlynn could hear some chuckles around her. Some of the shieldmaidens had stopped training and came to watch. The saxon girl making a fool of herself, how amusing.

Ivar's closeness, his scent and his body practically wrapped around her weren't helping. Edlynn felt her heart beating faster and faster as his fingers touched hers to position them around the arrow.

"Now" he muttered into her ear when he was finally satisfied "Loose"

Edlynn tried her best to point at the tree, but the arrow flew next to it and got lost into one of the bushes.

Everyone laughed. She could even hear Ivar chuckling next to her ear, and her cheeks reddened again. She glared at them and scoffed.

"It's fine, you'll get better if you practice" Ivar had a smile on his lips, but Edlynn couldn't say if he was mocking her or actually being nice.

One of the northmen said something loudly in their language, making everyone laugh even harder. Ivar sighed and shook his head, but had that small smirk on his face.

Narrowing her eyes, Edlynn reached for another arrow, making everyone stop laughing and look at her with an eyebrow raised. Ivar had an even bigger smile on his face when she turned to look at him.

"I want to try again"

_______________________________

Mildrith was furious. She couldn't understand why they kept discussing God knows what in that tent when Edlynn was held as a prisoner in the enemies' camp. It was true that she was more calmed now that the scout came back and assured she was well and unharmed. Mildrith always knew her friend would survive; Edlynn was strong and smart, but she also knew they could have hurt her in many ways. Especially Ivar the Boneless.

She almost shivered when she thought about him. Mildrith had always wanted to see Ivar at least once, to see if what they said was true, but to be captured by him? Her mind had replayed every single story she had heard about that heathen from the women of York.

Even that young viking she had had a quick affair with had talked about him; he was the most letal of the sons of Ragnar, a monster.

And King Alfred knew it! He had met him more than once, he had been fighting in York after the Great Heathen Army killed both his grandfathers. How he had allowed them to keep Edlynn for so long was a mystery to her.

Hilda kept praying, kneeled at the feet of what one day was Edlynn's bed with a cross between her hands. Mildrith didn't understand what praying would do, God didn't help her before and it seemed he wouldn't help her now. She was also angry at Him.

More than once, she had wished she could use a sword so she could enter the northmen's camp and free her.

"Mildrith" the nun sighed. She had dark circles under her eyes and her voice sounded weak. Hilda had barely slept or ate since Edlynn, the little girl she had raised almost as if she was her own, had been taken. She prayed day and night, hoping she would be well and no one would hurt her in any way "Please, stop pacing around the tent, sit here with me and let's pray"

"I don't want to pray" the young, raven-haired girl, clenched her fists, glaring at her "I want them to get out of that tent and go find Edlynn"

"They can't do that" Hilda sighed, her trembling hands rubbing her own face "The king is doing everything he can, Mildrith, and you know it, he appreciates Edlynn a lot, but they're asking for a high price, and he must think about the rest of the country too"

Mildrith scoffed. She hated it, she hated politics, war and negotiations. She couldn't understand it. They were in their own country! They were stronger! Why couldn't they just raise a bigger army to go and free her?

"We have do something"

"We can't" the nun shook her head "You know we can't, we can only have faith and hope she will be returned to us soon"

The young girl sighed, sitting down on the bed. She didn't want to have faith nor pray, she wanted her friend back. Her only comfort was to know that Edlynn would have many stories to tell, when she came back.

___________________________________

"They're asking for all of that, for a young woman?"

Alfred raised his head, narrowing his eyes at the man who just spoke.

"They're not asking anything, my lord, they demand all of this" he explained, slowly "And Edlynn isn't just a young woman, she is a dear friend, the daughter of one of my most trusted advisors and the sister to one of the men that I trust with my life every day"

"They want gold" Lord Eldred sighed. He was pale and had lost weight, Alfred hadn't seen him sleep nor eat for days "A lot of gold... And land, more land?" he sounded desperate.

"Yes, but separated from the land I gave to Björn and Ubbe Ragnarsson" the king rubbed his face "They also want a truce, some time to settle on our lands"

"That's the part that worries me" Lord Eldred shook his head "Why do they want time to settle? Do I have to choose between my daughter's death and a possible invasion?"

"We don't know if they plan an invasion, my lord" Alfred shrugged "For now, I am trying to save your daughter's life before anything else"

"She must be so scared" her father rubbed his eyes "All alone, surrounded by barbarians, God knows what they are doing to her"

"Our scout assured she was unharmed, Lord Eldred, I believe him" the king softened his tone "Ivar won't hurt her for as long as we don't anger him"

"I will pay as much as I can" Lord Edmund spoke for the first time since the reunion started "To ensure my lady's safe return"

Her father looked at her with a sad smile.

"Thank you, my lord" Alfred nodded "The messenger is out there, ready to leave for their camp to give them our reply"

"What do you say, my king?" Queen Elsewith put a hand on his shoulder. Alfred took her hand softly and sighed, looking down at the table. For days, he had been thinking about his decision, trying to find the best solution for all of them. If he agreed, there would be consequences, Ivar would know he had an advantage, many of his lords wouldn't agree with him. If he refused, Edlynn would suffer things worse than death before her head was sent to them, he was nearly sure of that.

Edlynn was a good girl. Responsible, obedient and polite. They had played together when they were children, and he couldn't stop thinking that it was Elsewith whom they wanted. Would they have so many doubts about saving her or not if it had been his queen?

He sighed.

"I say we agree" he nodded "And that we will meet them in the forest to give them what they want in exchange for Lady Edlynn"

____________________________________

Ivar's arms hurt. It had been a while since he practiced so much archery, and the muscles of his back and arms were already sore when he retired to the tent. His face also hurt from laughing so much, and he didn't remember when was the last time he had laughed so much, probably it was when he was still with Igor. He couldn't help but smile softly remembering the kid he had learnt to love as if he was his own son.

Before entering the tent, he could hear Edlynn whispering some words in English. He supposed she'd be reading, as she used to do since he let her read the books freely. He had to wait outside to force himself to stop smiling like an idiot before entering.

Edlynn raised her head and smiled softly when he entered the tent. In part, it was because of her he had had so much fun that day, he never guessed that teaching archery to a saxon girl could be that entertaining.

She was also tired. Her arms hurt and she only wanted to get into bed and sleep, but at the same time every time she closed her eyes, with her head leant on the soft pillows and inhaled Ivar's scent her mind went back to his hands around her waist, his breath on her neck and the soft whispers with which he had guided her. She even remembered the small smile she had seen on his face when she had finally managed to struck the tree and her cheeks would redden. Now, seeing him entering the tent leant onto his crutch with clouded eyes from drinking so much mead, laughing with his brother and even letting himself take a nap next to the fire, made her heart beat faster again.

"How are you, princess?" the playful tone made her nearly sigh in relief. He was still in a good mood.

"Tired" she muttered "But fine, it was... Interesting, to use a bow"

Ivar hummed softly, sitting down on the bed as Edlynn closed the huge book she had on the bed, leaning to leave it on the floor, next to the bed, she kneeled behind him and watching him as he fiddled with the braces. She bit her lip, not knowing what to say but wanting to keep talking to him.

"The men were quite impressed with you" he said, not looking at her "A shame we don't have time, I'm sure we could turn you into a fine shieldmaiden"

Edlynn tried to hide her excited smile.

"Really?"

This time Ivar turned around a bit. His amazing eyes fixed on her curving lips before landing on her eyes.

"Yes, I think you have potential, it would be though, we'd have to work a lot with those little arms and small hands, but we could do something" he shrugged "But we can't, you're too eager to go back to your castle, your husband and your dresses"

Her smiled faded slowly as he turned away once again. It was true she really wanted to see and hug Mildrith, Hilda, Edward and her father, but at the same time, she didn't want to say goodbye to Ivar.

At first, she had been scared, even tried to run thinking those heathens would torture and kill her, remembering all those stories she had heard about the ruthless Ivar the Boneless. But that playful, blue-eyed northman that she had seen giggling with his brother, telling stories about his Gods and who had guided her until she had finally succeeded with the bow didn't look like the monster they described on their stories. It was almost human; a human with his own beliefs and ambitions that wasn't so different from all those men she had met in England.

"Lord Edmund is not..."

"Not your husband yet, I know, princess" he chuckled "But he will be soon, right? Even if I would advise you to reconsider that marriage, taking in consideration that he didn't came to this camp to cut my head off for taking his woman"

Edlynn chuckled. She knew Lord Edmund couldn't really make that decision, besides, she didn't expect him to risk his life for a woman he just met.

"I can't reconsider anything, actually" she smiled sadly "It wasn't my decision"

Ivar raised his eyebrows, nodding slowly. Then he moved to take off his clothes, and Edlynn looked away with her cheeks flushed.

"If I was your father, then, I wouldn't give my daughter to a man that wouldn't die for her"

"I can't ask him that" she smiled, his words warmed her heart "He barely knows me"

"Wouldn't you prefer to marry someone you loved?" Ivar got rid of his shirt, and Edlynn couldn't help but take a look of the dark lines of his back, shaped like a snake.

"I..." she frowned "I will learn to love him, he's... He's good, a good man, he's nice and handsome and... I'm lucky that he chose me, I know many women that had to marry old men that didn't treat them well... Also, I don't know anyone who married for love" she chuckled. With time, she convinced herself that love was built, not found. All those tales Hilda had told her when she was little were fantasy.

"I married for love" Ivar muttered, almost like he didn't mean for Edlynn to hear "I did love the woman I married"

She felt as if someone had kicked her chest. Suddenly, she stopped looking at him and felt stupid for even feeling sad about the fact that he had a wife. Of course he had a wife.

Ivar groaned as he laid on the bed, covering his legs with the furs and closing his eyes as he relaxed against the pillows.

"I didn't know you were married"

Ivar opened his eyes, looking up with what she could describe as a heartbroken expression.

"I was" he muttered "Some time ago"

Edlynn tilted her head with curiosity.

"What happened to her?" she almost felt bad for asking, but Ivar didn't seem to mind.

"She died" his jaw clenched "She betrayed me and she died"

"And... how was she?"

"She was... Beautiful" he almost smiled, and Edlynn bit her lip, looking down "She looked like Freyja, she was blonde and had blue eyes"

The opposite of me, she thought, and immediately felt stupid for even thinking it.

"She sounds pretty" she smiled softly, hating that sad look on his eyes. Ivar then turned his head to look at her, and blinked slowly, almost like he was realizing something.

"I've only loved three women in my life" he shrugged "And one of them was my mother"

His face contorted again, almost like it pained him to think about her.

"And who was the other one?"

Ivar's lips curved on a smile.

"The mother of my child" he muttered "She was a princess, like you, but she was mysterious while you are not" he chuckled. Edlynn glared at him, but ignored his comment once again.

"I'm not a princess, though"

"Because you don't want to" he shrugged "You could be a princess, even a queen, if you wanted to, you are pretty enough to conquer a king"

"Me?" Edlynn giggled, blushing softly "No, I don't think so"

"You would be a good queen" he insisted "You're strong and smart, you respect people" Ivar nodded.

"I still need to find a king" she shrugged "Still pretty impossible"

"Lord Edmund could be your king" Ivar pronounced her betrothed's name mockingly, as always.

"No" Edlynn shook her head "He's handsome, brave and good, but he couldn't be my king, nor my prince, I'd have to find another"

The intensity of Ivar's gaze burned her skin. Edlynn looked away, and moved to lay down and rest her head on the pillows, sticking to her side of the bed as she always did.

"I never knew my mother" she muttered, changing the topic before the tension on the tent escalated too much "She died not long after I was born... She was from Ireland, from a place called Dubh Linn, have you heard about it?"

Ivar nodded slowly. His people had raided that place more than once.

"So she wasn't a saxon?"

Edlynn shook her head.

"Her father brought her here when his lands were taken from him, trying to procure a good future for her and marry her to a lord, my father asked for her hand... At least, that's what they always told me" she shrugged "Father always said I have her hair, and that I look like her... I think that's why he didn't want to raise me when she died, I think it was painful for him... But I can't complain, Hilda is great" Edlynn groaned and rubbed her eyes when she realized she was talking a lot "Please, forgive me, I talk too much"

"No, it's fine" Ivar shook his head with a soft voice, he had turned to look at her, and he felt like he was looking at a goddess. Maybe it was the mead, maybe the exhaustion, but he couldn't help but move a bit closer to her.

"My mother died too" he added "She was killed" he clenched his fists in rage "She always cared for me, she always protected me, even when my father wasn't there" he had a small, sad smile on his lips as he remembered the, sometimes suffocating, love his mother had showed him "And I miss her everyday"

Edlynn nodded. Even if she didn't remember her mother, she also missed her. And in some way she wished she could have had such a relationship with her, maybe she would have been able to explain to her what was that thing she felt, laying down on a northmen's bed and looking at him closely.

"You and I aren't so different, then" she pointed out, smiling softly. Was it her or they were closer now?

"I suppose we are not" the thought seemed to amuse him "Even if we worship different Gods and speak different languages"

When Ivar turned his head again, Edlynn was so close he could feel her quick breathing on his lips. It was nearly as intoxicating as the mead he had drank.

Ivar's hand reached to caress her hair, making Edlynn shudder and gasp, almost like she realized what she was doing.

"Is it not... Inappropriate to be so close to a heathen, princess?" he teased a bit, enjoying the way her cheeks turned red once again.

"At this point..." she sighed, barely able to think about anything that wasn't Ivar "I don't really care"

That made him laugh and his grip on her hair tightened. Edlynn wasn't lying, she couldn't think about God or anything that weren't his blue eyes and his lips parted. Without even thinking about it, she leant in while closing her eyes, and didn't stop until she felt his warm lips against hers.

Edlynn had never kissed anyone, unlike Mildrith and some of the girls at the court, that were stolen a kiss or two in the stables or in a hidden corner of the castle. She never looked at the boys, too occupied with her books, her prayers and other important things. But she could understand now what the priests meant when they talked about temptation. Ivar's lips were addictive, better than anything she had ever tasted, and ignited something inside her that she couldn't recognize.

The kiss was slow, passionate but also shy. They stopped kissing for a moment, but she had barely opened her eyes when Ivar's hand cupped her neck, his thumb caressing her cheek softly before he leant in again. And Edlynn had to put her hand on his warm chest to balance herself, moving her lips against his and leaning more and more into him, feeling like she would die if she wasn’t as close to him as possible.

When they finally broke the kiss, none of them opened their eyes. Ivar was panting, one hand secured against her neck, to keep her lips close to his, and the other one had landed on her waist when she had leant into him almost straddling his waist, and his heart was beating so fast it was almost scary. Her forehead leant into his and Ivar sighed. It had been a long time since he had felt that warmth inside him.

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#ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #vikings #ivar x ofc #vikings imagine #heathen

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