ANGEL REYES x READER ⨟ PROMPT
Anon #1 asked: heyyyy, im so happy to see that you’re back, i missed u a lot❤️ i wanted to request 52 and 71 with angel reyes
@aquamento asked: hey hey miss arizaaaa i could i request prompt random 4 and prompt fluffy 73 with angel reyes?❤️
Anon #3 asked: just saw that you’re taking prompts again !!!!!!!! yaaaaay i wanted to request 58 & 65 with angel thank youuuuuuuuuuuuu💖
Prompts:
71. “Yuw butiful”. “Are you drunk?”
52. “Let me take care of you”.
73. “Want to share an ice cream?”
4. “Where the fuck is my shirt?”
58. “It’s cold, hold me”.
65. “Read for me, I love your voice”.
Word Count: 1.4k
Author comments: This work wasn't re-edited, so I'm sorry if you find grammar mistakes! I hope you all enjoy. Gif credits: @angels-reyes.
Tag list: @starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @destynelseclipsa @sheeshgivemeabreak @abbiesthings @knowles-morgan ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)
Someone starts to hit your door angrily and with some kind of desperation, using the palm of a hand and not the knuckles. Placing the bowl of ice cream on the table, you walk towards the entrance, unlocking the door to open it. Angel is there, staggering and carrying a bottle of tequila in his right hand. He smirks at you, brushing back his hair with the ringed fingers, resting his body against the frame.
“Yuw butiful”.
His voice sounds proud, pointing you with the right forefinger, about to let the bottle fall down but holding it up masterfully before spilling it to your feet.
“Ain't gonna be a cowboy anymo'”.
“You mean… a coward?”
“Ya', that's wha' I said. A cowboy”.
“Are you drunk?”
“Who knus, querrrida?” Angel hiccups, covering his lips with a fist for a second.
“Okay, big guy… Let me take care of you, ain't gonna let you drive back home”.
“Yu ma hom, mami”.
“Sure…” Rolling your eyes, you palm his back as he comes into the house.
After closing the door, you take out of his hands the tequila, leaving it over the auxiliary table in the hall. Then, you proceed to take off the kutte, until he grabs your wrists.
“Wo, mami, tak'it'slowwww… Guv me a kiss fir—first”.
“If you don' let me go, Angel, I'll kick your ass into a cold shower”.
“Da'ya like ma ass?”
“Do you want me to call Bishop?”
“NO, NO, NO, NO. SHHHHH… no”. He places a finger on your lips, pressing them to make you shut up.
“Good. Now, give me the kutte”. You demand pulling away his hand from your face.
He obeys like the good boy he really is. Then, he takes off his boots using his heels and supporting his body against the wall. Angel is drunk. Too drunk that he can't even speak well. And looks so funny and adorable trying to flirt with you. You are finding it too difficult not to tease him, when you watch him walking, stumbling over his own feet, to the sofa before falling down on it with a heavy sigh.
Raising up both eyebrows, containing a loud laugh, you come closer palming his back.
“Hey, make me some space… You're bigger than my sofa”.
“Da'ya wanna know wha mo es' bigge?”
“Fuck, no, Angel”. You can't help but break in laughs finally, sitting in a corner of it when he decides to rest his head on your lap.
“Wha ya wa doen?”
“Watching a movie. Want to share an ice cream?” You ask, taking the bowl with both hands.
“Wa flivo?”
“Pistachio”.
“Foc is tha?”
“Ok, try it”.
You offer him the spoon right to his mouth. He licks it, like a dog, before spitting it over his shirt with a disgusted sob. You laugh again while he complains and curses in a drunk spanish, until your neighbor hits your wall.
“Di ya col Bichop?”
“No, Angel. I didn't call Bishop”. You chuckle putting down the bowl over the floor to get up. “You look like a baby”.
“I can be whatava ya wan, mami”.
“Take off your shirt, before you… stain it all”.
“Ef ya wanna see ma nakid jast tell me”.
“Por Dios, stop talking, Angel”.
“Shot ma ap”.
“Yeah, I wish I could really shoot you right now”.
Having to help him, you undress the old Reyes, throwing down the shirt. And before you can press the play to continue with the movie, he grabs your arms to hug himself with them.
“It's cold, hold me”.
You try to get comfy by lying your body down under Angel's, and resting his back on your stomach. He has his eyes closed, with his callous hands touring your knees and your legs from top to bottom. You know how drunk he is, and you're not going to take any advantage, but you like him too much just to not feel anything right now. Your fingers do their work too, watching the film oblivious on the TV, stroking his bare chest with ephemeral caresses.
Under his warm skin you can feel his heart beating quietly, just like his breath. You're not sure if he's sleeping or if he's resting his mind, but he jumps a little between your arms when your phone dings.
“Wasap? Wha's tha'? Where the fuck is ma shirt?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ…” You're laughing again, bowing on the table to take your phone.
“Who is? Ya bofren? Lemme fack hem up”.
Angel begins to throw up some punches to the air, as if he was boxing, making you frown and wrinkle the nose. Bishop is asking you if Angel is there, because he spent the night telling them that he was going to propose to you. You're blushing so fast that even the drunk man notices it.
“Tall ya bofren to fack hem, am ya bofren now”.
“Is your jefe, asking for you”.
“Read da text. Read fo me, I luv ya voice”.
“No, Angel. You should sleep”.
“Bu here with ya”.
“Angel, you weigh a lot”.
“Da'ya wan—”.
“Fuck, no. Stop”. You laugh again, trying to get up while he clings onto your body like an octopus. “Angel, please… Let me go”.
“No…” He sobs once and again, grabbing you stronger. “I came wolken from da club, don' go, plez”.
“Oh, shit… Let me… lie a little comfy at least”.
And he does. Of course he does, after walking for almost one hour to your house, even if it is no more than ten minutes away. Molding your body to his, you turn off the TV, placing your head over a cushion. You fall asleep sooner than you thought you could do it, with Angel resting peacefully on your stomach.
But when your eyes open up again, he's not there anymore. Not even his boots. Not even his kutte. For a second you think that maybe it was a dream, but your shirt smells like him too much. You sigh heavily putting your gaze on the rooftop. He was so close. So close of asking you out that it hurts a little to know that he probably won't remember what happened.
The doorbell ringing pushes you back to reality, getting up from the sofa and having to stretch your back and arms, before starting to walk towards the hall. Somewhat upset you open it, having a flashback of last night. Angel is there again, holding two cardboard glasses of coffee and a small bag.
“I think I owe you an apology”. He's trying to not sound ashamed, but he looks too adorable to think about it.
“Yeah, maybe…”
“I shouldn't have come… drunk. I just…” He purses his lips wrapped in a bundle of nerves, offering you what seems to be breakfast.
“You just what?” You ask then, holding it and leaving him enough space to come in.
“I like you”.
“Should I say that I didn't notice it?” You're holding a sarcastic laugh in your throat, closing the door and leading your feet to the living room.
Angel shakes his head following you, until he's finally in front of you again.
“Listen… I don't know what I said last night, I don't know what I did. I just… woke up without my shirt and betwe—”.
“You spit my ice cream all over your shirt like a fucking five years old eating… baby food”.
“Oh, shit…”
Now, he's more ashamed. Angel covers his face with both hands, drowning there a growl. And you can't help but break in laughs shaking your head.
“Then you… begin to… punch the air 'cause you thought my boyfriend texted me. I don' know, maybe you were feeling like the fucking Conor McGregor”.
“Oh, shit…” He repeats, looking at you between his fingers. “I'm so fucking sorry, I swear”.
“Was a… curious night. I had so much fun”.
“Fuck, I swear I'm so sorry, (Y/N). I only... remember to tell Bishop that I wanted to propose to you”.
“Yeah, he texted me. I just hope you won't do it”.
“Wh—Wha—Why?”
“Angel, the only night we have spent together, you were drunk. I'm not gonna marry you”.
“Not now, but one day”.
“Ahm… yeah, Angel. Not now”.
“But you want to marry me”.
“Maybe. One day. But we can start for a date”.
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