#especially here in miami with this fucking humidity
Text
ICKIE'S MAY '24 BLURB WEEKEND !
pairing: lando norris x reader
song: talking body - tove lo
summary: jealous!lando & what he does to make you realize that maybe you are his.
warnings: 18+, talks of sex n alcohol consumption ! nothing super dramatic <3
notes: requested for my blurb weekend ! kinda strayed away from the request but ... hey it is what it isssss !
wanna join in on my blurb weekend !? click/tap here to learn more !
when will smith said 'party in the city where the heat is on' he really wasn't lying. the humidity combined with the body heat inside of the club had your hair frizzing, as well as your thighs sticking uncomfortably together as you walked aimlessly bumping into people that clearly weren't paying attention to their surroundings.
lips wrapped around the straw to your drink - a paloma - your eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a familliar face. well, most of the faces you were seeing were familiar ones, but there was someone in particular that you were looking for.
if you had asked any of the drivers, they'd gladly divulge in the gossip that is yours and lando's relationship. you two weren't together - far from it, actually... the two of you were constantly at each others necks, always finding something to argue about. but, on nights where it seemed everyone was keen on going out and partying, the two of you were attatched at the hip, almost exclusively leaving with each other. but then the two of you would be back at your usual antics. it was confusing, but it was definitely something that kept everyone entertained.
your arm reached out, letting out a laugh as you almost fell. "i'm so sorry!" you smiled up at the stranger before steadying yourself. you didn't know this man, he was probably one of the many influencers or the uber rich and famous that always seemed to show up to the miami grand prix.
"totally my bad," he flashed a smile. he was american - definitely not any of the people that you knew. "let me make it up for you with a dance?" before you could really think about it, you were on the dance floor, his hands over your hips as the two of you swayed to the beat of the song that was blasting through the club speakers.
feeling a pair of eyes searing into you, you looked up and locked eyes with a familiar pair of green eyes. lando was staring you down, a heat laced in his eyes as he looked you and the male over, which only egged you on as a smirk graced your features. you began to lay it on with the male, maybe a little too heavy. his hands were feeling up your body, your hands over his seemingly showing him where you wanted them.
your antics continued until the song ended, walking away from the male before he could try anything else. you eyed lando, batting your eyelashes at him as you finally walked up to him. "what? are you jealous?" you mused, head tilted to the side.
"no." his answer was simple, his teeth biting at his bottom lip as his eyes shamelessly looked you up and down. "i know that the only person here that is good enough to make you leave with them is me. i don't have any reason to be jealous." the brit smileed smugly, taking a sip from his glass.
"i wouldn't be so sure about that... mister american over there definitely had some game... maybe i was making a mistake by trying with europeans..?" you took his glass from his hand, finishing off his drink. "come dance with me?"
there was something about lando's hands on you, feeling you up, that could always get you going. especially when he was seemingly feeling possesive over you - which was new. but it was different when he began to whisper into your ear, musing about the things that he wished he could be doing to you.
"this dress is so tiny... all it would take is me hiking it up to be able to fuck you right here. is that why you wore it?"
"bet you don't even have any panties on, you're such a slut for me, aren't you?"
"trying to make me jealous? it worked didn't it?"
your breath hitched when his lips met your neck, before he spun you around so you were facing him his hands resting on your ass. "we're leaving, yeah? i believe i have a win to celebrate, and if there's anyone i want to celebrate it with... it's you." he whispered into your ear before grabbing at your wrist and tugging you with him.
who were you to tell him no?
#lando norris x you#lando norris fanfic#lando norris smut#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#f1 fluff#f1 imagines#f1 smut#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fic#ickie writes: blurbs !#blurb weekend - may '24
347 notes
·
View notes
Text
Miracle
Rating: M because Will curses like a truck driver.
Timeline: Post-MS IV (I know, I know. If you look closely, you can see my middle finger pointing directly at Chris Carter.)
Summary: Six times Dana Scully called Will a miracle and what that word really means.
Tagging @today-in-fic. This fic has been my pet project for the last two weeks and was interrupted repeatedly by the porn I’ve been writing. If you squint it can be read as the same universe as my other post-finale fics, namely Morning Hour, but that’s not really relevant.
‘Miracle’ is a dirty word, dirtier than ‘fuck’ used to be and much less versatile. When you work miracles, you set a precedent. You promise you can save people the next time.
Reading his own files in a government database, long-dead typists call Jackson Van de Kamp a miracle or a monster, savior of the world or bringer of the apocalypse. It’s a tired Superman story, and he’s read every possible ending in his childhood comic books.
He’s not the government’s mail-order Jesus, here to die for their fucked-up sins.
He can prove it, too. He didn’t forgive his murderers; he popped off their heads. And he didn’t die to absolve anyone of blame; he died for the very thing God didn’t want anyone to get ahold of—Knowledge. The Truth with capital T. He died because he taunted some chain-smoking bastard on a bridge. He didn’t mean to get shot, and he didn’t mean to come back to life.
* * * * * * *
The first time Dana calls him a miracle, Will leaves. He’s used to the word—which makes it worse but easier to hide. Still, he packs up his duffel and promises he’ll be back. He pretends it has nothing to do with them, everything to do with the itch of the road. It’s not her fault miracles make him sick.
He leaves them the adirondack chair. It’s a derelict piece of shit he picked up from some guy’s garage sale, but it’s his piece of shit. He hammered it back together, painted it the color of the Wyoming sky, and planted it in their yard. He hopes they take it as a sign that he’s making them his home, so he doesn’t have to say it out loud.
He drives South and lets the humidity suck him in. He picks a bucket of figs outside Inman, South Carolina with an ancient African American woman who embroidered the entire solar system into her jean jacket. She is an elm tree of a woman, engraved with all the wrinkles of ninety-two years. Then, he buys a bag of boiled peanuts and three honey-sticks from the ramshackle fuel station next to a railroad overgrown with kudzu. The attendant calls it a miracle that a customer has come ‘round. Then he tells Will that honeysuckle is free.
Southerners, he has noticed, toss around ‘miracles’ like they’re cheaper than cigarettes. He likes it.
Will crawls back to Virginia after a couple weeks spent on the road, where he wasted monsoon nights smoking his head away in the Everglades and keeping an eye on the unborn kid. He’s not an idiot; he knows it’s a high-risk pregnancy. If something goes wrong, he’ll know before Mulder and Dana do. He even knew it was a girl before they did, but he’s good at keeping his mouth shut.
He’ll be around for his sister, and they all know it. He’s attached to the kid, even if he tries to hide it. The baby is something untainted by his death count, his back-from-death count, his bloody miracles.
* * * * * * *
The second time Dana calls him a miracle, he lets it slide. Slip of the tongue, mumbled in between bites of croissant. He’s laughing for the first time in God knows how long, laughing his way through autumn.
Dana sits cross-legged in the grass, sipping tea. She sits in the grass a lot, he notices. Maybe it’s a side effect of being an ex-city-dweller, the way grass relaxes her and she shushes him to hear the cicadas. Will was always a trail-and-cliff kind of boy, raised in the shadow of Wyoming Rockies, but he can appreciate the rickety solitude of this home.
He pads barefoot through the dying lawn and sits down next to her. He’s been home for a week now, longer than last time. Tomorrow, he will shove two hoodies into a backpack and drive to the Appalachians. He will leave behind a companion to his adirondack and a bucket of pine-green paint. This time when he says ‘itch of the road,’ he means it. But for now, he holds up a paper bag from the bakery. “I brought croissants.”
Dana’s eyebrows shoot up; her face splits into a grin. “Thank you Will,” she says as he passes her the bag. The scent of melted chocolate wafts from its wrapping. She bites into the croissant with a contented sigh as he reaches into the bag for his own, butter and chocolate sticking to his fingers.
“You’re a miracle,” she says through a mouthful of buttery goodness.
Time stops.
Will doesn’t register it until he has swallowed. When he looks at her, she’s bright red, her eyes wide and all of a sudden younger than her face. He smiles as reassuringly as he can and lies back on the lawn. She didn’t mean it like that, and even if she did. It’s not her fault.
* * * * * * *
The third time doesn’t really count. Spring goes out with drums of thunder, and June bleeds into their lives. One morning, Dana cups a naked, watermelon-pink creature in the palm of her hand and stalks urgently across the patio.
“It’s a baby robin,” she informs him. It lies panting on a paper towel. Before he can protest, she slides it into his hands.
He must have startled at the sight of it, the intersection of hideous and adorable, because Dana apologizes for the lack of warning. Turns out it dropped from its nest, and she’s too short to reach the branch. He is pleasantly surprised by this side of her, the tender side that rescues birds and folds bandannas around her neck on sunny days.
Dana leads him to the birds’ nest, sitting seven feet up a tree and already brimming with hatchlings. An alarmed screech from a nearby tree alerts him to the mother robin. He cradles the baby bird in his hand, admiring it for a moment. But just before he lifts it to the nest, he hears—
thud-thud-thud-thud-thud, the newborn’s rapid heart rate strumming his eardrums. This again.
“Are you okay?” Dana watches him, her brows furrowed.
“Uh-huh,” he assures her. “Just got the bird’s heartbeat stuck in my head for a second.” He smacks his ear as if he’s caught water in it, and the sound fades.
“You can do that?” Amazement sparkles in her eyes. Also, he discerns, maternal pride.
“Yup.” He tries for nonchalant, ends up sheepish, scratching the back of his head and avoiding her eyes. Should he tell her? He studies her—tiny and wound up like a sharp violin, bearing an impressive collection of pantsuits and an even more impressive collection of scars. All taut muscle except where a small-for-now baby bump blossoms beneath her t-shirt.
“You know, I can hear the kid’s heartbeat too,” he says, gesturing to her stomach. He tries to ignore her quick intake of breath.
She stands up straighter, gaging how much he wants to tell her. “What does it sound like?”
“Like a metronome.” His short-term memory lobs Miami at him. He’s unsure why he tells her any of this, but he does. “When I was in Florida,” he muses, “I bought this shitty electric keyboard. The kind they have elementary school music classrooms, that takes like ten double A batteries and plays a bunch of out of tune instruments. I wanted a guitar but I didn’t know how to play one; plus, I thought it would be cute for the baby. Make a good first impression, y’know?”
He doesn’t give Dana a chance to respond. “Anyway, I was camping out in the everglades. Just… stretching out and sleeping in the trunk of the car. At night if it wasn’t raining, I would open the sun roof and look at the sky. And I tried to check up on you guys, in here.” He taps his forehead. “Came up with the heartbeat instead. Sometimes I tried to play the keyboard in time to it. I could play some tunes from Pirates of the Caribbean but not much else.”
A smile graces her lips. “You said you used to love those movies.”
“I did. That’s what the Everglades reminded me of,” he adds. Pirates, tropical marshes, the monsters that lurk in the deep. He remembers sitting on the roof, going through three different flavors of vape, scared to dangle his feet over the car because a gator had taken up residence beside it. He remembers watching the gator breathe, watching its slick, scaly back dry out in the heat, and its jaw hang wide open. He remembers finally climbing down the car and reaching out to touch it. His rational side was terrified it would snap, but he realized, somehow, that it wouldn’t. Not at him, at any rate. Maybe his alien blood is reptilian. Who knows. He’ll never forget what an alligator’s back feels like.
“What happened to the keyboard?”
“It broke. I tossed it before I came home.” He reaches into the bird’s nest and drops the little creature in. It mewls hungrily.
“Miracle of life from non-life,” says Dana. She gingerly touches his shoulder. He listens for the rhythmic creature unfolding in her womb. Life from non-life, skin from stones, cells from silence.
* * * * * * *
The fourth time Dana calls him a miracle, it is not Dana at all. Dana is inside, flipping three grilled cheese sandwiches while Mulder hoes a disheveled garden. A heat wave barreled violently into Virginia last week, and Dana won’t show her face outside at midday, especially since the baby made its presence clear.
Will pulls into the driveway with three bags of fertilizer and a greenhouse worth of seeds. He tucks his ice coffee in his elbow and unloads the dirt from his trunk. Already decorated in roots and silver dandelions, Mulder empties them messily into the turned dirt.
“Thanks, kiddo,” he says with a grin. A month ago, he might have rejected the nickname, but he’s trying to befriend Mulder. Bridge the gaps he already has with Dana by virtue of telepathy. It’s hard to hide from a woman who can read your mind.
“No problem.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and wanders over to the garden. “Anything I can do?”
“Can you blot out the sun?” Mulder chuckles, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Or, you know, work some human Miracle-Grow on these flowers?”
“Unfortunately,” Will says distractedly, “My talents don’t really extend to peaceable flower-growing. I don’t think that’s what the government had in mind when they cooked up my DNA.” He means it casually. He really does. The same way Mulder means ‘human Miracle-Grow,’ and he was going to let that one go.
Mulder stares at him with those regretful labrador eyes. Shit. One wrong step and he’s swimming in parental guilt. Dana knows why he took the first time. He wonders if she ever told Mulder, or if she let him believe it was wanderlust. Genetic, of course.
“It’s okay,” he assures Mulder. Will doesn’t want his parents’ teary remorse, but he accepts it. They’ve seen Hell, and that’s coming from the kid who’s blown up human heads. So he curbs his annoyance every time they hug him like he’s fine china and doubt him when he says he’ll stay.
“I’m sorry,” Mulder says, “that was insensitive.”
“Naw, it’s fine.” Casually, callously, that’s the only way Will knows how to talk about what he’s been through.
Silence thick with pollen. Mulder shakes sunflower seeds over a haphazard row.
“You were a miracle, you know. Scully wanted you more than anything.”
He knows this. He reads it like newsprint off her brain. And yet—
“I was a weapon,” Will says bluntly. Another comic book cliché to tack onto the list. Not like he’s counting or anything.
“No.” Mulder shakes his head, shoves the hoe into a fresh groove. “They tried to weaponize you, but you wouldn’t have it. Will, you’ve got a choice that Scully and I don’t have—you don’t have to be their experiment. It’s too late in the game for us; we’re old, and we served twenty-five years in the X-files, prodding and being prodded. But those men are dead now, and while the scars may never heal, you don’t have to let them open another wound. You are human, and you’re allowed to have a life. You’re only their weapon if you believe it.”
He says it so forcefully Will almost believes him. Maybe one day he will. Not yet. “I did kill people,” he reminds his father solemnly. He has inherited Mulder’s ability to suck out his own soul.
“It’ll haunt you, and it’s never okay, but sometimes that’s what it comes to.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I killed people. So did Scully.” He was dead when Mulder shot the smoking bastard. He wishes he had seen it for more reasons than one. “Just…” Mulder trails off. “Give yourself a chance. Give Scully a chance. You won’t regret it.”
He wonders if he’ll ever love someone as much as Mulder loves Dana. He wonders if he wants to love someone that much, to bear the everyday risk of losing them. He empties two bags of poppy seeds into the garden.
Mulder has returned to the open car. He lifts a shopping bag out of the trunk and peeks inside. “What’s this?”
“I found it with the sunflower seeds. They were on clearance.” Will shrugs, acts like he didn’t buy it thoughtfully.
The wooden windchimes clink when Mulder examines them—sleeves of birch wood dangling like spiders on a thread. At the top, a cardinal opens its beak to the sky. “It’s beautiful. Your moth—Scully will love this.”
Wisely, neither of them discuss the Freudian slip.
* * * * * * *
The fifth time Dana says it, they are sitting in the Adirondack chairs, watching the overdue baby struggle against her confines. He comes to rest somewhere between amazed and utterly creeped out at the sight of it, and it probably shows on his face. Things have begun to show on his face recently. Since he pulled his hair into a ponytail and let himself relax, he no longer resembles the drunken guitarist of an out-of-line undergrad rock band. That was how Mulder described the scraggly shape of him when he was on the run. Mulder recognized it in himself, maybe—trying to scare off his enemies, winds up scaring off everybody else.
Scully cocks an eyebrow at him. “You look slightly perturbed.”
“It’s a little freaky looking,” Will concedes, eyeing the bow and flex of her abdomen. Kid’ll be here any day now—tomorrow, he predicts, maybe the day after. His sixth sense will go fucking haywire the second Dana goes into labor.
“It feels even stranger than it looks,” she replies.
He settles into the chair, leaning his head on his hands and stretching his gangly legs in front of him. He listens. Songbirds, wind chimes, the desperate buzz of insects having sex before they die… his sister’s heartbeat thumping frantically against the side of his head. He half smiles.
“It’s miraculous, you know,” she murmurs. “Even if it looks and feels discomfiting, it’s still a miracle.” A weighty pause. “You’re a miracle too.”
This time, the weight of the word ‘miracle’ doesn’t make him ill. His whole life, a catalogue of unexplained events and Sunday mornings in the Presbyterian church, people called him a miracle. On the playground, he healed scraped knees, and kids called him a wizard.
Dana and Mulder, though—they don’t see him as a miracle of Biblical proportion, or a miracle of science, immaculately crafted for a destiny. To them, he’s a miracle of love. His birth is a transcription of amor omnia vincit, and his return is a testament to it. He is a miracle because he was born and because he is a person Dana Scully created with Fox Mulder in a tatty DC apartment. Not because he’s a gritty reboot of a Christ allegory.
He is okay with being this kind of miracle.
He hears a quiet, “oh…” and opens his eyes. Dana scrunches her eyebrows together and squeezes the arm of her chair. “Braxton-Hicks,” she explains. He takes her at her word the way Mulder doesn’t. (Mulder, who suspects the baby is coming every time she so much as grunts; Mulder, who couldn’t be there the three times his son came to life.)
“If she sticks around much longer,” mutters Dana as she shifts in the chair, “she’ll say her first words in the womb.”
“Tomorrow,” he promises. Immediately he regrets telling her, but she looked so uncomfortable just there. She reminded him of his neighbors in Wyoming, a dusty-haired lesbian couple who wore nothing but khakis and hiking boots. Their son must be three or four by now, but he remembers how Lilian taught him to repair his mountain bike in her last month of pregnancy, woeing incessantly about how she couldn’t ride her own. ‘If the baby doesn’t come tomorrow I’m going to lose my goddamn mind,’ she’d told him every day for a week.
Now, Dana gazes at him with ocean-wide eyes. “You know?”
He shrugs self-consciously. “Yeah.”
“How?”
“I dunno. Same way I do all the other shit, I guess.” He wiggles his fingers. “Galaxy magic.”
This time she laughs, and a little bubble of pride wells in him. He can make her laugh through her discomfort, a clear, beautiful sound. He loves her, his mother. She doesn’t feel quite like his mother, but he catches love for her like he caught it for his unborn sister. Or maybe she is something like his mother—not his mom, the titles ‘Mom and Dad’ will forever be reserved for the parents he grieves, and he’s still shaking the nagging guilt that he is somehow replacing them by loving Dana and Mulder.
Maybe this is the kind of love you feel for your parents when you’re thirty, or maybe it’s the kind of love you feel for a step parent who isn’t your mom but who does her best, asks how your day is going and offers what advice she can. Whatever it is, it is keen and familiar, and he clings to it like a lifeline on days the earth swallows him.
Mulder finds them laughing their asses off at the most beautiful sunset in months. Dana glances up at him with an ear-to-ear grin, one hand on her belly and one hand on Will’s shoulder. Weeping tears of laughter, they forget what cracked them up in the first place.
* * * * * * *
In his eighteen years on this bitch of an Earth, Will has worked two legitimate miracles:
Jerry Abernathy from his eighth grade Algebra class had an allergic reaction to a peanut butter cookie. Somehow, he survived without a single shot of the epi pen he’d left at home that morning.
Alice Mulder-Scully enters the world screaming. The volume of blood on nurses’ uniforms belies the healthy baby. Relieved, haggard doctors struggle to explain the mother’s strong heartbeat. Nothing to see here, tells the look on Will’s face as strangers pass him in the waiting room. He wipes a trickle of blood from his nose and downs an energy drink to stay awake.
* * * * * * *
The sixth time Dana calls him a miracle, he is sitting on the porch steps of the Virginia home. Alice’s baby feet kick his knees, and he grins as she struggles from his lap to crawl across the grass. Fireflies light up the gravel drive, flashing and dying, glowing with no particular pattern. They move like stars in space-time, as if he’s witnessing the lifespan of a galaxy in time lapse. Alice giggles as one blinks in front of her nose.
“Bug!” she screams happily.
“Yeah, kiddo, a lot of bugs.” A fox skittered across the property that morning, and Alice pointed at it and called it ‘Dada.’ Mulder was fake-insulted for hours.
Grinning down at her, he begins to rearrange the fireflies. To his behest, insects in mating season are shockingly tenacious, and it takes all his mental effort to control them. It’s worth it as they lazily swirl toward Alice, who bats at them and giggles uncontrollably.
“Bug! Bug!” she pops the word over and over again, snickering as one lands in her tufts of russet hair.
“I assume this is your doing?” Dana appears behind him, and he grins at her over his shoulder. The screen door smacks shut.
“She loves them.”
“More than her actual toys,” Dana snorts. She cocks her eyebrow at him, then lifts her phone and takes a picture. “I never liked fireflies.”
“Not even as a kid?”
“Well,” she chuckles, “maybe. But one of my first cases on the X files ruined them for me.”
“Seems like those files fucked you both over,” he replies.
“Someone had to do our job.” She sits down next to him and wraps her sweater tighter round her frame. “It took a lot from Mulder and I, but it brought us together. And when the ash settled, we gained two miracles.”
Watching Alice clumsily reach for glow worms, Dana wraps her arm around his shoulders. He lets her. Alice’s fireflies scatter and spiral into the stars.
#the x-files#txf fanfic#fox mulder#dana scully#msr fanfic#post ms iv#jackson van de kamp#william-centric#stupid midlife miracle baby#todayinfic
229 notes
·
View notes
Text
Blindspot
This small fic was inspired by the #greasykeith movement started by @baeyards.
Pairings: Keith/Lance
Word Count: 3004
When a cute boy with lots of piercings and the coolest jacket Keith has ever seen walks into the mechanic shop where Keith works, Keith is… really gay. And slightly confused by how friendly said boy seems to be.
Featuring Mechanic! Keith and Punk! Lance
(Sha/adins don’t interact!!)
Read on AO3 [Although reblogs are appreciated :) ]
The door of the lobby tinkles as someone walks in, bringing in a swoosh of heat from the outside and a burst of noise from the street outside. Keith, in the kitchenette attached to the lobby, ducks his head down and busies himself with the coffee. He briefly considers adding cream or sugar to the dark liquid, and then decides that he can’t be bothered.
He scurries out of the small room, weaving his way through the lobby. He catches a snippet of the conversation between the lady at the front desk and the man standing in front of it. Keith’s eyes flit to the side and he nods shortly at the lady (he’s pretty sure her name is Lilian). The guy, who’s currently leaning with his arms rested on the top of the desk, is slightly taller than Keith but looks to be around his age, and Keith frowns, because this means that he’s most likely here for some car repairs, and that means that he’ll be going to one of the other mechanics.
Keith goes through the lobby and the lounge and pushes past the door that leads into the actual garage. There, he is met with mechanical sounds of metal clanging and tools squeaking and scraping- all of which is familiar and comfortable to Keith. He sees Rolo, an older coworker of his (that Keith is pretty sure he had a crush on in the first few weeks of working here) with half of his body disappearing underneath a car, and Hunk, a coworker of Keith’s age who is pulling out the dents from a recently crashed SUV.
Keith goes over to Hunk.
“How close are you to being done?” he asks.
Hunk glances up at him and frowns slightly. “Half an hour, maybe? Why?”
“There’s this guy at the front desk,” Keith replies monotonously. “He’ll probably need one of you.”
Hunk is observant, and he’s probably known Keith long enough to detect the frustration in his voice. He clucks sympathetically, and then takes a look at the coffee in Keith’s hand. “That thing has no cream or sugar in it, I’m assuming.”
Keith shrugs, and takes a sip of it. Hunk makes a face.
“How,” he says, before turning back to his work.
Keith leans against the wall, not bothering Hunk as he works, but just lazing in his company. Sometimes Keith wishes that he had been hired as a car mechanic instead of a motorbike one- he knows how to work with cars pretty well- but Keith much prefers bikes to cars. Keith He barely scraped by his actual driving test in high school, and nearly got arrested the last time he tried to properly drive.
Customers that need bike repairs aren’t common as those who need car repairs, for understandable reasons. That leaves Keith, who always needed something to do with his hands, with a lot of impatient and jittery energy.
He bounces his leg up and down as he glances back into the lounge. The guy from before leans against the wall of the lounge. He’s dressed in a dark jacket, one of those with the body made of denim and sleeves made out of leather.
People don’t usually pull those off, Keith muses. The jacket is dotted with multiple pins, which Keith can’t describe from this distance, but what Keith can see are the multiple piercings that line his ears. Something akin to envy spikes up within Keith.
“Who’s that guy over there?” he says offhandedly. “He looks legit.”
Hunk’s head pops up from behind the car and his eyes follow Keith’s gaze over to the boy in the lounge. Inexplicably, Hunk barks out a laugh.
“Who? Lance?” he asks.
Keith looks back at Hunk with an expression in his eyes like Hunk just said that tomorrow the sun would turn green. “Who the fuck is Lance?”
“That guy over there.” Hunk ducks back down to the car but continues talking to Keith. “His name’s Lance.” Hunk pats the car and stands up. “He’s a friend of mine. You think he looks legit?”
“Well, I mean.” Keith isn’t sure why he feels flustered. “I like his piercings.”
Hunk clicks his tongue. “Yeah, you would, they’re cool. He has that whole aesthetic going for him, you two could get along. Although-” Hunk pauses, and he eyes Keith outfit. “Your clothes are…a bit less put together than him. And he thinks that fingerless gloves are tacky.”
Keith scowls at him but doesn’t argue. Someone calls his name from near the front building and Keith’s head whips up. The manager of the place stands there with a clipboard in his hands. Keith says bye to Hunk and walks off in that direction, eager for something to do.
“You have someone here for you,” the manager says when Keith approaches.
“For me?”
“Well, for his bike. We brought it out back, it’s a basic gas tank repair. He’s in the lounge right now. He’s Lance McClain.”
Keith’s heart jumps, and he wonders why. A gas tank repair isn’t the most interesting, but Keith is itching to use his hands for something. He nods and heads into the lounge.
The burst of cool air when he walks in is almost a relief to him. He rubs the back of his hand against his forehead, rather uselessly, in an attempt to wipe off the sweat, and then looks at Lance.
“Are you Lance?” he asks, even though he already knows.
Lance turns to him with an eyebrow raised. Keith (for some reason) counts exactly four piercings on each ear of his, each pair carrying a different set of earrings. The lowest hanging ones on his earlobes glinted silver, and Keith’s stomach dropped.
And then Keith notices the stud screwed through the right side of Lance’s lower lip. The realization vaguely feels like someone punching him in the stomach and then releasing butterflies.
Lance snaps his fingers just a bit away from Keith’s face. “Hello? You said my name.”
Keith winces, feeling his face flood with warmth. “I- yeah, sorry.”
Lance peers at him with eyes the colour of the ocean depths. “You good bro?”
“Yeah, I-” Keith fumbles over his words. He never was the best at talking to people, especially not with someone like Lance. “I like your piercings,” he says rather gruffly.
It wasn’t a lie- Keith is hot with envy- but Keith probably isn’t admitting the full truth, even to himself. (At least he’s self aware?)
“Oh.” The corner of Lance’s mouth curls up. “Cool, me too. You’re here to fix my bike.”
Keith clears his throat, quickly redirecting his mind back into business mode. “That’s right. What’s the issue with it?”
Lance lifts one hand up to scratch at the back of his neck, and Keith’s mind supplies, That’s so hot.
Shut up, Keith thinks in response.
“I kind of got into a crash, like, a week ago?” Lance scrunches his nose and Keith feels short of breath. “I punctured my gas tank, I think. I’m pretty sure.”
“Oh. Were you okay?” Keith asks automatically, glad that he can keep a semblance of politeness while his mind feels like it’s short-circuiting.
“Yeah, I just got a bit scraped up,” Lance says in a casual way that Keith can respect. “I haven’t even ridden my bike again.”
Keith nods. “Okay, we can… head to your bike then.”
They leave the building together and Keith tries not to be hyper-aware of Lance’s proximity to him. He scolds himself and tells the back of his mind that he’s being unprofessional and ridiculous.
He finds Lance’s bike pretty quicky since it’s the only one the garage. It’s sleek and looks pretty new, with a black and blue colour theme.
“Wow,” Keith says, legitimately impressed.
“It’s a Honda CB500,” Lance says with pride thrumming through his voice, as if Keith doesn’t have three motorcycle catalogs sitting on his desk at home as they speak. “It’s the 2017 model, too.”
“Nice,” Keith says.
“Thanks,” Lance says genuinely, and the sideways smile he gives Keith makes Keith’s heart want to jump out of his chest.
“I’m going to take a look at it.” Keith gestures towards the bike and he urges himself to get focused. Repairing motorcycles was something he was familiar with, and he shouldn’t let himself get distracted by some (admittedly cute) guy.
He wheels the motorcycle over to his station and starts to crank it up. He’s vaguely aware of Lance strolling up behind him. Keith forces himself not to glance over, and continues on with his work.
“So… do you have a bike?” Lance asks. Keith pauses for a moment in the middle of taking out the tools he needs from his toolbox.
“I don’t,” Keith answers. He goes on with the work; he doesn’t mind the attention, at least not from Lance, but it’s surprising to him that Lance would say anything. “I’m actually trying to save up for one right now. I’ve been interested in them since I was a kid.” That was the sole reason why Keith didn’t have more piercings or any tattoos right now; his desire to not have to walk to work in Miami’s heat and humidity was greater than his desire for an aesthetic, currently.
“Really?”
“I had, like, a collection of like 50 toy models when I was a kid,” Keith explains. His hands move, almost by instinct, over the different parts of the bike, making sure to handle everything with care.
Lance makes a noise that could be a laugh.
“What?” Keith asks.
“Nothing.” He hears Lance shift behind him. “Just. It’s different from my childhood, I guess. My siblings and I always played those make-believe games.”
Keith hums. By the time he was adopted, Keith’s own brother was already starting college, so he was never given a chance to do anything of that sort.
“Is that why you’re a mechanic?” Lance sounds curious, and Keith, for the life of him, doesn’t know why.
“Kind of.” Keith’s tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth as he concentrates- it’s an involuntary habit he developed, probably after a year of working with Hunk. “My older brother’s also a mechanical engineer and was interested in this stuff… I kind of learned from him, too. He’s getting his PhD this year,” Keith adds necessarily, feeling a warm glow of pride for Shiro.
“Cool, tell him congratulations for me.”
From anyone else, Keith thinks, that would have sounded sarcastic, but somehow Lance makes them seem like the most truthful words ever spoken. It’s an odd trait for someone that has spiked rings stuck in his ears.
“I will.” Then Keith frowns and sets his tools down, turning around on Lance. “Why are you talking to me?”
Lance blinks, clearly offended. “Excuse me?”
“That came out wrong.” Keith resists the urge to massage the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “I mean, you know, customers don’t usually talk to the mechanic while they wait.”
Luckily, Lance doesn’t seem to be angry (Keith usually has no qualms about riling someone up, but it seems unfair to do it so someone as uniquely nice as Lance). He reaches up and tugs at a stray piece of hair that peeks out from the front of his black beanie. Keith’s stomach does a flip.
“I don’t know,” he says, and he almost sounds sheepish. “I was just. Making conversation.”
“Oh.” Keith feels nonplussed. “Well, you can get coffee and lemonade in the lounge. And like, cookies.”
They stare at each other for a moment, and Keith is sure that neither of them have any clue what exactly is going on right now.
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Lance holds two fingers up like a salute, and then contorts his face into a look of half-embarrassment, half-confusion. He walks off, leaving Keith also half-embarrassed, half-confused.
With his distraction gone, Keith is able to throw himself fully into his work. He works swiftly but meticulously, and by the time he looks up and realizes that an hour has passed since the manager spoke to him, the gas tank is already fixed.
He sends a last, longing look towards the bike and then turns around and makes his way towards the lounge. His fingers are sticky with drying grease and dust, so he drags his fingers over the denim of his jeans, thankful that they’re black and will, for the most part, cover up the multiple stains he gets during the work day.
He actually breathes a sigh of relief as the air-conditioned air hits his skin, feeling the sweat on his skin cool instantly. The fans installed in the garage are literally never that useful during the peak of summer.
“Lance?” he asks, searching with his eyes for that friendly smirk. Keith hopes that he didn’t grow impatient and leave, or they would have to store the bike for him and it would be another hassle.
“I’m here!” says Lance’s voice, and he comes in through the door from the lobby. “I was having a chat with our lovely receptionist.”
Keith finds it a bit hard to swallow. “Right. I’m done with your bike.”
“Sweet.” Lance looks pleased, so that’s a bonus. “She’s all fixed up?”
“Good as new. They’re taking her to the front right now.” Keith tries for a smile, but he’s realizing that Lance will now leave forever, and for some absurd reason, that’s making him feel down.
“I can’t wait to ride her again,” Lance says mournfully. “It’s been a whole week.”
“I can see you’re attached to her,” Keith says, half-jokingly.
Lance smiles. “I named her Hermosa.”
“Nice,” Keith says, for lack of anything better to say.
“You know,” Lance says after a beat, lowering his ocean-blue gaze to meet Keith’s eyes. “If you’d be interested, I wouldn’t mind taking you on a ride one day.”
Keith’s brain isn’t able to comprehend Lance’s words. “Wait, what?”
Lance takes a step forwards, and the smile on his face transforms into (if Keith isn’t horribly, horribly mistaken) something that he could almost call flirtatious. “I mean, don’t think I didn’t notice that you’ve been flustered around me.”
Is Lance hitting on him? Is that what this is? There isn’t a possible way that Lance can actually be interested in Keith. Keith isn’t exactly the most appealing person in the world, as shown by his stained clothes and slightly matted hair and generally closed off personality. “I- wait, just- what?”
The confident looks falls off Lance’s face faster than Keith can blink. “Please tell me I’m reading that correctly. Holy shit, this is really fucking awkward if I’m not.”
Keith’s mind moves in fast forward, his thought process zipping forward to catch up with the situation that surrounds him. “No!” he splutters, taking a half-step forward. “No, I- I’m pretty sure you’re reading this exactly correctly.”
Lance’s face lights up, which makes Keith’s heart feel like it’s running a sprint in his chest. “Oh, really? I mean-” He clears his throat. “Yeah. Of course. I saw that.”
“I just didn’t assume that you would…” Keith’s voice is rather flimsy and he makes a vague gesture in an attempt to get his point across.
“Think I liked guys?” Lance grins, a whole wide smile with his white teeth showing, and his eyes crinkle up with something like amusement. He points to something on his vest and Keith follows the direction to a pin with the bisexual pride colours, resting over Lance’s heart next to a pin of the Cuban flag.
“Oh,” Keith says faintly. “Obviously I didn’t notice.”
Lance lets out a laugh that’s half a snort, half a giggle. Keith finds that it does inexplicable things to his heart. “Clearly.” His expression, looking nearly shy, and the change in demeanor gives Keith whiplash. “Do you think… maybe we could meet up something? To be clear, go out sometime.” He grins again and gives Keith a small wink of jest.
“Uh.” Keith coughs and curses himself for being so stilted. “Yeah. That’d be great.”
“Awesome.” Lance starts to speak so fast that Keith can barely catch what he’s saying. “I know this amazing Cuban bakery that we can go to. Actually, it’s owned by my aunt so I’m biased, but I promise you that the pastelitos de guayaba there are to die for. I’ll ride you there.” He whips out a Sharpie from his jeans pocket and grabs Keith’s hand, pulling him forward to scribble down a number on his skin. “Don’t forget to save the number before it rubs off.”
“I will,” Keith promises, feeling his cheeks warm up. It’s a good feeling, Keith decides.
“Cool.” Lance’s eyes are bright and Keith feels a faint rush in his chest and something like butterflies hatching in his stomach. “I gotta go pick up my bike, but I guess… I’ll see you around.”
“For sure,” Keith answers, and he tries to press down the oddly nice nervousness that bubbles in his stomach.
Lance squeezes Keith’s hand for a brief moment and then starts to walk away. Before he completely turns away, he looks back and Keith and gives him an impish grin and states, “I hope you plan on wearing cleaner clothes when we next meet.”
Keith glances down at his own grease-spotted shirt and looks back up at Lance, then rolls his eyes. “Yes, Lance, I do.”
Lance laughs, and to Keith it sounds like sunshine. “See you around, Mullet,” he says, and Keith is sure that he imagines the fondness that lies over the teasing nickname. Keith touches his own hair in mock offense and Lance shoots him a last smile before exiting the lounge.
Keith turns back to the garage and resists the urge to sigh like a lovestruck middle-schooler. Before he steps outside, he makes a mental reminder to save the number on his arm in his phone when he gets home, and when that thought brings a fluttery feeling to his stomach, Keith welcomes it.
#mmmm im so insecure about this but whatever here is the post!#voltron#voltron legendary defender#vld#klance#keith#lance#safeklance#mine#safekeith#safelance#my writing
293 notes
·
View notes
Text
it’s gameday!
I haven’t ventured outside yet to see what kind of hell Florida is inflicting on me today, but Miami is typically 5-10 degrees hotter than where I live so it’s not like it would tell me much.
I had this swank Cubs manicure kit but the fucking decals don’t show up on the colors included??? lmao that’s when I read the super-fine print: best on white nail polish. THEN WHY DID YOU GIVE ME RED AND BLUE, FOOLS. Anyway. My fingers are alternating red and blue which is festive enough.
I was going to wear my away blue Bryant jersey (which was a tough choice, because Rizzo > Bryant to me and I have a Rizzo home pinstripe), but the point became moot when I realized the roof would probably be open. Those unis are not especially light! “Cool base,” my fat ass. So instead we’re going with my favorite Cubbie tee: a pale blue 60′s style shirsey with CHICAGO across the front and the back? #10 Ron Santo. This shirt is lucky as fuck for me. I wore it during the 2015 Wild Card game AND during the 2016 Game 7. It’s a little ragged because I wear it all the time but A) I fucking love Ronnie, and B) it’s comfortable as HELL.
This is to be pared with the Cubs hat accented in gold and with a 2016 World Series patch, and dangling Cub logo earrings. I am decked out.
Mom and I are leaving mad early. It’s a three hour drive normally but I lived in Miami, yo. Friday traffic and also the traffic immediately around Marlins Park is HELL. Plus, we want to get there early for batting practice and for the Margaery Stoneman Douglas ceremony in the pregame. We’re gonna park and then find some place to eat around the park before the game because ain’t nobody here for a nine dollar hot dog.
We are seated in PRIME KILLER LINE DRIVE territory, fourth row field level a bit past first base, so we’re bringing a glove. I’m ridiculously excited about the possibility of impending injury and/or a heroic web gem catch. I’m a good catch, I used to play catch for hours every day as a kid.
Say a prayer that it’s not too hot or humid. I’ll try to share some pics while I’m there. :)
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Alright so I had a shit time getting home. Florida road work crews are always horrible but they seem to be especially horrible by my job. And I'm forgetful enough that I don't remember looking at the road crews this morning and saying I choose a different way to get home. PLUS there was some accident on the main road to get to my house so that was backed up. I got so fed up I did an illegal right turn from the left lane in front of a local PD officer. I'm living up to my damn name at this point. 😂🤣 Call the cops I don't give a f*ck for real.
So our ac unit is broken has been for at least 2 weeks now and it's satan's asshole hot outside. 85 degrees with humidity that makes my hair frizz as soon as I step out the door, it's lovely. The part for the ac is ordered and should be delivered tonight hopefully it just sucks.
Anyway! I was talking to Sparkles today just to check in and see how her and the girls were all doing. And she said it's about 45 degrees over by them (imagine my envy and jealousy from here haha) and that got me thinking to the Iguana story for a year or two ago.
Iguana Story:
So a year or 2 ago our winter months (january-february) got so low in the 50s that it was HUGE news. Like end of the world news. But they weren't so much talking about the weather on the news no. They were talking about the frozen iguanas in Miami that were falling out of the palm trees! Iguanas are cold blooded so they need the heat to stay alive and function and because the temperature dropped so drastically that the poor things frozen while they were snoozing in the palm trees and would fall out of the palm trees still frozen! And palm trees are fucking tall so there were reports of serious injuries by frozen iguanas.
Best part apparently iguana tails are delicacy in the Spanish community down there and they were capturing the frozen iguanas to take their tails. Well one genius ::sarcasm:: decided he was gonna capturing a whole of iguanas and put them in his car. While driving around they defrosted and sprang back to life and caused him to have a car accident!
That's my funny story for the day because traffic sucks and I need a personal chauffeur like yesterday.
0 notes
Text
HARD JUSTICE by April Hunt Blitz
Title: HARD JUSTICE
Author: April Hunt
Series: Alpha Security, #3
On Sale: August 29, 2017
Publisher: Forever
Mass Market: $7.99 USD
eBook: $5.99 USD
Audio: $21.98 USD
Add to Goodreads
As the first female operative at Alpha Security, Charlotte "Charlie" Sparks has her work cut out for her. Sure, she can wrestle a man to the ground and hit a target at 200 yards with the best of them. But sometimes, being surrounded by all that testosterone can drive a woman to distraction—especially when that distraction is six-and-a-half feet of cocky, confident, Alpha-trained muscle.
Ex-SEAL commander Vince Franklin has been on some of the most dangerous missions in the world. But pretending to be Charlie's fiancé on their latest assignment in Miami is his toughest challenge yet. Vince and Charlie are like oil and water; they just don't mix. And when their fake romance generates some all-too-real heat, Vince learns that Charlie is more than just arm candy. She's the real deal—and she's ready for some serious action.
EXCERPT
Vince slipped out of the truck just as she swung open her door. A group of college-aged boys turned the corner, one of whom immediately latched his lurid gaze onto Charlie’s toned legs.
“Hot damn, baby.” The kid whistled. His gaze flickered to Vince. “Why don’t you ditch the geriatric and come party with us?”
“Unless you want this geriatric to rip those lips off your face, keep walking,” Vince growled.
The kid and his friends laughed but kept going. At some point during the exchange, the pimply faced valet attendant extended his hand to Charlie.
“I got her. You get these.” Vince’s bark made the teen jump.
“Yes, sir.” The valet caught the keys Vince tossed his way and hustled over to the driver’s side.
Every inch of Charlie’s body brushed along Vince’s as he plucked her off her seat and set her back on her feet. The hair on his arms lifted as if he’d touched pure electricity, and in a way, he had. Charlie. A live wire. Jolting. Heat-inducing.
Her teeth trapped her bottom lip in a sexy nibble. Vince couldn’t help but glance down to her mouth, seeing that he wasn’t the only one overtaken by a sudden burst of awareness.
“If I’d been the one to offer my hand to you, you would’ve taken a hunk of flesh out of it with your teeth,” Vince half-joked.
She smoothed the front of his shirt, a coy smile dancing on her lips. “Not a hunk. Maybe just a little nibble.”
Sucking in a groan, Vince wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her away from the truck as another large group of college-aged kids stumbled past.
Charlie let out a strangled noise.
“What?” Vince looked at her, confused.
She bit the corner of her mouth, obviously trying to withhold laughter. “You and the look of excruciating pain plastered all over your face. You can’t tell me you’ve never prowled the bars looking for a good time.”
Vince steered them toward the entrance of the club’s outdoor patio. “Yeah, a million fucking years ago. And I didn’t have to prowl for anything. Good times always came to me.”
This time Charlie snorted with her chuckle, and the sound of it made his lips twitch. It was goddamned cute, though he would never admit it aloud and risk a punch to his kidneys.
“It’s a wonder headquarters hasn’t blown up from testosterone toxicity,” Charlie murmured as they stepped to the end of the club’s red-roped line.
The bouncer manning the entrance took a lazy-eyed stroll over Charlie’s body. “You two together?”
Vince cocked a glance to his arm, still wrapped snugly around her waist. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s too damn bad. But you both can go on in. And if your lady’s interested, there’s a bar-dancing competition sometime within the hour.” He eyed Charlie’s legs. “You’re a shoe-in for first fucking prize, sweetheart.”
Vince would’ve loved nothing more than to swipe the smirk off the bastard’s face, but Charlie intervened, threading her fingers through his, and thanked the man for the invite. The people in line grumbled their protests as the bouncer opened the gate and let them onto the club’s patio.
Miami Heat lured in a who’s who of the rich, famous, and privileged. Whereas the indoor section of the club catered to the couples dancing to the loud, theatrical pound of the music, the outdoor patio was a pool party on ’roids.
White Christmas lights wrapped every palm tree and, and as if Miami wasn’t hot enough, bamboo torches lit up the patio’s perimeter. Humidity didn’t seem to be keeping people away, because the line wrapped around the circular bar was three people deep, and growing.
“Don’t people have anything better to do than spend their money on overpriced booze?” Vince asked, inspecting the sea of drunk people.
Charlie lifted her brow. “In Miami? No. It’s all about twenty-dollar drinks and lots and lots of skin. You’re such a people person, Navy. It’s a wonder you don’t have an entire entourage surrounding you all hours of the day.”
“And you’re such the sparkling social gem, huh?” Vince said dryly. A pair of overly bronzed women skirted past, outrageously wearing less than Charlie. “I wasn’t the one who nearly made the pizza delivery boy cry because he mistakenly left behind my order of fried mushrooms.”
“No, but now I’m sure that Christopher will never forget them again. That’s the difference between us. I don’t see any point in hiding my displeasure, where you take the whole brooding in silence thing and turn it into an art form.”
“Some things can’t be changed by making a scene.”
Charlie turned toward him, the side of her breast brushing against his chest. “No, but sometimes it can make you feel a lot bloody better. Unleash the beast, Navy. Or at the very least, loosen the reins. You may be surprised at what happens.”
When he’d been with the SEAL teams, Vince wouldn’t have hesitated to let off a little steam—and without prompting. But both time and experience had taught him the error of his ways. He’d learned it at the end of his Navy career, had it drilled into his head working for bail enforcement, and now with Alpha, it had become almost second nature—except when Charlie was in close proximity. Then all those lessons flew out of his fucking head.
“You want to make ourselves visible?” Vince slipped his hand over her hip and veered her toward the dance floor. “Hope you can dance in those stilts.”
PREORDER THE BOOK HERE
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Books-A-Million
Google Play
iBooks
IndieBound
Kobo
THE ALPHA SECURITY SERIES
HEATED PURSUIT, #1
HOLDING FIRE, #2
HARD JUSTICE, #3
Series Page on Goodreads
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
April blames her incurable chocolate addiction on growing up in rural Pennsylvania, way too close to America's chocolate capital, Hershey. She now lives in Virginia with her college sweetheart husband, two young children, and a cat who thinks she's a human-dog hybrid. On those rare occasions she's not donning the cape of her children's personal chauffer, April's either planning, plotting, or writing about her next alpha hero and the woman he never knew he needed, but now can't live without.
Website
Facebook
Twitter
Instagram
Goodreads
FOLLOW FOREVER ONLINE
Website
Facebook
Twitter
Instagram
Pinterest
a Rafflecopter giveaway
FGMAMTC
Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents
Website / Facebook / Twitter / Google+ / Pinterest / Goodreads / Tumblr / Bloglovin' / Instagram
var addthis_config = {"data_track_addressbar":true};
0 notes
Text
Spring Break - 03/2016 - Section 34
My attendance in school had become a disaster. I was wondering if my teachers even thought about giving me a chance at redeeming myself after Spring Break. Since I hadn’t been attending, I wasn’t sure why I had gotten so excited for Spring Break. It felt like everyday was Spring Break.
I went to San Francisco on Friday. David was going to fly me to Miami and give me some money. I hadn’t seen him that much lately, but there was still a piece of me that still liked being spoiled. It helped with rent. It helped with cute clothes. The only thing it didn’t help with was the situation that I have with Gabriel.
The bus ride to San Francisco made me think a lot. It was the first time in a while that I had time to myself. (That’s nobody’s fault but my own.) I spend most of my days inviting people over, having kickbacks and drinking. Gabriel spent a lot of time at my house, and we talked about going out without everyone once in a while. He also didn’t think that I could do that sober. I acted like drinking wasn’t something that I heavily enjoyed. There was a part of me that wanted to have a sober date with Gabriel though. There was also a part of me that was scared to have a sober day with Gabriel. For some reason, that would make this all seem more real to me. I wasn’t sure what Gabriel and I was. I wasn’t sure what we were doing anymore. At first, it was just making out and being friends. I’d make out with other guys and so would he. We’d talk about all the hot guys in our lives. Slowly, that stopped happening. Now it was just making out, always being together. It was talking about him to my friends. It was missing him when I was riding this bus. I wanted to see how Spring Break went before I made any moves with him. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, which was something that I was pretty good at. I didn’t want to ruin the connection we have, because he’s been the one that kept me sane these last few months. He’s been the one that’s kept me happy and motivated.
Truth is, I was really starting to like him.
Which is why coming to San Francisco to meet up with David sometimes upset me. David was clingy, as fuck. As soon as I got in the car, he put his hands on my leg. He kept calling me master, and talking about how glad he was to have me in his life. He missed worshipping me. I played along, but it wasn’t as convincing as it usually was. David and I had grown a little distant - especially since Savannah moved in. David became a job, and if anyone knows me, they know that I don’t like working.
David took me to the salon to cut and dye my hair. I wanted to look cute in Miami. There were parts of me that didn’t want to give up what I have with David. It was easy for me to settle like this, living like a prince. I depended a lot on my good looks to get me into this situation, and I knew that I wasn’t going to be pretty forever. So why not use it while I can?
We made out a lot in bed. There were things that I didn’t like doing that much anymore. I used to actually kind of like having sex with him. I liked fucking. Sex was one of my favorite things to do. Now, even that felt like a chore. We used to play poker or cards, and talk about life. I think that was the only real connection I had with David. He understood how big and crazy my mind is. He knew that my mind wasn’t like most people in the world. He knew that I saw things in life differently than most people. I think it intrigued him that someone from my generation of people was so deep inside his pretty little head.
We didn’t really do that anymore either.
David always wanted to, but I spent most of the time ignoring him or writing him off. I couldn’t just keep doing this, regardless of how good it was. There was a part of me that felt guilty, because of how much I liked Gabriel now.
The night was quick and I was able to get on my plane in the morning. I acted nicer to David in the morning, especially knowing that I wouldn’t have to deal with him for a while. I was a little anxious about going to Florida. I was going to see Drew - literally my other half. She moved there for school last year, and it was just going to be amazing to catch up with her again. I needed some time with her. I needed to tell her about Gabriel and about school. Drew was pretty much a sister to me too. She knew me like the back of her hand. She knew when I was lying, or hiding something. Even though, she wouldn’t judge me for anything that came out of my mouth. She was my light.
I landed.
“That’s my best friend,” I said, running through the terminal when I saw her. All these people watched us, but that didn’t really bother me. Every single person deserves to have a friendship like we have. I felt bad for the poor souls that didn’t.
Miami was fucking hot. There was a difference between the heat in Fresno and Miami. Fresno was dry. Miami was humid as fuck. I felt the nasty air hit me the second that we got out of the airport.
Drew and I talked so much on the public transportation system. I was actually impressed with how fast she had adapted to Miami. We got to her house not that long after, and I put my backpack down. Everyone is always shocked that I can go on vacation and pack everything I need inside of my backpack. I used to couch surf, and I became good at figuring out what I needed for vacation or what I just wanted to bring.
It didn’t take long for me to fall in love with Miami. I could see the appeal of why Drew liked it here so much. Truthfully, if my parents had moved here instead of Venice, I probably wouldn’t have wanted to leave the second I turned eighteen. There were tons of hot guys, hot girls, hot cars.
Most importantly I was excited to get to South Beach. There was a few things that had been missing in my life lately. The beach was one of them, and the other was Drew.
You know when you have that friend, that you don’t have to see every day. The friend that talks on the phone with you for like three-four hours at a time. And even though, regardless of how far you live from each other, the second you’re back together it feels like nothing has ever changed.
That’s how I felt.
Drew has seen me at my absolute worst. She’s seen me at my best. She’s been there for me throughout everything that’s happened these last couple years. I honestly don’t even know if I would’ve made it without her.
I told her about Gabriel. I wanted her opinion on it, and I didn’t think that when I talked about it over the phone that she could see how much I liked him. I wanted her to see it now. The thing is, Gabriel isn’t my type. I mean, I usually like guys that look like I could break a diamond on their abs. I usually like guys that are taller than me. I tend to like guys that don’t have a job, or skills, or a clue on how to get by on life. That’s why I’ve been single for so long. I usually go for the wrong guys. That was one of the things that made me question what was going on with us. Gabriel was right - in every single way.
My dad always said that you shouldn’t date anyone unless they have a car, job and house. Gabriel had all three. The thing was though, I wasn’t ready to date. I was nowhere near ready in my mind. I didn’t have a job or a car. I was still a little immature. I didn’t know how to balance time with him and with school. I didn’t know how to turn down hanging out with my friends, so we could go on dates together. I felt like the second that I actually start going for Gabriel that he’ll see all of this. Even though, he has to already see it. I didn’t see what he saw in me. I mean, I know I’m good looking. I’m funny. But we were in two different worlds when it came to where we were in life.
But I was willing to try to get to where he was in life, because he was important to me.
Kyle got off work. Note, it’s the dude that she met on Tinder from when we were in Vegas. They’re still together. They live together. A lot has changed in a year. Kyle was one of the funniest guys that I knew. I actually grew super fond of him. I used to think that he wasn’t good enough for Drew, and honestly he probably isn’t. But he works his ass off to try to be good enough, and I respect him for it.
We went to this place that had a pool table and some games. They sold this drink that was supposed to be the next big thing, but I forgot the name already. So memorable. The drink itself tasted kind of gross, but the part that made me want to throw up was all the powder at the bottom of it. I felt like I was drinking sand.
We played some pool. I kept bragging to Drew about how great I had gotten, because of the pool table at my apartment. The weird thing was, at my apartment I was decent. Majority of the time, Katherine beat my ass but that was because she played a lot. They were her pool balls. Drew beat me every time. I felt like my soul was healing the more time that I was spending with Drew. Miami was fucking far from California. It sucks that we both are where we want to be, or should be, but they aren’t anywhere near each other.
The night was short, but there were more nights to come. I stayed up late talking to Drew. She was going to help me edit my novel, because my grammar is so bad. I’ve never been one to care about grammar. I don’t think that it makes you a better writer. I think it makes you a more structured writer. She went to bed, and I set there listening to the music I’ve been working on and got lost in my thoughts.
It’s only been a few days since I’ve seen Gabriel. I missed him a lot today, and I know that I was just going to miss him more this trip. Was I actually starting to get real feelings for him? Or did I just like the idea of someone being there? I never know anymore. I kind of wanted to ask him out when I got back though.
The following day, we ended up going to Amandas house. Amanda was one of Kyles friends. She was a typical Miami girl, in my opinion. She lived in a real nice house, and acted a little superficial. That was mostly the first time I had met her last summer. She wasn’t as superficial now though. Her and her boyfriend had broken up for the millionth time, but there was something about her that I didn’t see the first time. She acted human. She had real feelings, and a little more depth than I would’ve ever gave her credit for. I actually started to like her too. She told me about the book that she was writing. I honestly didn’t expect much from her, because of how shallow she seemed when I first met her. I saw her completely different tonight.
Zach, the ex-boyfriend, came over. I didn’t know why he was there, but it didn’t bother me that much. They started fighting about something, and took it outside. I didn’t see what Amanda saw in him. Zach was a nice guy to me, he never said anything rude. He always seemed respectful. Although, from social media Ive never known why they get back together. They’re bad for each other. All they do is fight. I just think they’re scared to date other people, because that means it’s really over between them. And they probably don’t think there is anyone else out there for them.
We ended up playing this card game, and talked all night after Zach left. I’ve never lived in Miami, but there was a part of me that felt like this place had some home to it. Maybe it was just the people that I had surrounded myself with. The only problem was that my access to liquor was at a zero for the most part. Kyle was a recovering alcoholic. He goes to AA. Whereas, Drew and I like to drink. Drew doesn’t drink as much as I do at all, which is probably why it was easy for her to not drink around Kyle. Kyle doesn’t mind it if we drink, but I feel weird asking a recovering alcoholic to buy me alcohol. There was something just weird about that.
The following day, Drew and I hit up South Beach. Miami held my heart right now. We walked past all these shops that had these huge fish bowl margaritas. I could feel my heart pounding faster as I kept seeing people down them. It was only one more month until I was legally allowed to buy alcohol. As exciting as that was, it wasn’t any good at this moment.
We talked a lot about our lives. Drew and I update each other constantly, so it wasn’t like we had anything new to share. I tell her everything so fast that it’s almost as if she was there when it happened.
I wanted to buy new clothes. I looked around at all the hot ass guys that filled the beach, and wondered why that hadn’t been me. I was never good looking in shorts, which is probably why I don’t ever buy them. I had pasty ass legs and I didn’t want to blind people with my paleness. Although, there was a part of me that wanted to see what I looked like in shorter shorts. The main thing was that most shorts I have go past my kneecaps. They don’t really fit my style or vibe that I have in the world. Maybe something a little shorter. A little more pale skin?
Drew took off her shoes not long after we were walking. She wanted to dress to impress. She wore these cute sandals that like wrapped around her feet and her legs. They looked pretty, but I didn’t think they’d be comfortable to walk in.
Drew and I shopped around. David was one of the reasons I was able to shop so much lately. I hadn’t had a job in fucking forever, so usually I had been broke. We killed more time until Kyle got off work. He finally did and then we all went back to the house to prepare for the night. We were going to go to Dave and Busters.
Amanda tagged along. I kind of liked her company more, because Drew and Kyle were extremely couple-like. I liked seeing how happy that she was lately though. Drew has had some shitty boyfriends, and they haven’t done anything good for her. She’s been through shit because of them. It was nice to see someone that genuinely made her happy, and I didn’t think that he was going to hurt her. I’ve never been to Dave and Busters. I realized how much I fucking loved it though as soon as I got there. I was playing arcade games, and making jokes with Drew. I loved to hear her laugh, it was one of my favorite sounds.
On the fourth day, we went to dinner with Amanda and Zach tagged along too. Amanda and Zach confused me, but I tried to stay out of it. These people weren’t really apart of my life anyway, they were just friends of my friends. Also their dramatic relationship was too much for me to handle. I sat and listened to them all talk. It was weird. I felt like I was a little on the outside. Sometimes I thought that Kyle and his friends looked at me in a negative way. I wasn’t from Miami. My parents weren’t rich people. The thing was though, I didn’t need their approval. I didn’t need anyone to accept me. I’m the way I am, and fuck anyone who thinks I should be any different.
Although, I didn’t think Kyle thought like that. Kyle was always nice to me. He jokes around with me. I think he’s also probably used to feeling on the outside with how close Drew and I are. I don’t think he realizes that I feel the same way about how close they are now. At night, we were all sitting at the apartment. I was watching them play fight with each other. I could see the look in his eyes to Drew that he loved her a lot. I could tell by the way that they joke around with each other that this relationship got serious, like real serious.
Watching them made me kind of want a relationship. There were things that I see people do that make me think “You know what, I’m ready to date someone. I’m ready to be serious about someone.” But then, I see things and I’m reminded that being single is nice for me right now. I’m still trying to figure myself out. I don’t want a repeat of what happened with Taylor. I didn’t want to drag someone into all my shit, while I try to figure myself out, and push them away until they never come back. Sometimes I still regret getting back with Taylor so many times, because maybe she’d still be in my life. Even if it is just as friends.
I thought about Gabriel all night again. We were texting all the time I was gone, but it wasn’t the same. I missed his hugs. I missed his voice. I missed his crazy ass laugh and all the jokes that he makes.
“I didn’t think I was going to miss you this much,”I texted him. He replied pretty much the same thing, and we talked about what that means. I just wanted to ask straight up what he wanted to happen with this. Did he want to date? Did he want to keep seeing where we got without pushing anything? Did he want to not date, because I was so immature and reckless still? Did he trust me enough to even date me? Did I trust myself to even date someone?
So many fucking questions constantly running through my head. So many insecurities that I can’t distract myself from. I know that I’m attractive, and I’ve built my confidence just off that. When it comes to personality and being an actual person with actual feelings, that part scared me. I never have felt like I was good enough.
Drew and I went to Venice the next day. She was going to see her parents, and I was going to see some of my old friends and my grandparents. My grandparents took me out to dinner.
My grandparents and I are a little distant. I know that they loved me unconditionally, but at times I felt like I didn’t know how to talk to them. I used to be pretty okay with my words, and acting more mature around them. I didn’t want them to know that I spent most of my nights drinking cheap vodka, smoking blunts and snorting the occasional twenty lines of cocaine. They didn’t need to know that. I wanted them to know about my novel, my work (even if I have to make something up.) I wanted them to tell me how proud they were of me, and that they were proud to be my grandparents. Sometimes I feel like I make it hard for them to be proud.
The dinner was nice. I felt so warm sitting with them. It was almost surreal, like I was dreaming. I hadn’t seen them in so long, and I wasn’t sure when I was going to see them again. I had to cherish every single moment I could with them right now. I ate slow, making jokes with Grandpa. I let them update me on their lives. It’s been almost a whole year since I’ve seen them, and a year makes a huge difference.
The dinner was over, and I was glad that I could spend some time with them. They dropped me off at my friend Angie’s house. I didn’t want to eat as much food as I did, because I knew that I was going to be chugging beers tonight. It didn’t take long for that to happen either. Angie ran out and hugged me. There were a few people at her house. Most people were excited to see me, some people didn’t even know I’ve been gone. We ended up going to this little kickback thing. I didn’t know what happened to me, but I got fucking trashed.
I was standing by the fire, realizing that I was about to pass out. I wasn’t sure if it was from all the weed, from the makers mark, or from the heat of the fire. It was probably a mixture of everything.
Angie asked why I was sitting down, and I forced myself to get up. I started swinging on this tire swing, and made myself feel better. Angie and I were good friends. She was one of the few people that I tell things to and not feel judged. She saw me get drunk for the first time, it was at her house. I ended up taking a bunch of selfies with everyone, called myself Jenny and passed out on the floor.
It was a success in my eyes.
I missed Angie a lot. I missed talking to her, and her jokes. She has me laughing all the time. So, I was really happy to spend tonight with her.
We got back to the house later that night and we all drank more. I loved drinking, and I hadn’t been getting my alcohol fix that much since I’ve been in Florida. So, with that being said, I got drunk fast.
Drew picked me up in the morning. She told me that I smell like an ashtray and liquor. She guessed the scent correctly. We went back to her house for a bit, and then got ready to drive back to Miami. I didn’t know why we were only here for a day, but I was fine with it. I didn’t like spending that much time in Venice. I only wanted to see my friends and then get the fuck out.
My last night of Miami was us going to the fair. Amanda went with us. Kyle and I rode this ride that took us up hella high into the clouds above us. It flipped us, dropped us, and made me scream a little. I loved rides that made me feel like at any given second this was my last breath. It was adrenaline, and maybe a little unhealthy feeling to be obsessed with. The night was short, but amazing. I didn’t really want to leave yet, but as the clock struck midnight. I knew that it was time to go.
They dropped me off at the airport. I hugged them all goodbye, even Amanda. (Also, I’m a hugger, so it doesn’t really matter.) I told Drew that I was going to miss her so much and that we need to fly to each other more often. I needed it to be honest.
Spring Break 2016 was beautiful.
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
