#this took me SO FUCKING LONG. its for my portfolio and its the only good this i have :] im so fucked
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M. .. Miku.....
#this took me SO FUCKING LONG. its for my portfolio and its the only good this i have :] im so fucked#uh anyways. i actually really like how this turned out??? that like. never happens.#hatsune miku#miku#get a rope to hang my art with#artists on tumblr#art#vocaloid#? yeah sure that tag why not
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I don't know much about you as a person, but from what I can gather you've had a long journey with art, but still have the motivation to continue even when its rough. I'm sure you didn't start out making masterpieces, so if its not too much trouble, do you have any advice for a 16 year old artist losing motivation? i feel like im stagnating right now and its awful
Idk man, all I can say is, draw watchu want without the care who's gonna see it or what they gonna say , commit to new ideas and care less about pleasing everyone, because I know that way too well, I started learning by drawing animals, flowers and nature, "you should draw something else", switches to furries " No you must do human portraits", draws humans *no one fuckin cares*, and I felt miserable drawing what I didn't want all the damn time just trying to please everyone and be liked, hell, I still do that sometimes cuz I'm a dumbass. When in reality, when you do your own thing is when you're the happiest, this internet bullshit? Yeah don't trust the likes and favs, people like what they find relatable, no one really knows how much time you've spent on your drawing or how much you love it, when a 5 min doodle you did could do more than a painting that took 2 whole days to complete just to be scrapped in a new speedy record, paint what you love for yourself and you only.
Don't be shy to learn new things, I have tons of stuff I don't post here cuz I know people wouldn't care about it, but here for this post, have this that I practiced when I felt too depressed to think of anything good and wanted to step back from the MD artstyle
You'll see, you'll thrive when you draw what you want, and get yourself a drawing buddy! That way you'll stop focusing on the internet and more on each other, and each other's improvement. Tbh I struggled with that one. Since everyone I had were not into art irl, I somehow managed to find someone after 10 years of drawing alone. I honestly wanted more people to join in and make an improvement circle, but unfortunately that never happened.
I found myself twice as productive now than ever, even though I'm not active here as much I am still drawing and making things, ofc giving you more comics! And other fun things in the future I hope.
If you're struggling to draw something just do it, man commit, i was uncomfortable drawing men and male characters for years, I've wasted so many years being "too uncomfortable" and draw a naked person like yeesh who fucking cares, it's for studying.
And ofc if you feel like you're not improving at all please, please experiment with your artstyle and try something new, please refresh your mind, I was stuck for years doing the same thing over and over, same colors, same 2px brush, drawing like a machine same shit over and over, I felt so stuck and lost, but also afraid to do something new, idk why, I guess I never felt good enough or deserving of it. I also didn't go to art school, I am NOT a professional, nor will i ever be in my opinion. Hell, me feeling like I'll never be good enough left me afraid to try and apply for art school, they were asking for sculptures, different mediums all that scary stuff and I was like, I don't.. know.. how to do those things... I can't build a portfolio in less than 3 months?!?! I don't even know how to use half of what they're asking for!!
In reality at the end of the day, art is what you make of it and no one can stop you, search for inspirations and don't be afraid to try, yes you'll fail fist 2 or 10 or hell even 100 times, but you'll come back with more knowledge than ever.
For ending I give you the most confusing drawing to ever exist [dw he's just sleeping on top of her and she's just ghasping for air but awe romance or sum lol] is it weird? Yeah but I had a fun time making it hahaha
Idk I'm bad at putting my thoughts together, but hopefully some of this helps.
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How do you stay motivated to do dailies? I really admire your dedication to these funky fresh cats. I've tried doing my own dailies (drawing, writing etc), but always lose steam about a week in. Was there a point when it became second nature, and just fit really easily into your routine? Or is it always going to be a bit of an uphill battle?
my big rule is that it doesn't have to be "good." that was the first and still the most important rule. some days i have the willpower to get out my tablet! some days i have my mouse! and some days i just wiggle my finger in the shape of a cat on my laptop's trackpad, slap some random thought i had onto it, and hit that post button. doesn't have to be perfect. doesn't have to be a work of art. could look like complete shit. just has to be a cat.
like this guy? very low effort! i had a headache that evening after doing a bunch of things i needed to do, and was like "ah fuck i still gotta do today's catcrumb". this took me thirty seconds. but that was that day.
something that has also helped me a lot is making my rule "one per day", not "once per day". after drawing the one i posted tonight, i drew two more doodles that are gonna be tomorrow's and the day after that's catcrumbs. so i don't have to draw for the next day and a half! the queue function is one of the big reasons i really enjoy tumblr as a platform. (the queue, tags as undervoice, tags for archival purposes, easy chronological and sortable archive/portfolio, and the anonymity. not to mention the vibes. also ive been here for over a decade and can't leave)
also, i use mspaint because it has a limited toolset, so it's just less overwhelming and not as daunting as the beefier art program i have for other art. if i had to open up clip studio paint every day....... i would not have lasted two years lmao.
and tbh the limited toolset has made me feel freer to try new things! like with color! when i was drawing mostly in Digital Art Programs and the edges of school papers i rarely ever got to coloring because i would spend so long on the lines. but with mspaint i draw with the pixel-pencil so it's easier to use the fill tool. this is one of my first little "landscapes" :) i drew it in february 2020. i still think about it a lot!
(also, i've found that the landscapes, which i spend more time and effort on, get less of a response than the scribbly ones. which i'm not bothered by, because 1. it makes me feel less pressured to do the big labors of love 2. it makes me feel unashamed when i only have energy for a quick scribble 3. my loved ones adore my little landscapes, and that's more important to me than Number Goes Up. but also it's fun to see the number go up in response to my scribble. it's a win/win.)
and finally there's accountability. i have a very firm rule with myself that i draw for ME, and my followers are a side effect/bonus of me posting it publicly. i do not create for an audience. to quote:
The difference between an inner-directed process of discovery and a kind of outer-directed pseudo-creativity that in its pursuit of attention gets overwhelmed by desperation.
but that doesn't mean that attention doesn't matter to me. i would not have gotten as far as i did if i hadn't shown my art to my friends/mutuals and gotten very sweet responses from them. that was what made catcrumb happen: the people who i know, am close to, and whose kindness is personal to me. i adore and appreciate the kindness of strangers! but it has to come in second to the kindness of friends, because otherwise you will go crazy. i'm pretty lucky that i have the sort of homebody personality that has little interest in strangers, which helps my brain not get rotted by clout.
so i showed my art to my friends, i got encouragement, they thought i was funny, i kept going, because i liked amusing myself and my friends with my little drawings. and then the snowball went further down the hill, etc etc. nowadays my main motivator is that i told my mom about catcrumb and she would definitely say something if i didn't post. sometimes just knowing that someone would notice is enough.
i hope this is useful. i am a person with a couple of brain problems that have made me debilitatingly incapable of forming and maintaining habits my entire life, so i'm honestly shocked that ive managed to keep a daily habit going for two years! ive never managed anything like that before! maybe because it doesn't Matter. i don't do catcrumb for money - ive thought about a patreon, but i couldn't do it. my executive dysfunction is too powerful, and catcrumb has always been about being the teeniest task to execute.
and it makes me smile. i like drawing little cats sitting around smiling or yelling or holding an object. :~)
tl;dr keep the bar as close to the ground as you possibly can
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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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Their Alright... For A Boomer
Masterlist
Summary: Being a girl with a larger chest always got you attention, maybe having your nipples pierced to try and fell more confident handt been the best idea, but how can you regret it when your latest client; the sexy Mr Cavill was ogling them but could this end up being more then just that one time you were eyed by a hot celebrity?
Warnings: Suggestive, No Smut, Fluffy? Cute and funny, Swearing
A/N: this was a request from @fanficlover91 i hope you like this hun, i tried to keep it hot but sweet and respectful? Which was a struggle but i hope i got the vibe you wanted. And as always i hope you all enjoy.
Taglist: In Reblogs.
You blushed as you looked down the lense at your model. He smirked sweeping his eyes over you non to subtly. You could feel the blues penetrating you with a hot stare. The was the distinctive fast clicks on you camera snapping a burst of shots managing to capture his smirking face and eyes sweeping over your form appreciatively.
You stood tall and smiled pulling away double checking the shoots. You bit your lip. Fucking hell this was both the best and worst job you had. Henry Cavill was the most enticing male you'd ever had the pleasure to photograph. He didn't even have a good side, every side was good! There wasn't an unflattering angle on the man!
"And that's a wrap? I think we have everything we need Mr Cavill" you said professionally making to move away from him and begin to swap sd cards and label them before packing away. Henry gawfed and rose quickly panicked almost.
"I- err no! Wait I was... Well hoping that I could have some more done?" he said chaseing you across the small studio you could hear his agent Leah scoff from the side lines. You frowned and looked to her nervously. The woman had been watching and tutting, scoffing and clicking her tongue through the whole session. It actually made you nervous, wasn't she pleased with the shoot? You were worried, being freelance this was your first time doing a celebrity shoot for a magazine but the usual photographer was in hospital having a stroke a few days prior and you were the only free photographer in the agency that was close enough to take the job. Sure you wasn't well known but still it was a little disheartening to have someone seemingly unimpressed with your work.
But it was when you eyed her you saw she wasn't giving you the evil eye. Her frown was directed at henry, a scolding look you'd give a misbehaving child. You frowned a little puzzled, but shook it off in favour of looking to Henry. Your actual client.
"More? I... I? Thought the piece only needed a few to choose from? They were very ah... How do I put it? Thorough? With the brief" you explained hoping Leah would step in and clarify just what was going on. Because you didn't have a clue.
"I yes but- I'd love to top up my portfolio? You know? I err yeah have a few changes going on and... I mean a few greys and such... Just want to update it a tad... I'll pay obviously- I'd pay anything for more time please?" he pleaded watching you closely eyes wide and bright full of hope.
"I... Err" you shifted swapping your camera from one hand to the other and craned your head around the man trying to spy his agent. But you had no hope of peeking around this gargantuan man. Just like with the camera he demanded your full attention.
"And for Instagram and stuff! There's only so much I can do in a selfie... I'd even recommend you- advertise your work!" he quickly added sounding desperate now. It would help you out if you did have a few shots of him for in your own catalogue. It shouldn't matter but having a celeb under your belt was actually a good thing. It meant you'd acted professionally and been good to work with.
"I suppose so, I do have a few extra sd's here... Tell you what I'll do another shoot for you as long as I can pick a few to put in my portfolio? Then we both update our files?" you nodded to him speaking slowly. He grinned and relaxed nodding quickly pleased with himself for wrangling more shots. You'd never know he was just glad to has more time with you.
"Oh yes absolutly! That's fine here should we get started now or?" he asked biting his lip trying not to stare at you for too long. But it was hard you were fucking stunning!
"Oh yeah sure iv got time, let me just sort these out and set up, need to switch, you've tired my poor camera" you said with a grin trying to ignore the man as he beamed at you looking excited nodding enthusiastically. You backed up and
spun around trying not to blush as you felt henry gazing openly at you.
"Right well if the magazine ones are done I will be off then" Leah called packing up her bag with a small chuckle to herself. You froze and spun quickly seeing her seemingly abandoning you with Henry.
"Wha- oh you don't have to you can stay-" you tried to reason unsure why, I mean who wouldn't want to be alone with this huge glorious man? Maybe you just didn't trust yourself with him? He had been 'making love' to the camera all afternoon. Smouldering bedroom eyes that was making it hard to focus. You had been getting hot under the collar all day as you kidded yourself he was eyeing you, not the camera or would be readers.
It didn't help that you had caught him oogling your breasts earlier. But you wasn't mad, it was your own fault. It was the Hight of summer and you had on a string vest with a thin bra, that you could clearly see your nipple bars through. You didn't feel uncomfortable or anything, you didn't blame Henry for looking. You cant exactly ignore your tits.. The were pretty large for your frame. You were curvy but they were as one ex put it 'exceptional'. And besides he had looked not touched and he hadn't been a creep about it. In fact he had done a double take and then blushed when he realised he had been caught looking. But as you said you get that with big boobs, you'd had it your entire life, it was actually one of the reasons you'd got them pierced. It helped with your confidence and you convince yourself that they were looking at the bars. Not you per say.
"Okay aunt Leah I will see you in a few days." henry interrupted you quickly smiling practically ushering the woman out the door. He moved fast ever picking the womans phone and juice bottle to help her leave quicker.
"Yes, behave Henry I'll see you soon" she said with a giggle before calling a thank you and goodbye over her shoulder at you. You swallowed nervously and gave a quick bye as the door clicked behind her and you were left alone with Henry. The man groaned stretching as he spun around a huge grin on his face, making your knees tremble a little. Fuck.
Henry came over and watched you closely as you scribbled the name and date along with the publication name on the sd case label. You tried not to notice as he hovered biting his lip then took off the blazer and threw it on the table beside you drawing your attention as he did grunting a little. The v neck letting the smallest amount of soft looking chest fuzz that had been teasing you all day. He grinned slyly as he caught you eyeing him and crossed his arms over his chest flexing for your benefit. You gasped and quickly looked back to the camera in your hands inserting a new scarf into the new fully charges camera.
"Soo how do you like this kind of work?" henry said casually trying not to seem like a creeper but god damnit he couldn't stop eyeing you. If he had known how sexy you'd be he would have demanded to be doing a bloody swim wear shoot!
"You mean people?" you stuttered trying not to look him in the eye. Not that it helped because the rest of him was just as fucking sexy! You quivered all over desperately trying to remember how to breath, yet didn't want to draw in too deep a breath and make your tits bounce for him and look like a slut. There was a very fine line for a big busted girl, to much wobble will make you look like your trying to get attention.
"I mean celebrities, magazines we were told you mainly do private shoots for events and model portfolios" he offered leaning forward as he leant back on the desk next to you hooking one ankle behind the other. The way he stood placed his crotch in your line of sight as you looked down and worked on setting up the camera. You flushed. Oh god he looked er... Bigger then you'd thought earlier, not that you were looking but... Well you couldn't help notice the package! The man was a fucking serial man spreader! And that thing was huge! With the muscles he was packing he could probably bench press you with his crotch!
"Oh well its different... And you sir popped my celebrity cherry" you froze on the spot as you said that, it had meant to be an ice breaker, a joke but instead had sounded fucking creepy!. You snapped up to him making to apologize as your face flamed mortified but he had thrown his head back laughing. The deep rumble sent chilled down your spine.
"Well I'm honoured to have popped your cherry~" he teased placing a hand over his heart with a cheeky grin making you blush and nod then turned to him with the new camera all set up.
"Soo where do we start?" you said moving on quickly looking up at him trying to forget the whole cherry comment.
"Where ever you want me, i will let you take the reigns command me as you will" he chuckled standing tall once more and looked about the room casually to the various small set ups, different furniture, seats sofas and mini tables dotting the space.
"I... Okay then you said Instagram? How about we start with some facials-FACE SHOTS! Face. Shots. Not facials fuck. Shit" you quickly tried repairing the damage whist cursing yourself wanting nothing more then to be swallowed up by the floor.
"No, no love facials sounded perfect~" he said winking before gliding past you making you stutter and almost choke on your breath. Oh good lord this was a bad idea. You followed as he sat down on a sturdy sofa and looked head on at you and bit his lip once again watching you with a sultry look.
And that was the beginning. You followed him about taking various snaps whislt having small talk. He seemed to be very flirtatious as he spoke, dropping lines and compliments as he made eyes at you. You flushed each time clamming up at his suggestive comments. And rightly or wrongly you flirted back trying to seem cool and suave. But inside you were fangirling unable to belive you were here with this incredibly gorgeous man teasing one another. On a few occasions he even growled as you scampered about him, crouching and taking shots from blow getting some delicious angles that dampened your knickers. Then in between all this he managed to get little tied bits. You'd told him you were on agency freelance and were trying to get into the social media platform as it seemed easier in this day and age rather then to be in fashion photography. You wanted to be commercial not private but no one would really take a chance anymore.
Then you suggested a few shots on the sofa laying back trying to think of something different for your portfolio, maybe a body length shot. He was quick to agree and dived onto the sofa saying he had an idea you swallowed nodding not fully trusting the look in his eyes. But that was forgotten as he relaxed stretching out over the sofa legs crossed and resting on the arm of his hands behind his head and a devilish smirk looking down the lenght of his body. You knelt at his feet trying to get a flattering image of him looking down but cursed as the camera wasn't playing ball. The lense was focusing, this was why you used the other one first, the camera had a few issues and was temperamental.
"What's wrong?" he asked frowning a little at you as you growled pulling the camera away fro your face and began trying to manually focus the lense.
"Oh its.. It wont focus.. It does this sometime, really need to throw it out but.. She was my first I'm sentimental" you said feeling silly as you battled with the camera.
"We all are with our firsts... How about you come closer instead, I really want to see this shot, never done one at this angle.. Out of all my shoots your the first to suggest this~" you froze and looked to him but he just smiled impishly at you. Slowly you rounded the sofa and leant over him positioning the camera at his stomach as he looked right into the lense giving you a definite bedroom eyes, half lidded and burning. Both dreamy and amazingly sexy. It was as if he could see you beyond the lense, as if it wasn't even there!
"You can come closer love, I wont bite, not if you don't want me to~" his voice was low and teasing, luring you in like a siren. You trembled and moved along him but he tutted and moved a hand to your hip and pressed, coaxing you onto the sofa and sat you on him making you straddle him. You gasped squeazing your camera tighter as he moved you easily, warm palms holding you both delicatly and firmly. You could see in his eyes he was weary unsure if he had gone to far but you squeezed him between your thighs and relaxed making him grin up at you getting the message you didn't mind at all. You aimed the lense at him once more and got the shots you wanted.
"Perfect! Mr Cavill" you said actually a little sad that this session was over. It had been nice playing this little cat and mouse game with him. But all good things come to an end.
"Ah now i have a policy love, when a womans on top they can call me henry, among other things~" he said smoothly laughing as you chuckled nervously fiddling with the camera in your hands and shifted over him a little.
"I will try to remember that for next time boomer~" you teased managing to overcome your nerves as you pulled away the camera with a giggle winking at him as he stuttered. For a second you thought you'd gone too far but a quirk to his lips made you relax once more.
"That hurt, that was hurtful" he teased pouting not releasing you from his lap, instead holding you tighter, fingers digging into your sides making you gasp and bit your lip as he pulled you to his crotch and ground into you teasingly.
"I'm so sorry~" you uttered breathless trying to keep yourself together. But this man was something else, like a drug- the devil all fanged smiles and smooth words. God you were fucked, you knew this man could do anything to you and youd thank him for it~
"I doubt that" he cooed and slid his hand higher growing more and more confident. The last few hours of casual flirting had built up his appitite. There was no misconceptions, you wanted him as much as he wanted you.
"Oh yeah?" you said coyly tipping your head to him playing along willing for this to happen, whether it be a one of fuck or something longer. You didnt have any complaints~ this was your body and youd enjoy it with who ever you wanted to!
"Yeah prove it!" he hissed and moved quickly sitting up and swinging around planting his feet on the floor. You yelped as he moved surprizingly fast and managed to keep you in his lap now face to face with you eyes roaming your face settling on your lips.
"And how should i do that" you teased tilting your head skimming your lips with his as you spoke. He groaned and held you tighter making you whine breathlessly willing this to happen. You wanted him and you wont deny yourself the chance.
"Make and old mans day" he said plainly and leant back resting on the back of the sofa, you watched him closely and brought your hands to his shoulders prodding at the neck of the t shirt and drew your fingers down slowly feeling him shiver at the light skimming fingertips.
"Oh really Boomer? And how would i make and old mans day?" you teased once more making him grunt but he quickly caught himself as your fingers smoothed over the teasing curls that peeked over his top. You scratched over them lightly with your nails making him draw a needy breath and chuckled at him. He was sexy and cute~
"By accepting a job offer?" he said before smileing smugly as you paused and frowned. Had you missed something? Was he after a freebee?
"Job offer? Really another shoot?" you snorted suddenly not feeling sexy, more like he was trying to butter you up for some fuck for parts shoots or something. He sighed and began speaking before you could get yourself all twisted. But then again you could have taken his offer wrong.
"Manage my social media. I have many companies and brands reach out to me for endorsements. They want me caught wearing their brands. But I'm to busy most of the time I cant make it to the locations they want. It actually doesn't seem worth it most of the time, with cost of flights and time lost travelling to and from studios itd be easier if I had my own personal photographer that travelled with me its be easy, slip on the clothes and what not take a few snaps and then you touch them up and post them on my social media." he explained watching as it sunk in that he wasnt trying to pull a fast one. Well he was but not trying to fuck you over... Just fuck you... And keep you because you were fantastic and he wants nothing more then to have you around hime as much as possible. In the single dat he had spent working with you, you had enchanted him, not only were you sexy but you were good at your job and easy to work with but also funny and cute and he needed to get to know you.
"Of course its a very big venture and we'd have to have a few dinner and lunch dates to work out all the nitty gritty" he added after a few beats of silence trying to make it clear he was interested... Very interested~ it worked as you fluched and a playfull look donned your face your fingers began stoking his chest hair once more. He relaxed shuddering under the nails as they teased his curls.
"Is this a big ploy to get a date Boomer?" you purred his new nick name making him groan when you squeezed him between your thick thighs once more grinding on him and the considerable bulge below you that twitched.
"No... Maybe is it working?" he said quickly hissing at you shifted in his lap once more, his hands snapping to your hips trying to still you before he came undone in his boxers. You were a very dangerous woman and something told him you knew.
"Well it sounds like an offer I'd be very, very interested in taking further~" you clarified giggling when he swallowed dryly and eyed you surprized that his plan had seemed to work.
"Good to hear~ so got anything planned after this?" he asked feeling a wave of confidence at the prospect of snagging a date with you. He hadn't meant to sound so eager but... He was eager and that was that.
"Yes" you said with a straight face and got up off of him spinning around heading to the table with your camera bags. You gave him a glance and giggled seeing him still sitting there gobsmacked legs wide open and his crotch that was now definitely bigger then it had been earlier.
"O-oh" he stuttered seemingly unsure how to proceed. You giggled as he fumbled over his words. Then decided to grant him some mercy and began speaking whilst popping out the sd card from the camera labeling it like the previous one.
"You see I had a very cheeky client today who asked for a shoot last mineut. But I wasn't to bothered he was very very sexy even if he was a boomer, but get this out of nowhere gave me a job offer? And we're having dinner- he promised pizza~" you giggled glancing at Henry as he slumped in the seat realising halfway through that you were talking about him. He smoothed his hands over his face and jumped up coming over to you shaking his head.
"You know I'm not actually a boomer?" he quipped folding his arms. You rolled your eyes at him as you packed your stuff away making sure to recheck everything.
"Have you seen your selfies? Your a boomer, boomer" you teased making him scoff but laugh at the name that has now stuck.
"Wait you've seen my selfies? What do you think?" he asked wanting feedback on the silly shots he took. You paused halfway through zipping up your bag and turned facing him fully giving him a thoughtful look then shrugged
"Their alright... For a boomer" you giggled when he preened for a second then his face dropped into a pout when you finished the comment.
"I repeat...That was hurtful" he said covering his heart with a kicked puppy look making you laugh and hoist your bags over your shoulder and make for the door with him hot on your heels.
"Its fine boomer a second date will make up for it I'm sure~" you sniggered at him playfully looking back at him as he followed you out of the door.
"A date for each time you call me boomer? Deal" he quipped walking along side you offering you his arm like a true gentleman unlike the teasing horny little shit he had been all day. Not that you minded either. Gentleman on the streets, freak in the sheets and all that jazz.
"God we may aswell marry now then boomer" he laughed nodding in agreement the banter from the day still in play as you both left the building.
"Seems so, I mean were at ten that's what the kids consider boyfriend girlfreind territory" he anounced with a sigh playing on the 'boomer' joke making you giggle and roll your eyes as he mentioned the tally. Then you frowned and quickly counted your 'boomers' and opened your mouth you correct him, arguing that ten was incorrect.
"I think its nine boomer- ah see what you did their sneaky boomer!" you cried pushing him playfully at his little trick. He roared with laughter and quickly tangled his fingers with yours dragging you back alongside him guiding you down the street towards a place he knew served pizza, he didn't remember but apparantly he promised pizza...
#henry cavill#henry cavill fic#henry cavill imagine#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill x you#henry cavill x y/n
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Meet Me at Our Spot
HELLO EVERYONE!! Vet school turned its back for a day and I was able to finish this one for you all. ((: Here is a lovely little one shot that is rated M people, so please read responsibly. Office AU because someone asked for it once upon a time and the image of Cal in one of those well tailored shirts/suits with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows has lived in my head rent free since then. So enjoy!!! ((:
also, I’m obsessed with that song Meet Me at Our Spot by Willow and The Anxiety (specifically the live version). So that’s the vibe were going for. (:
find it on Ao3 too: link
Mare Barrow always felt underdressed when she entered the massive glass and steel structure that housed the Calore enterprises. Even when she put on her only pair on heels, and a nice outfit, she felt like a smudge of dirt on the pristine floors. Today though, she was determined to not feel that way. She had a plan, a vision, and she was not about to let some socially constructed idea like dress code ruin it for her.
Striding up to the main desk before the elevators that lead to the corporate side of the building, she planted herself firmly before Tiria and cleared her throat to announce her presence.
The young woman looked up from the book she was scribbling things in and held up a finger as she spoke into the receiver cradled in her other hand.
“Of course sir. Yes, two on Friday.”
With a sigh, Mare braced her forearms on the counter and glanced out at the massive atrium next to her. Multiple people strolled by in their nice suits and tight business dresses, carrying portfolios and briefcases and talking heatedly about a number of things. She got a few looks from them for her baggy sweatpants, oversized jacket, and faded ugly sneakers. She simply smirked back at them in response, a glint in her eye that dared them to talk about her after they had passed.
No one had ever really gotten a good look at her here, and if they had, it was when she was quickly being ushered past this front desk and into the elevators behind it. She was, for all intents and purposes, a very well-kept secret. One that was mandatory to remain a secret, given her position and her affiliation with this place.
Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she would ever set foot in a place like this, let alone be associated with the circle she now tenuously walked through. It had its perks though, like getting to give a bright shiny middle finger smile to the people Farley would have spit at. Mare couldn’t exactly spit like she wanted to though, because she happened to enjoy being around one of them. And she was supposed to be on her best behavior when she was in this building. It was part of the stupid rules she had been forced to agree to a year ago.
Rule number one: No one can know your name, where you are from, and who you are.
Rule Number two: best behavior at all times when you are in the building or near him. No exceptions.
Rule number three: You are not allowed to show up unannounced or uninvited.
Well rule number three could just go fuck itself today, and rule number two could join it. The rules were just a way of making sure that the pristine reputation of this place didn’t get tarnished in the tabloids. She had laughed herself hoarse when they brought her into that dim conference room and dropped the pile of papers with the rules outlining everything in front of her. She never thought getting into a relationship would feel like a contract or a business deal but somehow this was made into one. Then again, the Calore family could make a business deal out of a child’s pretend game.
“Yes sir, I will let them know. Thank you for confirming, we will see you then.”
Tiria snapped the receiver back into the cradle and turning a scrutinizing eye to Mare she quirked a perfectly manicured brow. Every front desk girl in the world honestly looked the same to Mare, and in this place, there was no exceptions.
“Can I help you?”
“I have an appointment.” Mare said as she pressed onto her toes and pointed with a finger randomly into Tiria’s book.
The girl looked down at the line Mare pointed to with a frown while Mare swiped the key card Tiria always kept just under the ledge with her other hand. Tucking it into her pocket, she forced her eyes wide in a fake showing of bewilderment as Tiria gave her a contempt glare when there was nothing on the line.
“I could have sworn I called!” Mare gasped as she pressed herself up onto the counter to teeter further over it while her feet dangled. Damn these stupid things were high. She should have worn heels just so she could actually see over the top of the counter. “Maybe I should have called to confirm.”
“Miss Barrow, please stay on that side of the counter.” Tiria sighed as she leaned back in her chair.
Sliding down and dropping with a huff, Mare crossed her arms, trying to mimic the expression she saw most of these people give when they didn’t get what they wanted. “I want to go up.”
Forcing her sigh through her nose so it wasn’t as obvious, Tiria shook her head and adjusted a pen that had moved out of its perfectly straight line. “You’re not supposed to be here today. Don’t make me call security.”
“Well that would announce my presence.” Mare argued before picking up her backpack. “Besides, I’ll only be ten minutes.”
“Miss Barrow, I like my job and want to keep it. Leave.”
Letting out her own exaggerated sigh, Mare threw her hands up and spun on her heel to leave. “Honestly, you’d think I’d get a free pass giving who I’m dating in this place.”
Peeking over her shoulder to see if Tiria was still paying attention, she smirked as the girl dropped her head to write something down. One of the benefits of everyone looking down on her here was that as soon as she turned around, she was out of sight and out of mind. It made sneaking around easier.
Spinning back around, she scurried over to the elevators, ducking below the ledge of the counter slightly in case Tiria looked up again. Humming a song she heard on the radio to herself, she swiped the card and pushed the button to call the elevator. She had joked once this place was locked up tighter than a military institution, only to learn there was a reason for that. She doubted she could just swipe a key card and sneak into the Pentagon though.
The doors opened with a little ding, and she glanced over her shoulder once before darting in and pressing the button for the top floor. She had to swipe the key card again and punch in a four digit code she memorized weeks ago, but the doors still slid shut and the massive glass box rose.
Grinning like a fiend, Mare glanced over her shoulder at the green land stretching out behind her. She had to borrow Bree’s car to drive out to this place, and it almost didn’t make it. Her brother’s check engine light had been on since he bought the car, but he assured her it could make it the fifty mile trip and back. It had coughed the whole way, but it got her here. Beyond the trees she could just make out the highway she took with cars rushing along it.
The first time she saw this place, she was afraid of it. Why was it so far away from everything, why was it so tucked away? What were they trying to hide behind the wall of trees? She hadn’t entire believed the excuses they gave, but she was at least certain they weren’t building nuclear weapons at this place.
The doors slid open silently to a long hallway with dark floors and another bank of windows for a wall. Stepping out into the sunshine, Mare strolled forward, adjusting her hair and jacket as she went. Turning a corner, she passed a few smaller offices that belonged to some of the board members that held staff positions. The only one that was closed belonged to one of the only people she really, really didn’t want to see.
Volo Samos made her nervous. If there was anyone who might be trying to make a nuclear weapon in this place, it was that man. She edged by his office, glancing through the swaying vertical shades to see if he was actually there or he had left for lunch. He was sitting at his desk on the phone.
Scurrying past him, Mare quickened her pace. If he was here, then the rest of the board might be too. Which meant she might be walking in on a meeting. Not exactly the best option, and neither was sitting outside in the hall and waiting.
She had been so certain that there was nothing happening this week. She had planned everything around that fact. Maybe she should have called… just to make sure before she drove all the way out here.
Before she knew it though, she was standing before the heavy dark wood doors at the end of that hall. She had never been nervous to open them. They were intimidating with an exterior that was meant to deter people, but once you opened them and peeked inside there was nothing to fear, just like with the man behind them. She knew that, and yet, she had to squash the shake in her hand as she nudge the door open a fraction.
The office was empty.
Throwing the door open all the way, she stepped inside and glanced awkwardly around the space. She had spent enough time in here that she knew there were very few places to hide. Not that Cal would have any reason to hide in his own office. Pursing her lips she pushed the door closed and stormed over to the desk before throwing her bag down behind it and tossing herself into the chair. It spun in a slow circle with her momentum until she faced the back windows. Slouching down she tried to determine her next move with a pout. Maybe he had left for lunch. It wouldn’t surprise her. If the board members were here, then he might have had to play the good CEO and daddy’s boy he was supposed to be and taken them all to lunch to placate them. But Volo was here… so maybe they hadn’t gone to lunch?
She had put makeup on for this surprise. Honestly, was it so hard for him to be in the place he was supposed to be at this time?
Forcing out a sigh, she crossed her arms and spun the chair back around with her toes to look at the papers scattered around the desk. Cal was perhaps one of the most messily organized people she had ever met. He was an oxymoron himself though, so it only made sense. She picked up a thick stack of papers that were clipped together and lifted one of the corners between her finger and thumb like it was radioactive. She didn’t understand a word on the next page or the numbers scribbled in the margins. Putting it back in its place she glanced at the few pictures he kept on his desk.
The first time she had been in his office he had been on a phone call, and she had to entertain herself. She had picked up the pictures and made up the stories behind them while he watched her out of the corner of his eye. The picture of the two little boys crouched and playing in the mud on the edge of a lake was her favorite. She had been confused by it at first, until she saw the one next to it, with the same two boys almost a decade later in front of the Roman Coliseum.
Cal and his brother vaguely looked like brothers. They had similar features, but they wore them very differently. Where Cal was tall and broad, his younger brother was lean and sharp. Their eyes were strikingly different, but it was to be expected. She’d met Maven twice in the year she’d dated Cal. The first time was when he flew home for their father’s retirement party. He’d been quiet and reserved the whole evening until Cal dragged him out for a drink with her after to introduce them, properly as Cal had teased. When the brothers were alone and not around their father, they were different people. Maven especially. He seemed to soften, to melt a little bit. It had surprised her that someone could be so different just because the personnel around them changed. But Maven was a master of it.
The second time she’d seen him, Cal dragged her halfway across the world to Scotland to surprise Maven on his birthday. Cal’s brother lived as far from their father as possible, and honestly, Mare didn’t blame him. Unfortunately, Cal wasn’t afforded that luxury. Hence the rule book she had to follow.
He had a picture with his uncle next to that. The man was a few years younger than her father, but he caried those years poorly. Still, he adored Mare, and she didn’t have to pretend to tolerate him, unlike most of the other people that surrounded Cal at a given time.
A picture with his father was next to that one. It was a close second favorite of Mare’s. She couldn’t stand his father, the man was insufferable, but she loved to look at the younger version of Cal. He looked impossibly different as a kid, so different she almost hadn’t recognized him in the picture. She had told him that he reminded her of a taffy piece that was pulled too long in that picture. He was only ten in it, but his legs were already too long for him, and he was thin as a pole. He certainly had grown into his body, but the smile he gave to the camera there… he only gave it to her now. Or at least, she thought he did. She’d never seen him smile that brightly at anyone else.
Next to that, tucked almost behind the other pictures was a photograph of a young woman in a window box with a toddler resting on her legs. She smiled at him, clutching his hands in hers, completely unaware of the camera trained on her. Cal didn’t talk about it, or the woman in it, but Mare wormed it out of Julian that Cal’s mother was a sore subject with everyone. Even though she was smiling in the picture, Mare could almost sense the sadness that radiated from her. She didn’t look much older than Mare in that picture. No doubt she had been tied up with the same strings and restrictions Mare faced now. If that were the case, Mare wasn’t surprised she had been so sad. The rules and regulations that came with dating a powerful person were like a cage. It worried Mare some days. She didn’t like being confined, but when she was with Cal away from all of this, she didn’t feel that way. It was only when they were together around other people that she did. More oxymorons where the man was concerned.
The door into the office opened and Mare snapped to attention as Cal stepped in. His hands were full with papers he shuffled through while balancing his phone on his shoulder and speaking with someone. He’d nudged the door open with his hip and because of that, he had yet to turn and face her.
Even though she hated all the restrictions she had to face while she dated him, she knew they didn’t truly bother her because he was hers. All of him carefully folded into a suit that hugged every muscle made her stomach tighten and other parts flutter. And all of it was hers, some nobody from a backwater city block. She sometimes felt like a tiny dragon hording a single coin when she was with him. She didn’t have much to her name, never had and probably never would, but he was hers. She wasn’t sure if she would get to keep him, but she planned to enjoy every last second that she could with him.
Her lips curled into a smile as she leaned back in the chair and crossed her leg over the other, trying to paint a picture of coyness. It was probably not the best showing of it, but Cal was a miserable good boy who couldn’t handle anything remotely teasing.
The papers ended up on the other side of the desk from her, while he shifted to hold the phone and rest his other fist on the table. The muscle in his jaw that always twitched when he was irritated fluttered like a bird’s wing now. He pressed his fingers into his closed eyes as if he could force whatever headache was probably there away with just that touch.
“We didn’t agree to that when we signed the papers. They can’t come back and impose that restriction on us now.”
She squirmed in the chair at the tone in his voice. There were multiple sides to Cal that she had seen. There was her Cal, who had no idea how to dance, and who blushed whenever she teased him. Then there was the Cal she sometimes got at one in the morning who would grab the inside of her leg while he whispered in her ear exactly what he was going to do. Then there was this Cal. The one who had been heir to an empire company since the day he was born, and who could command a room like it was any other Tuesday. Sometimes it was hot to watch him do it. Right now though, it was the opposite. He wasn’t happy with something, and it honestly sounded like the last thing he needed was her here.
She decided she definitely should have called before coming.
Edging the chair back with her toes, it squeaked as it went over the floor, and his eyes darted up to her before widening.
With an awkward smile, she wiggled her fingers in greeting before spinning the chair to face the back windows. Her cheeks were burning, and there were other parts that had melted to a very dangerous temperature. The look he gave her as he looked up at been fleeting, but it had been enough to put her on the teetering edge of deciding to grab him and pin him to the desk, or ask him to do just that with her.
“Deal with this. Don’t call back until you have.”
The silence following his words told her, that she was now the singular focus of his attention. His gaze was like a brand even through the leather of the chair. Crossing her arms and adjusting her posture accordingly, she went to spin the chair back around. He beat her to it though, spinning it to face him and tipping it back slightly so she had an easier time looking up at him.
“I don’t believe I left anything at the apartment.”
“You left me.” Mare pouted with a withering stare in his direction.
“Very funny. Now how did you even get up here?”
With a smirk, Mare fished the ID card out of her pocket and flashed it before him proudly. He snatched it from her hand with a startled gasp.
“Mare… what the… what are you a thief now?”
“Obviously.” She waved her hand to dismiss his comment before gesturing to the card. “You should really get lanyards to put those on by the way. I just kinda grabbed that off her desk. And if I got it anyone else could have—”
“You can’t go around stealing people’s ID cards. She needs this to get around the building.” He gestured at her with it, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
“Well I needed it more in the moment.” Mare reasoned with a smile before leaning back in the chair. She didn’t really feel that bad, but the worry starting to etch itself into Cal’s brows did make her feel a little guilty.
He tossed it unceremoniously onto the desk before sitting on the edge of it and massaging his face slowly with his hands.
“While I’m happy to see you, I don’t have time to deal with anything outside of work today.” His words were muffled by his palms but she could still hear every stressed syllable. Even when his work got stressful, which it undoubtably was at times, he still could push it aside whenever he saw her. Whatever he had been on the phone about had been serious, serious enough that he actually wasn’t all that happy to see her.
“What happened?” Mare asked, scooting the chair close enough for her to set her hands on his thighs and squeeze gently. Now was not the time to be thinking about just how well that suit fit, but the thought still crossed her mind. Along with a few choice other thoughts.
“Stupidity.”
Cocking her head to the side, she waited for him to elaborate. It took him a moment, but he eventually dropped his hands and let his head fall back to look to the ceiling.
“We signed papers on a deal a year ago. When that happens it’s done, the contract is sealed and stored away. In that contract, we agreed that should anything happen with a shipment, we were not liable. The group we shipped to doesn’t like that anymore, because a 30.5 million dollar shipment got lost.”
Now it made sense to her. This wasn’t anger, or frustration. This was stress. Stress she could handle.
“How does one misplace 30.5 million dollars?” She teased before running hers hand up and down his legs.
“I don’t know. But there are five different parties all in a screaming match over it, including us. And if the other four don’t back down anytime soon, I’m going to have to find 30.5 million dollars somewhere.” His eyes darted down to her as she brushed her thumbs along the inside of his thighs. Glancing up through her lashes at him then, she tilted her head ever so slightly.
“And that is hard because?”
“Does it look like I have 30.5 million dollars lying around to just throw at someone?” He reasons, and the dips in his cadence brought a smirk to her lips. Now she had his attention. Pushing up to her feet she slid between his knees until she could drape her arms around his neck. Immediately, his hands found her hips and hugged her closer still.
“I’m sure there are one or two things you could sell in this building to cover that cost.” She ran her thumb along the back of his neck, before tracing the spot at the base of his jaw. His head tilted in the opposite direction, trying to escape the feather light touch. Both of them knew exactly what it did after all. Smirking at his reaction, Mare ran her other hand along his shoulder, tracing the contours she knew by heart.
“I bet I could pick out one of two things.”
“I don’t need to find the thirty and a half because it’s not our fault what happened.” He squeezed her hips, and even though she could see the fight in his eyes, it was quickly guttering. The tension in his shoulders was still more than she would have liked, but that tended to be where he kept most of it.
“So stressed out over something that isn’t even your fault.” She teased as she pressed her thumb into the knot closest to his neck. He tensed under her, but didn’t speak. At this point, his voice had already dropped an octave, and Mare had known him long enough now to know that when he went silent like this, he was trying to hide just how far she had pushed him. “Do you want help releasing some of that?”
“Not unless you can get up in front of five different boards and convince them otherwise.” She had to admire how even he kept his voice. It still wavered in a few places as he tried to remain composed under her scrutiny. Dropping her hands from around his shoulders to land on his thighs again, she squeezed hard enough to emphasize her next point.
“That sounds like a challenge.” Mare actually witnessed his pupils dilate as she dropped her voice an octave too. “You and I both know it’s not much of one. I can be very persuasive.”
“You’re gonna get us both in more trouble than I can get us out of.” He whispered to her, a tiny smile lifting the edges of his lips. The glint in his eye made her stomach flutter, especially as he started to finger the waistband of her pants. She didn’t want him to put his hands under it just yet though, she still had one surprise she wanted to save.
Pulling back to slip out of his arms, she dropped back into the chair with a proud smirk. “Then I see no reason to not walk me down there, call up these assholes, and have me deal with them.”
His hands grasped the air where she had been a second ago as his mind failed to register her abrupt disappearance. Frowning, he leaned forward to grab the arms of the chair and pull her close again. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she watched him look her over and hold for a little too long on her lips.
“I’d love to see them try and deal with you.”
Oh she was going to make him sweat so very much.
Grabbing his face and yanking it down to hers, she crushed her lips against his. He tasted like mint toothpaste, and he smelled like that cologne she bought him for Christmas. Gisa said it was cheap, but he’s smiled and thanked her for it anyway. And now he was wearing it. The very idea sent a thrill through her.
With a groan, he slid his hands along her legs and then underneath them to grab her ass and hike her out of her chair until she was flush against his chest. Her lips curled into a smile as she took his lower lip between her teeth and pulled hard enough to draw a sound from the back of his throat. Knotting her fingers in his hair, she tugged and whispered, “You get to deal with me first.”
His eyes opened, barely an inch from hers, and the look in them sent a shiver down her spine. When he looked at her like that, it drove her half mad every time. “Put me down and I’ll show you just how persuasive I can be.”
He set her down with exaggerated stillness, making sure to drag her body along his so she could feel every inch of him. Smirking at getting her way, Mare nudged him back until he was sitting on his desk. Bracing her hands on either side of him, she asked, “Which do you want first? Surprise one, or surprise two?”
His brow quirked, and he slid a hand around her waist to pull her between his legs. “I want you, just you.”
When his voice dropped that deep, it made it very difficult to stay focused on what she had planned. But she wanted to see him squirm, and if there was anything Mare Barrow was, it was persistent.
“Surprise number two it is.” She grinned like a cat with a mouse as she hooked his belt with a finger and trailed it along the waistband of his pants to the buckle. Humming to herself, she undid it, sliding it through each loop like a needle with thread. When it was fully out, she held it up with a wink. “Give me your wrists.”
Even in the heat of it all, his cheeks burned. Immediately he put his hands behind his back. Pouting at his movement, she lowered the belt. “It’s no fun if you don’t play along.”
“Can’t be restrained. I may have to get to my phone.”
“Then I’ll answer it and tell them you’re busy.” She teased before cupping the back of his neck and pulling him close to ghost her lips across his. He sighed, and the tension in his shoulders melted as she ran her hand along one side. She loved when he scrambled in these moments. Locked between a rock and hard place, he was like turtle on its back. If all she had to do to knock him down was insinuate like this, she would do it every night.
When he pulled away with narrowed eyes, she released a mock exasperated sigh and tossed the belt away. “Fine, next time.” Without giving him a moment of relief, she unbuttoned his pants and tugged to start sliding them off. “But since it’s my job to help you relieve stress, here’s what I’m going to do.”
He visibly swallowed, even as he helped her slide his pants off. Running her hands up his legs after she dropped them, Mare chewed on her lip. “If you can keep it together for longer than ten minutes, I will let you do me from behind.”
His eyes widened, shock pouring out of every pore of his body. She hated that position, and always refused it. It was the most degrading thing, she insisted. If a man was going to fuck her, he should look her in the eye while he did it. She may be trash from the other side of the tracks, but she knew her worth.
“Ten?” He breathed, his eyes darting to the clock on the wall next to them.
“Ten.” She confirmed before crouching down. “But it has to be ten. If you cheat, I’ll know because I will be keeping track of the time.”
His mouth opened to refute before closing with a snap. She could see him working it over, trying to determine whether or not she would play fair. She never really did, but this time she made a promise to herself that she would. Besides, she trusted him to at least make the whole experience entertaining.
“Clock starts when I do.” She teased before tugging on the waistband of his boxers, making the elastic snap back. He tensed at the feeling, until she pulled them off too.
Perhaps it was the fact that she had snuck up here, or maybe it was the fact that anyone—including one of the most prestigious board members—could walk in on them at any second, but the sight of him sent electricity along every nerve in her body.
It was ten minutes. He wouldn’t make it to five, she told herself as she dragged her tongue along her lower lip. With that thought for reassurance, she gripped his thighs and closed her mouth over his cock. Immediately she felt the muscles in his legs tense, and his breathing hitched. She hummed, almost laughing at his reaction as he immediately grabbed the hair on the back of her head and pulled. She slid back an inch before diving back down, taking more than she had before. The groan he released was loud enough that she almost paused to make sure no one had heard. There was the fun in this, she supposed, getting caught might be exciting.
“Mare.” He gasped as she continued her ministrations, and began to trail her nails along his skin up to his hips. Forcing her head down further, he muttered a breathless apology when she gagged. Digging her nails and fingers into his skin, she smiled and hummed again.
“Fuck.” He spit the word like poison and bucked against her, earning another hum from her. “Not fair, that’s not fair.” He panted as she picked up the pace of her work.
His finger dug into her scalp as he pulled even harder on her hair. She stayed on like a leach though, stifling a laugh at his squirming. His other hand gripped the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white, and his legs tensed in time with each of her movements. But the stubborn bastard kept it together, and no matter what she tried in her arsenal, he only cursed and gripped that desk until she thought it might splinter.
“Ten,” he crowed with a breathless laugh. “That’s ten.”
Mare snapped away with a grunt, swiping her hand along her mouth, smearing the lip gloss across her cheek. Glowering up at him, she grumbled a curse word that would have made her mother slap her across the mouth. A deal was a deal.
“Don’t look so bitter about it.” He teased, before cupping her face and lowering himself to capture her lips. His tongue darted along hers as his fingers gently pushed the hair he had pulled behind her ears.
When she pulled away for air, her chest ached and the space between her legs ached even more. “I’ve got one more surprise for you.” She rose to her full height, and had the pleasure of seeing a bead of sweat roll down from his hairline. He had barely made it. If she was being honest, she would say that she hadn’t been keeping track of the time. She’d lost all of it to the feeling of his hips rocking and the tension of his muscles.
Backing away a step, she winked at his confusion. “Remember a few weeks ago when I went to mall and made you go find something to do?” She fingered the zipper of her jacket, another bolt of electricity ran down her spine as he straightened up, completely attentive to her. “I was saving this for your birthday, but I got tired of waiting.”
As she went to unzip the jacket, he leaped, catching her hands almost knocking her over. Scrambling to stay on her feet, Mare let him take her whole weight as she gasped. “Fucking hell Cal—”
“Let me.” He smirked as he straightened her up and grabbed the zipper before she could. With a gentle tug, he unzipped it halfway, his eyes darkening again as he caught sight of the top half. She’d picked it carefully, the first time she’d ever done something like that honestly. Normally she grabbed things off the rack and hoped it matched. This though, she had taken her time selecting.
He had the jacket off in less than a heartbeat, and his fingers danced along the thin black lace of the corset. His eyes followed his hands as he searched the whole thing over, making her swallow in uncertainty. He trailed a knuckle along one of the many straps, his teeth obviously working at the inside of his cheek. Gently, he grabbed the waistband of her sweat pants and pulled them down as he dropped into a crouch before her. His eyes widened at the matching bottoms.
Immediately, his hands gripped the back of her legs as he glanced up at her. The weight of that stare could crush her if she didn’t realize that it was the most reverent of gazes. He looked at her like she had put the stars in the sky, and hung the moon too. It she was honest, she would admit that it might go to her head a little bit ans that the smile she gave him was mostly fed by that. She could bring this man to his knees by simply standing in a pair of lacy panties.
“Where,” he voice cracked on the word, and his fingers dug into her hamstrings a little more before he dragged his lips up the inside of her bare thigh. “Where did you keep this?”
Threading a hand through his hair, she exhaled in a sigh as his lips grazed the seam along the inside of her thigh. “You like it?”
“I’ll like it better when it’s on the floor.” He murmured before sliding his hand up to grip her ass again. She almost yelped, and grabbing his shoulders she let out a breathless laugh as he pressed more kisses along the inside of her thigh.
Standing up, he kept his hand on her as he lifted her off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and let him spin her around to the desk. With a quick sweep of his hand, he sent the papers all over it to the side before laying her down on it. With a tug, he dragged her back to the edge so she was still straddling him and braced his hands on either side of her head. She panted as she watched his lips curl into a hint of a smile.
“Forget fucking you from behind.” He murmured, before lowering himself to trail his nose along her sternum. “I want to see every inch of you in this.”
She grinned triumphantly as he slid a hand up her side to squeeze her breast, made far more generous with the help of the corset. It had been a good idea to listen to the pushy sales girl just because of that. “Good thing you don’t have to take it off.”
His brow quirked in confusion, and sliding her hand down her body, she opened her legs a little wider to brush her fingers along herself. “Made sure it would be easy for you. Didn’t want you to feel intimidated by all the straps and buckles.”
The snort he let out made her laugh, and she smiled as he stole the sound from her lips with a kiss. Rubbing his hips against hers, he lifted them off the table slightly until she was arched against him. Groaning when she felt how hard he was, she dug her nails into his arms, and said, “If I knew all it took to get you like this was wearing a pretty scrape of lace, I would buy sexier panties.”
“I happen to like the panties you already own.” He teased before reaching between her legs for the bundle of nerves there. Rubbing in a tortuously slow circle, he grinned down at her as she craned her head back so her hair spilled across the desk. Grabbing onto the edge above she tried to grind against his palm, seeking further friction.
Dropping his lips to her neck, he let his finger slide down to penetrate her. Groaning loud enough that she actually slapped her other hand over her mouth, Mare arched until her chest was smashed against his. He let out his own pleased sound at how wet he found her, and let her grind against his palm.
“Can you last ten minutes?” He whispered in her ear before catching her earlobe with his teeth and pulling lightly. Mare twitched in response to the movement of his finger inside of her, whimpering when he pressed a kiss to the point where her pulse pounded in her neck. And although this was heavenly, she’d be damned if he won at this.
Setting her jaw, she squeezed her legs together, earning a laugh from him as he withdrew his hand and brought his fingers to his lips. Sitting up quick enough to make herself dizzy, she grabbed his wrist to stop him from putting those fingers in his mouth. He froze as she closed her lips around his fingers and glanced up at him through her lashes. Releasing them with a pop, she watched his pupils dilate until they swallowed almost his entire iris.
Smirking when a blush exploded across his cheeks and neck, she licked her lips and said, “You won’t even last that long.”
Without speaking, he put a hand to her shoulder and slowly guided her back down to the desk as he stood over her. He pinned her hips down with his other hand as he tilted his head to the side ever so slightly and said, “I will take that as a challenge.”
Mare’s heart fluttered in her chest at the tone of his voice, and how deep it had dropped. Keeping her breathing as level as possible, she closed her eyes as he traced a hand along her side and cupped her breast before leaving open mouthed kissed along the column of her throat.
“Cal,” she breathed his name in a gentle exhale as she threaded her fingers into his hair at the same time that he slipped his hand to her entrance again and pressed his palm against her.
“Say my name like that again.” He whispered in her ear. “And I will do anything you want.”
“Anything?” Her voice hitched as she ground against his palm, her eyes fluttering as she sought out the friction he denied her as he teasingly pulled away.
His lips pulled up into a hint of a smile as he withdrew enough that she chased him with her lips. Their breath mixed as he rested his forehead against hers, and through her lightly fuzzy and crossed vision she could see the depths of his irises. Dark gold, and amber like honey. She could drown in them and be happy.
“Anything.” He answered her.
Lowering herself back to the desk, she pulled him with her while her other hand threaded between them to grab his hip and pull him closer. Without breaking eye contact, he let her guide him to her entrance. With a sigh, she tipped her head back and locked her ankles behind his hips as he pulled her completely to the edge of the desk.
“Cal.” She whispered as she grabbed the top of the desk again and squeezed her eyes shut.
“That’s my girl.” He replied before putting a hand on her hip to keep her pinned to the desk and pulled out before pushing in deeper. Mare bucked against him, gasping as she clenched her thighs together around his hips, pulling him closer. Bracing his other hand next to her head, he dropped his chin as he moved in and out.
She only regretted doing this here for half a second, since she had to contain whatever sounds she made to minimal volumes. The last thing they needed was Volo Samos hearing something or coming to investigate what he was hearing. Although that might have been part of the thrill. If they were at her apartment, she could be as loud as she wanted, even with the window open. The traffic outside was loud enough to mask anything that happened in her shoebox apartment.
“Harder.” She panted as she dragged her nails down the side of his nice shirt. She wanted to tear it off of him, to get to his skin underneath. He caught her hand before she could do just that, and pinning that hand above her head he obliged her. She half yelped, half gasped as she slid along the desk until her head almost dangled off the edge.
Like a light switch flickering on and off, the light beyond her closed eyelids alternated with each meeting of their hips. She could feel the change in pace as he sensed her reaching her climax, and her lips curled into a pleased smile even as she arched slightly, hoping to escape him to last longer. He laughed softly at her attempt and pulled her toward him until she was dangling off the desk and had to grab on or risk falling to the floor. He caught her, but she still gasped as the change in angle pushed her completely over the edge so she shattered like glass. Every muscle in her legs contracted and her chest hitched on the rapid inhale she took. Curling around him as much as she could in her position, she stifled any other sound that wanted to come out.
The best part? She knew she had lasted longer than ten minutes. The worst part? She wanted him again. And there was no way that was going to happen because as she sat there panting after he put her back on the desk and bent over to kiss her lightly, she heard the subtle ringing from a cell phone.
“You’re getting a call.” She panted in his ear as she ran her fingers through his hair. It was damp now, and his chest pushed into hers with every inhale he took around his rapid heartbeat.
“It can wait.” He murmured in reply before pressing a kiss against her jaw again.
“I thought thirty and a half million dollars meant a lot right now.” She laughed as she traced a finger down the column of his spine from his neck to the middle of his back. He turned the full force of his gaze on her and she almost melted into a puddle in the heat of it.
“You’re worth more than that. More than any deal, any job.” He kissed the tip of her nose. It kept her from turning away to hide the blush that exploded across her cheeks. He traced a thumb along it, and smiling at her he continued, “Who’s blushing now?”
With an amused roll of her eyes, she traced a finger along his jaw in response to his light touches. This close to him, she realized he was beautiful, in the same way a marble statue in a museum was. She used to think he belonged in places like that, surrounded by priceless and irreplaceable objects that everyone paid to see.
“I love you.” She tilted her head to the side, testing the phrase again. It was only the third or fourth time she had used it seriously with him. The weight of it settled over him, and he brought her fingers to his lips to press a kiss to them.
“I love you.” He dropped the hand and pulled her into a sitting position so she could drop her legs from around his waist. Still connected with him, she trailed her fingers along his arms and drank her fill of him with her eyes. A part of her knew that someday she would lose him. Nothing in her life was ever truly hers and he luck had always been rotten, it was why she never bought a lottery ticket. And of course, his father did not like her. He wanted her gone because he saw her as an obstacle, or a hurdle his son would trip over. It took everything to not dig her fingers into Cal’s arm when they were around his father. Maybe if she did so, she could tattoo herself onto him and never lose him.
“What are you thinking so deeply about?” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and pressed another kiss to the tip of her nose.
“Nothing important.” She lied effortlessly, the smile she conjured for him almost real. If he saw through it he didn’t comment. The phone rang again from its sad position on the floor where it had ended up, and this time they both looked at it. The screen was lit up and he grimaced at the number showing on it.
“I think you have to take that one.” Mare whispered before pressing a kiss to his cheek and sliding away from him to hop off the desk. He managed to catch her, and bring her to his chest before she could escape. Closing her eyes, she let herself melt against him for a second, inhaling the smell of his cologne and the smell of her that was now on him.
When he pulled away to grab the phone off the floor and his pants from their pile near it, she sank back into the chair and watched his back as he finally answered the call. Whatever he was saying was like a buzz against her ears. She could only see him right then: the man he was, and the one he could become. She hated what he was in a small part of herself. But he wasn’t… he wasn’t like the other people he had spent most of his life around. And neither was his brother. Maybe that’s what that life did to people like them. Pushed them so hard that they turned out the opposite of their parents.
He glanced at her with a smile as he managed to step into his pants with one hand and pull them up. She conjured up another smile for him and stood to fix his hair. He leaned down far enough that she could do that while he went about stringing his belt back into his pants. She trailed her fingers along his chest and down to the buckle and wrestled his fingers from it to clasp it shut herself.
By the time she had finished he was done with the call, and was sitting in silence watching her work. She glanced up at him through her lashes, but he cupped the back of her head so she tipped her head back completely to him. His thumb rubbed a soothing rhythm along the back of her skull as he whispered, “I have to go. They found a solution.”
She nodded. “So I guess you don’t have to bring out the big guns and put me in front of them.” Her smile was easy even as she prepared to pull away from him again. He held her steady, staring into her eyes for a long moment.
Just after the silence had stretched too far, he whispered, “Thank you.”
“For what?” She managed to disentangle herself from him, and turned to gather her clothes. If he was leaving she needed to disappear too. They couldn’t leave together though, or people might notice. And she did not need it getting back to his father that she had broken any of those stupid rules. Then she might as well consider this the last time she ever saw him. What a last time it would be though. It would live with her for the remainder of what she had heard his father call a measly insignificant little life.
“Everything. You… you make me impossibly happy Mare.” He threaded an arm around her waist before pulling her back against his chest and laying a kiss on top of her head. She finally melted completely into his arms. Wrapping his forearms with hers to trap him for a moment longer she closed her eyes. Suddenly, she didn’t care about the rules she had agreed to. Rules were meant to be broken, and she had always excelled at doing just that. With him, she would break every rule and scatter the ashes of them to the wind.
#(*ask lily*)#(*shut up lily*)#my writing#my fanfics#red queen#glass sword#kings cage#war storm#broken throne#post broken throne#marecal#office au#enjoy everyone!#rated M for MATURE please#thank you#also find on AO3
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When You’re Unmatched Art / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]
[you can find the reference for the tattoo Ivar did here. He thought he was being slick, but he most certainly was not. Ivar, your feelings are showing!]
catch up on the porno, I mean series, here.
requested by: @quantumlocked310 ♡
author’s note: thanks to this post, you’ll all be subjected to the written requests. brief mentions of smut under the cut, and love sick Ivar.
synopsis: Ivar finally figures out how to design your first tattoo.
✎
For this to be Ivar’s passion—his mortal life’s calling—he could not, for all of the seconds in the year, figure out how to design your tattoo. There had never, in his professional life, been a client that had given him complete and utter reign. No simple idea, no nudge in a specific direction, hint of any realm no where on the forefront. You told him to design you a tattoo to take up space on your thigh. And that was it. Even after he declined, saying there must be some idea you had, you shook your head and give him control. Total, and utter control. And it was almost too good to be true.
Ivar knew he was screwed, when an entire sketchbook’s worth of pages went torn, crumpled and tossed into the garbage can with failed ideas. Even Sigurd offered no help—not that he was the artistic hand Ivar needed, he was the needle pusher and piercer. Music selector and unruly greeter. Floki only offered his normal words of wisdom, a way of not answering the question but instead making Ivar look deep within himself. “Don’t think about it much, Ivar. Just let your heart and your mind run freely together.” Great. No help. Both of them were caged in a muddled pile of muck and mud and dead leaves and Ivar couldn’t pull them out.
Through every outing the band of brothers went on, you in tow more often than not, Ivar would be at the receiving end of your questions—how he was coming along with it. You had no deadline, you understood his craft took time, but you were far too excited to see. Then came the first hook up—Ivar driving you home because you were too many martinis in, you inviting him up but he declined because it “wasn’t a good idea, princess” and you told him you “weren’t his fucking princess” and he drove around the block twice before finally knocking on your door. Weight against the frame with his temple kissing it, apologizing playfully for his nickname and you invited him in. A game of truth or dare later, Ivar asked you how drunk you were when it was his turn. And you told him you were sober enough to make decisions, clear ones, and then he dared you to kiss him. You felt like a high schooler again. When it was your turn to ask him and he had picked truth, your one question was the end of the game:
“If I asked you to fuck me right now, would you?”
“In a god damn heart beat.”
He was more than screwed when you wouldn’t leave his mind, after you rocked his world and he used your name on his tongue to get himself off the next time his left hand was needed. And then he texted you, asking how your day was, that was it. And after a conversation, playful but real, he was over at your apartment with take out and beer and you two watched true crime and Ivar told you he had seen this one and tried to have you guess before the show told you. When you were right he said you were smart, when he silently figured out an equation in his head, how many liters to grams to degrees, or whatever the hell it was, you almost dropped your beer. He wrote it out for you to show you, a near different language across the page through algebra, and you told him he was smart. The tattoo idea clicked then. The minute Ivar realized he caught feelings, the tattoo idea became so visible he drew it in almost an hour.
There was never a nervousness with him when it came to the day of appointments, even with the most picky of his clientele, Ivar took it as it was gifted because he loved his craft too much to have these types of petty things take up hatred in his heart. But you walked through the shop, shortest of shorts on, a pair of flowing pants in your bag for the event that session went longer and nipped off into the chilling night time air, and both a coffee for yourself and a Red Bull for Ivar. He nearly wanted to throw the ink onto the floor because he was scared that once you saw the design, you’d laugh, you’d call him something pathetic and walk out, and it would be the last he’d see of you. Instead he handed you the artwork, and your eyes scanned the image for almost five minutes, mouth agape and holding it as if it were a map to the unknown, hiding gold and jewels and you asked him if you could keep the sketch. Even with it forever on your skin you nearly begged him for the original artwork, saying something about how you wanted to frame it. You’d never seen Ivar blush before, but you were sure he did when you said that.
The session wasn’t short—it was almost his full day’s work of hourly long needle dabs, buzzing and brotherly bickering between him and Sigurd. Intensive talks between you and him, explain to him the less than glamorous parts of your job, the funnier parts and the teenage humor of the men you worked with. Hvitserk’s track record for receiving the majority of patient vomit on every call and you watched Ivar laugh, smile more than you had known him too and you wondered if it was because of the machine in his gloved hand or if it was you.
Sigurd ducked out right before lunch, picking up with the three of you had ordered and your skin received the welcome break from the on-going buzz. You were quick to kiss Ivar once, lingering lips on his to thank him and he looked shocked for a moment, worrisome that his brother would see before he tossed the fear aside, shoving his tongue down your throat. When it was all said and done, dawned with the artwork on your flesh you couldn’t stop the smile. Neither could Ivar. He’d promised the sketch after he photocopied it for his portfolio and you went home with the sore leg but a full heart. He showed up late, just shy of midnight after cleaning up the day’s worth of work, buying a frame and bringing dinner for the two of you to eat. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of it, even in its red and swollen, tender state, you loved this tattoo, and Ivar took his time treating it for you. Even after his head spent time between your thighs, one hand plastered on the bare skin and the other holding yours. Even after you rode him, artwork in his line of sight and it made him finish quickly; watching the piece on your skin, your palms on his chest as he moved your hips for you. Your head tossed back as you moaned his name when you came, the heavenly sight and you were forever marked with his skill. The after care from the sex went beyond the closeness, holding you as the television played in the background; he spread the lotion over it, his entire hand nearly able to cup your thigh as he made sure to leave no line un-slathered.
“You know I’m going to want another one before this one even heals,” You said to him, craning your neck up to look at him.
“Yeah?” Ivar asked, his hand in your hair. “Where do you think you want your next one to go?”
“On my arm, so I can see it all the time,” You replied, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Who knows, maybe I’ll just cover myself like you do,” You giggled.
“You’re perfect already,” Ivar said through a yawn, his eyes closing, head drooping against yours. “You tell me where you want ‘em, and I’ll do it—but you’re perfect already,”
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catch me if you can
Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman
Genres: Mystery / Romance
Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.
No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.
Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.
Chapter 4/?
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
“I can’t talk right now, Nile,” Hange hissed into her phone, taking a step away from Levi. “I’m—”
“On a date, yes, I know. There is a hardly a pen in our department that doesn’t know that some loser asked you out on a date.”
“I’m off duty,” Hange gritted. “So if you’re calling simply to annoy me, then I’m hanging up.”
“I knew I should have asked Erwin to do this…” Nile muttered darkly. Hange could practically see him closing his eyes and breathing heavily through nose. It was a sight she was quite familiar with. She was seeing it almost every time that hers and Nile’s paths crossed. “Zoe, I know we don’t usually see eye to eye, but this is important.”
“Important?” what that could possibly mean? The only thing more important right now than her date with Levi was…
“It’s about the Ackerman case.” Nile confirmed. Hange gripped the phone tighter in her hands.
“Was there another robbery?”
“No. But we just apprehended a criminal.”
“Ackerman?”
“No.”
Hange cursed. “Why are you calling me then, Nile? To brag that your team isn’t a bunch of complete idiots? Well, congratulations, but I’m kinda busy right now.”
“Would you shut up for just a second?” Nile snapped. “I’m trying to tell you something, Zoe!”
Hange huffed, irritated. “I’m all ears,” she said sarcastically.
“We caught a thief, name’s Traute Caven. You probably don’t know her.”
“That’s right. I don’t.”
“Well, she wants to talk with you.”
“About what?” Hange questioned. “And why me?”
“She asked me to bring in detective who leads the Ackerman case. And she refuses to say anything else.”
“Fuck.” Hange exhaled. She was having a really good time with Levi… she didn’t wish to leave him, but… her duty and work came first. Always did, always will. “I’ll be there soon.”
“Stay where you are,” Nile said. “I’ll come and pick you up.”
He hanged up before Hange could give him another sarcastic comeback.
With a heavy sigh, she returned to Levi’s side.
“I need to go,” she told him, shamefully avoiding his eyes. “Sorry for ditching you, but… it’s an emergency.”
“Do you want me to walk you back?”
“No, thanks,” her face changed, turning into a sour mien, as she thought of Nile and his awful, ugly goatee. “My, um, friend will pick me up.”
“Oh, alright,” Levi nodded, looking lost, like he didn’t know what to do. Hange felt another prick of guilt.
“I’ll text you, yeah?” she wasn’t sure if Levi would want to see her after that, but, well… she was an eternal optimist. “So we could meet again. If you wish to, that’s it?”
“Sure,” he agreed. “I would love that.”
“Awesome!” a bright smile bloomed on her face. Giddy and excited, she snickered, giving him finger-guns. The exasperate roll of his eyes that followed made her giggle again.
Out of the corner of her eyes, Hange saw a car approaching, its bright headlights almost blinding her. It was time to leave, it seemed.
“See you soon!” she gave Levi one last wide grin, and hurried to Nile’s car.
***
“Jesus, Zoe!” Nile looked over Hange’s wet hair and clothes with disgust, written all over his features. “Did you get dunked in a pile of snow?”
Hange hid a smile. “It’s called a snow fight, Nile. If you already forgot what that is or you’ve never knew because you were a giant nerd as a child, it’s when two or more people—”
“I know what a snow fight is,” he threw Hange a quick, annoyed look and then started the car, riding out on a street. “I have kids, you know. And I wasn’t a nerd.”
“Erwin tells a different story.”
“Erwin is full of shit,” he grunted, stopping before a traffic light. In a second before the green lightened up, he looked at Hange once more. Her arms were wrapped around her body, and her teeth were almost audibly chattering. Nile rolled his eyes, let out a tired sigh and turned up the heater.
“Thanks,” Hange quietly said, bringing her red fingers closer to the source of warmth. “How are your kids, by the way?”
“They’re good,” Nile nodded, his expression softening slightly at the mention of his children. “And how was… your date?”
“Good!” Hange answered, a smile breaking on her face. “It was really, really good.”
“So what, you like, er,” Nile winced and then frowned. “You like… them?”
“I do,” she watched his obvious discomfort with amused look. “And I was meeting up with a man, if that’s what confused you so much.”
The tips of his ears became red. “I just didn’t want to assume,” Nile grumbled with a stubborn scowl. “Your last date was a woman, so…”
The awkward silence fell over the car. Hange thought of fiddling with a car’s radio, but quickly decided against it. Her relationship with Nile was tense as it was, there was no point in adding fuel to an already raging fire.
She estimated that it would take them another ten minutes to get to the precinct. She desperately thought of a new topic for a conversation. Casual small talk proved to be too awkward for her and Nile.
The metaphorical bulb lightened up in her head. Of course! What was the only thing in the world she and Nile had in common?
“So what about that woman you’ve apprehended? Traute Caven, right?”
“Oh yes,” Nile nodded, obviously relieved to have something else to discuss and fill the silence with. “I brought a case file with me, it’s in a glove compartment.”
Hange followed his directions and took out a thick enough folder. Quite a portfolio that Caven had, she thought with a grim smile. She didn’t open it, instead glancing at Nile’s face again.
“You’ve spoken with her, yes?”
“Yeah.”
“And? Do you think she really knows something? Do you think we should trust her?”
“I don’t know,” Nile answered truthfully. “She asked to speak with you, Hange. So, it’s up for you to decide.”
“Awesome,” Hange grumbled, opening the folder on a first page. “No pressure at all.”
***
Standing in front of a sturdy, metal door, Hange recited everything she had just read.
Traute Caven, 47 years.
Was involved in a life of crime since teenage years. At young age of fifteen, she was apprehended by a police for the first time. Caught for shoplifting at a local mall, they let her go. A couple of months later, she was detained once more, this time for stealing from a jewelry store. Because she was caught before she could actually steal anything, she got away again once again. Just after she turned seventeen, Caven and a few of her friends decided to rob a bank. The police got them fairly quickly, and Caven received a jail sentence. She spent three years behind bars, but jail wasn’t able to change her. Once she was a free woman again, she returned to stealing, but this time— she was more cautious. She changed her name and appearance after each theft, and she had gotten acquainted with a skill of fraud as well, which complicated her arrest even more. The police spent years, chasing after her. Hange was actually quite impressed that Nile and his team were able to get her.
And now Caven wanted to talk with her.
About Ackerman case.
Hange couldn’t lie, she was excited. And nervous. Very, very nervous.
After all that time and efforts she poured into that goddamned case, just a small clue, a seemingly insignificant detail meant the world to her.
And what if she was at the verge of breakthrough?
Just the thought of it made Hange feel giddy. If Caven really knew something, if she could really lead them to Ackermans…
She was getting ahead of herself.
Too much haste is too little speed, Erwin always reminded her.
She needed to pull herself together.
Hange gripped the folder with Caven’s case tighter and put on a serious, determined face.
She had to look professional, authoritative.
She inhaled, exhaled and then opened the door.
Traute Caven didn't look like a thief. With her long blond hair tied up in a neat ponytail, in an elegant dark blue dress suit and white expensive-looking coat, she looked gorgeous, despite the unnatural lighting of the interrogation room.
A life of crime paid well, Hange thought bitterly. Much better than what she received for trying to catch the scoundrels.
"Miss Caven," she greeted. She sat down on the opposite side of a table and leveled her with a hard gaze.
"Detective Zoe, I take it?" Caven retorted, her each word slow and measured.
Hange nodded, taking a notebook out of her breast pocket. "You wanted to talk to me, right?"
"I have something to tell you," Caven confirmed.
"So I've heard. And what is it that you wanted to discuss?"
Caven curled her wine red lips in a smile. "Let's discuss the details of our deal first."
Hange answered her with a sly smile of her own. "Tell me what you know, Miss Caven. Or I'm walking out of here."
"And miss your chance to catch Ackermans?"
"I'm sure I can manage without your help."
It was a bluff, and a weak one at that. Erwin would have done a much better job, but Erwin wasn't there and Hange didn't have enough time to come up with a more efficient trick. But it seemed like she didn't have to. Despite the confident way she held herself, Hange caught a glimpse of what she was hiding behind that tough exterior – in truth, Caven was too desperate to argue.
"So let's hear your offer first," Hange prompted. She threw Caven an expectant look and uncapped the pen, holding it above the notebook.
"Fine," she gritted, flicking her hair. "I'll tell you what I know. But that’s it. I refuse to cooperate further, if you don’t uphold your end of a deal.”
They had no deal, Hange wanted to remind her. But if Caven’s information was worth at least something… Hange was ready to beg Erwin to shorten her prison term.
“I’m listening, Miss Caven,” she told with a sweet smile.
Caven sat back in the chair, folding arms across her chest. On her face she wore an expression of superiority and complacency. Hange unconsciously leaned closer.
If her previous distress so quickly turned in such blatant display of arrogance, then what she knew must be good, real good. Hange’s heart hammered in her chest, as she anxiously waited for Caven to start talking.
“I know one of the Ackermans. And I can lead you to him.”
Hange blinked a few times. Opened and closed her mouth. Looked up and down, pitched the skin of her arm.
She wasn’t dreaming.
Hange narrowed her eyes, studying Caven’s face. She didn’t look like she was lying. And why would she? As soon as her lie uncovers, she’d get sent in prison, for a much longer time than her original term.
So Caven wasn’t lying, and she was evidently real, so— it wasn’t Hange’s dream or fantasy. And that meant—
Whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.
This was all real.
Caven really knew an Ackerman. She could bring Hange to him. She wasn’t just at the verge, it was a breakthrough.
I know one of the Ackermans, Caven had said. Meaning there were two of them, meaning they didn’t always operate together. Hange quickly scribbled it down in her notebook. Compared to Caven’s other revelation, this seemed like a laughably unimportant detail. But Hange was a creature of habit, and she wrote down a few words, no matter how insignificant they might have looked to others.
“I want to have my term shorten by a half. At the very least.” A smirk didn’t leave Caven’s face. She was glowing, basking in the effect her words had on Hange. “So do we have a deal? If we do, I can call him right this second.”
“No!” Hange cried out, bending over the table to grab Caven’s hand in hers. “No need to call anyone.”
Caven raised her eyebrows, watching Hange closely. As she noticed the almost feral look in her eyes, she tentatively backed away.
“You don’t want to apprehend them?”
She did. More than anything, Hange wanted to throw the bastards behind bars, where they rightfully belonged. But they were hurrying things up.
Too much haste is too little speed.
She couldn’t get to Ackermans, not now. She didn’t have any proof to back her up in a court, they could easily whisk away, far out of her reach.
She shouldn’t rush things, she had to act cautiously, taking into account every possible outcome.
She should approach it just like Erwin would.
“Miss Caven,” Hange pushed the glasses up her nose, smirking deviously. “How do you feel about committing one last robbery?”
***
“Erwin!”
Hange was on the phone with him, as soon as she walked out of the interrogation room. She had a person, who would lead her to Ackermans, she had a way to get to them, she had a plan on how to orchestrate all of it and get the evidence they needed to put them behind bars. All she needed now was support from Erwin. If he would believe in her plan, if he would agree to back her up in front of their colleagues… the success was practically guaranteed.
“You like a good gamble, right? I have a perfect one for you.”
***
It's been four days. Four days since Hange had left him in the snowy, quiet park. And she was yet to call or even text him.
Rationally, Levi knew that she must be incredibly busy. She was probably working day and night, doing her best to protect this city from... People like him.
This thought was rational, problem was - nothing about his relationship with Hange Zoe was rational.
If he was thinking rationally, if he was acting with a clear head, he'd run away from her, as far as it was possible. Or he would fool her, making her fall for him, just so he could get closer to the evidence she had gathered on him and Kenny. He'd destroy it, break her heart and then - of course - he'd run away, as fast and far as he could.
If he was thinking rationally, he wouldn't be glaring at his black phone screen, waiting for it to light up and announce a new incoming text - or better yet, a call.
But four days went after their date, and - he got nothing.
It made him angry. And worse than that, it made him sad. He felt neglected. Abandoned. Forgotten.
He wasn't used to neither of those feelings.
He tried contacting her, of course. His finger hovered above the call button dozens of times, and he typed several texts only to delete them just before pressing send.
Hi, how are you seemed too trite.
What you've been up to sounded too nosy.
It's been a while made him look like he was too clingy.
Hey, do you want to hang out would probably make her think he was too needy or demanding.
Levi would never think that texting someone could be so hard. Picking locks to high-security doors was easy. Hacking all the survey cameras in the building at once was easy. Climbing through ventilation shafts and jumping off the skyscrapers with one thin rope as his back up was easy. Communicating with another person was not.
He had half a mind to go and ask Kenny for an advice.
But, obviously, he wasn't that desperate. For now, at least.
In the end, Levi didn't have to ask. Kenny came to him himself.
"So that's it?" Kenny walked into the kitchen, joining him at the table. Shifting his gaze from the phone to his uncle’s face, Levi raised an eyebrow, silently asking him to elaborate.
***
"Your date!" Kenny clasped his back, almost making Levi choke. Letting out a deep, amused chuckle, he continued. "Did she get sick of you already?"
"What the fuck—"
"That must be a record, I'm sure," Kenny carried on, ignoring Levi's sizzling gaze. "To be done with you just after the first date. Her loss, I guess," he shook his head in fake disappointment. "Or yours. Since now you're definitely going to die a virgin."
"I'm not—" Levi paused, taking a deep breath and mustering his expression into the murderest one he could manage. "I'm not a virgin!" he hissed.
"Really?" Kenny, that fucking asshole, had the audacity to look shocked. Levi's hands curled into fists. "Was it that waitress then? The one I told you to seduce? I didn't expect you to get in bed with her. Good job, Levi!” he received another hard pat on his shoulder. “Or, no, wait! Did you do it with that artist? The one that had the security code to the gallery safe?"
His ears were burning. He was sure his cheeks were red too, because Kenny kept looking at him with that insufferably smug smirk of his.
Levi was going to kill him. He was going to murder his own uncle. He could plunge the knife into his chest, or maybe, throw the tea cup into his face..... As soon as he finished the tea, of course.
"This is none of your business," he said, his voice much calmer than he was actually feeling. "And my date didn't grow sick of me."
Levi hoped so, at least.
"Oh? Then why have you been boring holes into your phone for the last few days?"
He shamefully averted his gaze. Kenny started laughing.
"She's probably busy," he muttered.
"So busy she can't reply to your text?"
"...I didn't send her a text."
"Have you called then?"
"...No."
"Levi!" Kenny cried out. "Are you serious? You didn't try to contact her and that's why you're brooding? I didn't know you're that shy!"
"I'm not shy," he grunted. "I'm just—"
"Terrified of making the first move, eh?" the smirk was back on Kenny's lips. "I bet she was the one who asked you out in the first place."
Levi turned his face away, hiding from Kenny's amused look. The fucking bastard was right but— he'd rather die than to admit this to Kenny.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Levi," Kenny gave him look so full of disappointment that the beginnings of shame actually prickled his heart. "Just send her a picture of a funny cat or some other shit. Stop being such a goddamn chicken."
Levi slowly nodded, pondering.
That was.... A sound advice. He wouldn’t send a picture of a funny cat, of course, he had a feeling Hange was actually a dog person, but....Sending something to get her attention. That way he could easily initiate dialogue without directly asking for it.
Huh. Who knew that Kenny of all people would give him a good advice.
As he moved his hand to grab the phone, Kenny stopped him.
"Wait, before you start making a fool out of yourself, I need to discuss something with you."
"What?" Levi snapped, quickly pulling his hand away. He crossed arms on his chest, glaring at Kenny beneath his eyebrows.
"Remember I told you about a job? We need to do it soon."
His glare turned into a frown. "You said we'll wait..."
"And wait we did." Kenny retorted. "We need to hurry."
Why, Levi wanted to ask. But he felt like he already knew the answer.
"Who is our client?"
Kenny hesitated. For a moment he shifted his gaze to the side. It was all the answer Levi needed.
"It's Reiss, isn't it?"
"Levi it's—"
"It's bullshit, that's what it is!" Levi growled. "I get that Uri was your friend and you owed much to him. But why the fuck you continue working for his deranged brother is beyond me!"
"You don't have to understand anything, Levi." Kenny told him, his gaze hard and his lips pressed in a tight line. "You just need to do what I say."
Kenny stood up, turning on his heels. "End of discussion. I'll call you when I finish the plan."
He left the room without another glance at him. For a few moments, Levi watched the spot his uncle was just sitting at, his anger growing and growing. He wanted to punch something. Or someone. Preferably, Kenny.
He almost rose up to go and do just that, but then he remembered.
Detective Zoe. He needed to text her.
His tea now completely forgotten, Levi grabbed his phone. Kenny was a shithead and a jerk, however... his advice wasn't that bad. But he still had to find a way to implement it. He opened the browser and furrowed his brows. What would Hange enjoy?
A link to an article? Not a bad choice, but what should he chose as a topic? Science? News? History? Or, maybe, a video from YouTube? A song? But he didn't know what music Hange liked and he wasn't sure their music tastes would be compatible. Or maybe—
His musings were suddenly interrupted. By a loud ping. Levi almost jumped at the unexpected noise. He glanced at top of his screen. He had an incoming message. From Hange.
In a span of a heartbeat, Levi opened it.
hey! sorry for being absent for so long, work is kicking my ass :( are you free this evening? do you want to go to that place you've showed me? i have the first day-off in forever :D
It was a simple message. It had no right in making him that flustered.
Levi stood up, went to a sink and put his cup in it. After washing it as thoroughly as possible and wiping his hands, he returned to the table.
He took the phone in his hands, he received a message from Hange five minutes ago. It was probably an appropriate time to respond. He didn't reply instantly, so Hange wouldn't think he's too eager. And he didn't reply too late as well, meaning that he wouldn't come across as negligent.
i'll be there at 8, he wrote back.
He went to brew another cup of tea, an unusual lightness taking residue in his chest. For the first time in five days, he was content.
***
"Hange," Erwin walked up to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. Tearing her gaze away from the papers on her desk, Hange blinked a few times, adjusting to the sudden brightness in the room. The sun was already up? It was up for quite some time, if Erwin was already here. "Did you really spend another night in here?"
The crease between his bush eyebrows was disapproving. Hange averted her eyes in shame.
"I just wanted to check one thing, and I guess I got carried away a bit..."
Erwin sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I appreciate what you do, Hange, I really do. I'm proud of what you’ve accomplished, but you need to take care of yourself. C'mon," he wrapped his hand around her arm, pulling her upwards. "Go home and get some sleep. Come back in the morning."
"But—" Hange cried, her eyes widening. "The today's shift has just begun! You want me to skip a whole day of work?"
"That's exactly what I want you to do. The precinct will survive one day without you, Hange."
"But!" she lifted the papers from her desk, shoving them into Erwin's face. "My work! My operation! It's important, Erwin!"
"You did all that you could for now," he reminded, his expression turning darker. "We still have a couple of days before Caven contacts Ackermans to lure them into our trap. So take this time to rest. And then give this operation your best."
"You really won't let me work, eh?" Hange's shoulders sagged, as she put down the papers, the plans she so carefully crafted. "I'll go home then, fine, but," she narrowed her eyes, glaring at Erwin, who, unfortunately, didn't look fazed at all. "I'll be back tomorrow."
"I don't expect anything else," he smiled, patting her arm. "Have a nice day, Hange."
She answered him with a smile of her own, albeit hers was too weak in comparison. With a defeated look, Hange started to pack her things.
She was grateful to Erwin for everything he's done to her, for all the times he stood behind her shoulder, backing her up. Without him, this operation would never be allowed to come to fruition. But all that aside, there were times when Erwin pissed her off so much. Sometimes he became too overbearing, breathing down her neck and pushing her to take a break like he was not her captain, but a mother.
As she turned to give him one last look, Erwin was still watching her, taping his foot impatiently. Sturdy like a rock, Hange’s protests would never sway him. She sighed, putting on her coat and grabbing her bag.
"Bye, chief!" she waved her hand before leaving the office.
As she walked through the hallways of the precinct, expertly avoiding bumping into one of her colleagues, the exhaustion started to catch up with her. She thought long and hard what should she do once she gets home. She could go to sleep, after several nights she spent sleeping at the small, uncomfortable couch in her office, she needed that catch eye more than anything.
But what she could busy herself with afterwards? Working was out of question, she left all printed documents in the office, and, knowing Erwin, he already blocked her access to the precinct's database. So what was left...
Hange pondered on it, taping a point finger against her lips.
And then— it hit her. Levi.
Levi!
She promised to text him after their date. And that was - Hange took out her phone, checking the date - fuck, that was five days ago. Would he still agree to hang out, she wondered.
Only one way to find out, Hange decided, unlocking her phone and opening the last chat with Levi.
***
They agreed to meet at eight. Levi entered the café at 7:30. He sat down at a table in the corner, the one that was separated from the rest of the café by a thin wall. He ordered tea and prepared to wait. He watched the entrance intently, his heart racing every time the door opened.
He finished his first cup and went outside to have a smoke. He ordered his second cup and soon finished it too. He had another cigarette. He walked inside again and ordered another cup. He paused from watching the entrance to glance at his wristwatch.
8:31
Hange was running late. Again. He was starting to see a pattern here.
He was thinking of going for another smoke break, when Hange finally stumbled inside. Red-faced and panting, she rushed to the table Levi was sitting at.
"Sorry!" she cried out, her voice ringing in the quietness of the small café and reverberating from its walls. "I swear it's not intentional, I just—" she took a deep breath. Levi pushed the unfinished cup in her direction and Hangs gulped in one go. "I just overslept."
"Overslept?" his eyebrows went so high they reached his hairline. He checked his wrist watch. "It's almost nine o'clock."
"Crazy day!" Hange giggled, sitting on the opposite side of Levi. "But I'm glad I finally get to see you! It's been a while!"
"It was," Levi nodded. It was good to see Hange, even though he couldn't quite find the words to express it.
"What do you wish to order?"
"I'll leave it up to you," Hange replied, smiling. She was sitting with her chin resting on her hand, and her eyes looking straight at Levi. Under her gaze, it was hard not to fidget.
"Do I have something on my face?" he asked, getting more and more flustered with each second.
"Nope," she said. "I just like looking at you, that's all."
Levi felt heat rise to his face. How the hell he should answer that?
"You reek," he blurted out. He cringed as soon as these words left his mouth. What is wrong with you, the voice in his head - the one that sounded exactly like Kenny - wondered.
Hange, however, didn't look fazed in the slightest.
"Yeah, sorry about that,” where any other – sane – person would start throwing insults or possibly even slap him, Hange just carelessly shrugged. “I was kinda living in my office and didn't have the time to take a shower. Today is the first time I came home, and I was so excited to see you that I totally forgot to clean up."
What she just said - it disgusted Levi beyond compare. Hange’s hair was greasy, her body emanated heinous odor of sweat and he was pretty sure she hadn’t brush her teeth too.
But at the same time - what she just said - it made Levi's chest feel weird. His heart skipped a beat and a warm, fluttery feeling settled in his stomach. It almost made him forget about his disgust.
"So what you've been up to?" he asked after Hange's order arrived.
She looked up from a cake she'd been devouring to give him a silly grin. The corners of her mouth were stained with cream. Levi sighed, bending over the table to wipe it out.
"Thanks," she mumbled. "And about work... sorry," she spread her arms. "That's kinda classified."
Of course, it'd be naive to think Hange would reveal her cards so easily. But if he could get at least something from her...
"You seem pretty excited," he noted, watching her carefully.
"I am!" Hange exclaimed, sending another spoon of cake into her mouth. "I feel very, very good about this operation. I've been working for more than a year to get to those bastards. Can't believe I'm so close to doing it!"
A chill ran through his spine. Hange was close. Hange was close to catching them. They needed to run, needed to get out of the city. He had to warn Kenny. Before it became too late.
His heart beat in unsteady rhythm and his hands turned clammy, as he tried to concentrate on what Hange was saying. His thoughts were going in circles, as he forced himself to snap out of it. He had to keep up his lie, had to play the role until the end, otherwise he risked rising Hange’s suspicions.
He had to think of something, some change of topic, something that would distract him from his possible downfall.
Putting on his best poker face, he straightened up, looking her in the eyes and willing his heart to calm down. A new direction to their conversation was already at the tip of his tongue.
Unfortunately, talking had never been his strong forte.
"I have been wondering..." Hange perked up. Levi winced, continuing. "Are you a cat or dog person?"
***
Finally, he was in his element.
After numerous discussions and arguments with Kenny, he was unable to convince him to leave. Not until they finish this job, or so Kenny had said.
“It's a piece of cake”, he had said. “The easiest job we've done in a while. Walk in, grab the money and walk out.”
“We can leave the city after that for a while,” he added. “Go on a vacation, travel to Caribbean or some shit.”
Levi hoped it wasn't one of Kenny's bullshit lies. They needed to get going and soon, the threat was hanging over them, so close that Levi could almost feel the tip of that metaphorical sword on the top of his head. But Kenny didn't understand. And Kenny wouldn't understand, because explaining to him meant revealing the way he got this information. And Levi couldn't allow that to happen. If Kenny finds out, he would never trust him again.
Or worse, he would decide to do something stupid. For example, try to outsmart the police. His uncle was a cunning man, but Levi knew what Hange was capable of. And he had met her boss, Erwin Smith. Kenny didn't stand a chance against the two of them.
To his credit, Kenny didn't lie, not this time at least. Getting inside the house was indeed surprisingly easy.
***
"First, you hack into security cameras," Kenny had instructed. "Judging by the blueprints of the house, there shouldn't be many of them."
"The house is small then?"
"Not the smallest one we've robbed."
"Who is our target?"
"Don't remember the name," Kenny gave his flippant reply, scratching the back of his neck. "But he's some big shot politician."
Politicians? Since when did they start targeting politicians? Something was up...
"Don't give me that look, Levi!" Kenny snapped, taking notice of Levi's furrowed eyebrows. "It doesn't matter anyway. What matters is this - will you be able to get through their security system?"
Levi huffed, rolling his eyes. "Please. Do you really need to ask?"
***
Just like Kenny had said, getting in was surprisingly easy. He hacked into security cameras and turned off the alarms in a record seven minutes time. And that incredible feat was achieved, despite the fact that he was working, using a shitty Wi-Fi signal from a nearby cafe.
Once that was done, they could move to a next stage of a plan.
***
"I take it the house is surrounded by a fence?"
Kenny huffed. "Obviously."
"Barbed wire? Guards? Dogs?"
"Nothing of the sort. We're breaking into a house, Levi, not a prison."
They broke into a prison once, to help escape one of Kenny's associates. It was a tough job. And a surprisingly fun one.
"We just climb the fence and that's it,” Kenny assured. “Don't worry, I'll help you do it."
"Fuck off," Levi growled, sending Kenny a death glare. When his uncle did nothing, but smirk, he scoffed and returned his attention to the blueprints on the table. "What do we do next? Which entrance do we use to get in?"
"Whichever we want to," Kenny replied, shrugging. "The house will be empty."
Levi pursed his lips. "You sure?"
"Sure as can be. The whole family is going on some kind of auction for rich assholes. Reiss will be there too, he promised to make sure that our guy stays for as long as possible."
"At least, he's useful for something," Levi muttered. His finger traced the outline of blueprint, as he announced his decision. "We'll use the back door. No need to raise suspicions. Who knows how nosy his neighbors are."
***
Another advantage of using the backdoor was a fact that usually they weren't as protected as the main entrance.
And this door was no exception, Levi picked its lock in less than thirty seconds.
"Welcome," he grunted, pushing the door open and letting Kenny go in first.
The house, as expected, was engulfed in darkness. Kenny with his black pants and jacket instantly merged with the shadows. After carefully closing the door, Levi joined him, becoming one with the darkness as well.
***
"Do we know where he keeps the money?"
"Where do all rich douches keep their money?" Kenny snorted. "The study, of course."
"Alright, so we do what? Just simply walk in there?"
"You want to use the window? Or try looking for a ventilation shaft? It's an easy job, Levi," Kenny patted his shoulder. "Relax and don't overthink it."
***
The house was not only dark, it was quiet. The unnatural silence got on Levi's nerves.
Usually when they were on a job, there were other people there. Banks were full of workers, going about their jobs several floors above the vaults, museums and art galleries had guards, casinos were bristling with noise and chatter no matter the time of a day. And when they escaped the noise, moving closer to their goal, silence was a good thing. Silence meant they were undetected, meant they were safe. Silence used to bring him comfort.
This house was an exception. The silence there... It didn’t give him a sense of safety, only unease. It made him even more alert than usual.
The smiling faces in photo frames that stared at Levi from every wall were unnerving him even more. Two redheaded kids, standing between their grinning parents seemed completely out of place in this dark, silent house. Levi breathed a sigh of relief when they finally reached the study.
"You take care of the safe," Kenny told him. "I look around."
Levi gave him a curt nod and, without another word, set out to work.
The safe was of medium size and it stood in the corner of the room, half hidden by a large dieffenbachia.
Levi crouched next to it, taking out his instruments.
The safe broke down quickly. It almost felt like an insult. Kenny and him were world class thieves. And this house could be easily robbed by an amateur.
Smoldering his annoyance, he opened the safe. As soon as he did, Kenny pushed him aside. He grabbed something from it, pocketing it inside his jacket. His movements were quick and the room was dark, but Levi's eyes were sharp. He saw a document - a birth certificate - and a photo of a young girl whose blond hair was vivid enough to be visible even in the darkness.
"What the fuck was it?" Levi hissed.
"Does it matter?" Kenny laughed so carelessly that to Levi's ears it sounded almost forced and insincere. "Let's just get out of here.”
He threw the door of the safe shut and turned around, motioning Levi to get going. Levi grabbed the back of his jacket before Kenny could take another step.
Perhaps, he was getting paranoid – he hoped he was – but he had heard something.
The noise, the barely audible clatter downstairs. And the sound of footsteps that sounded closer and closer.
"Fuck!" Kenny hissed, his eyes widening. So he wasn’t paranoid. "Shit! They were supposed to be gone for another hour at least!"
"And yet they're already here," Levi snapped, the tension getting to him as well. "We’re on a second floor, jumping is—"
“The only way to escape,” Kenny finished grimly. “Go, Levi.”
He didn’t like the way Kenny had said that. And he really didn’t like the hand that Kenny put under his jacket.
That’s where he kept his gun.
His heart fell.
“Kenny, no!” Levi whispered, urgently tagging at his sleeve.
“Hurry up, Levi,” Kenny replied, unusually quiet. “You don’t like when things get dirty.”
“Ken—”
The door had opened, before Levi could finish. A man, probably somewhere in his forties, stood on a threshold. Levi had seen him in one of the photos - it was the father of the family, the one, who embraced two redheaded children. However, in this moment he wasn’t smiling. His eyes widened, his mouth opened in a scream.
That was devoured by a thunderous gunshot.
“Get going!” Kenny urged, hiding his gun. He grabbed Levi by the collar to drag him forward. “This place is going to be swirling with cops any second now!”
Numbly, Levi followed him. He opened the window, climbed on a windowsill and jumped down. He roughly landed on a ground, the snow softening his fall, but ever so slightly. It left him with scratches on his palms and bruises on his knees.
Levi felt none of it. His ears were still ringing from the gunshot, and before his eyes still stood that man.
“Snap out of it!” Kenny raged, forcing him to stand up. “We need to go, Levi, you can deal with your inner turmoil later.”
“Why did you kill him?” he asked, surprised by the hollowness in his own voice. He stared at Kenny, anger growing inside him. “Why did you kill him?!” he pushed his uncle away, making him stumble. “We could have escaped!”
“And he could have seen us.” Kenny replied, straightening his jacket. “Just a glimpse of our backs would give police an advantage we can’t allow them to have. So stop throwing a tantrum like it’s a first dead body you’ve seen.”
Kenny was right, he had seen his fair share. The first dead body he had seen was his mother’s. But it wasn’t the last one. Not all of their jobs were successful, they didn’t always remain undetected. They weren’t invisible, and, even if they were damn good at what they did, accidents still happened.
Usually those accidents ended in violence – knock the unlucky guard down, before he sees you, and you’re safe. But sometimes – just like today - those accidents ended in death.
It was nothing new to Levi, and yet – each time it happened, he felt the weight in his chest so heavy it threatened to drag him down all the way to the ground.
Violence, death – they were following him since he was born. But dealing with them, getting used to them was a skill Levi had yet to master.
“C’mon,” Kenny wrapped a hand around his shoulders, pushing him forward with uncharacteristic considerateness. “You can scold me for not valuing human life later. When we get home.”
The sirens were already heard in the distance, they had no time for arguing. Levi let himself be led, climbing up the fence and jumping off it. Hidden by shadows, they rapidly left the house behind.
His mind was still filled with images of smiling man from the photo, that vision merging with his dying expression.
***
It was quite a productive shift, Hange was almost pleased by what she had achieved today. The clock was nearing eight, making her contemplate if she should call it a day. There was always more work that could be done, but Erwin could come in any minute, scolding and chiding her.
It was best to be gone before he would throw her out of the office.
Hange was turning off her computer, when the door to her office was thrown open. In stumbled Mike – disheveled, panting, he looked a far cry from his usual tranquil appearance.
Hange felt her stomach drop. A thousand guesses and suspicions swam around her head, as she waited for Mike to catch his breath and start talking.
Judging by Mike’s agitation, it couldn’t be anything good.
“We’ve got another robbery!” he managed to finally say. And before Hange could start cursing, he added.
“And this time, it’s a murder as well.”
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fight night (jatp crew x reader)
readers home life hasn’t been the best and they’ve been lying to their friends about it. one night it all builds up and the reader shows up to julies, distraught. ( for this the boys are alive bc it just worked out best but other than that no changes.)
this has been sitting in my drafts so i thought i’d post it
trigger warning: family fights, anxiety, depression, past talk of eating disorders.
For a long time you use to just keep everything buried down. That was your fatal flaw. It wasn’t a trust issue, you just always had this feeling that if no one knew then everything would be fine. But your family had lately been falling apart, your parents always seemed disappointed in you, you were fighting with your siblings more and it felt it a ballon that kept on expanding. you didn’t know when everything was going to explode it just kept getting worse.
Today was the exploding point. It seemed like no matter what you did, it just wasn’t good enough. You were the black sheep in your family, they made you out to be it. They complained about how you dressed, what your room looked like, the music you played, the people you hung out with, and for what? You didn’t do anything that was textbook problem child material.
You tried your hardest in school, you never asked for much, you cleaned almost everyone’s mess at home, and after a while that became your routine. Never be seen, never be heard and never get any credit for everything you do. Meanwhile your siblings, little miss perfect and the star academic got everything you wanted. Your parents attention, their approval, and their constant reassurance.
By the time you were in high school, you were emotionally independent. A stranger to your own family pretty much. You went to an art school along with your siblings. Even as the oldest, you quickly fell into their shadows. Your sister a musical protégé on the violin, your parents paid for the best lessons, and without a doubt she’ll probably attend some ivy league. Your brother was in the advanced academics program, with yale and harvard already offering him scholarships in his sophomore year. Then there was you. You were in the art program, and while your teacher swears that all the top art schools have you on their radar. You still felt insignificant.
You worked a weekend job at the local coffee shop, latte love , it wasn’t everything but it helped pay for art supplies for you to build your portfolio. Their you met Julie Molina and Flynn Davis. Two girls who were your age, they attended the music program at your art school. You recognized them, Julie had been like the sun at the school. In the hallways always smiling and then her mom died, the sun went away hidden behind clouds. While Flynn was unapologetically herself and didn’t backdown from telling people how things were, she was fearless. They were also probably the first two people who knew your siblings and were able to separate you from them.
Then later on in the year the three of you met Luke, Alex and Reggie. Latte Love was hosting its monthly open mic night. It was almost a year after Julie’s mom died, so in an attempt to coax her back into music, Flynn brought her around. You offered free hot chocolate on the house as a bribe if she wanted to come. After an hour of mainly middle schoolers trying to face stage fright, soccer parents who desperately tried to hold onto their high school garage band phase and any other mediocre act who gave it their all in effort. Sunset Curve preformed.
That night honestly sent all six of your lives’ into a full spiral but in the best way. A month after you had met sunset curve, they formed a band with Julie and became, Julie and the Phantoms. Flynn becoming the band manager and you being the artist for ticket designs, posters and anything else. It helped distract you from everything going on in your life and with your friends you didn’t feel left out or the black sheep. You were you and they loved you for all of it.
But you could only be happy for so long. Your family always managed to make you feel horrible about yourself, this week had felt like the worst its ever been. Your sister being recruited for a summer symphony in Australia, your brother would be off at a stem camp and your summer plans were just to work, make art and hang with your friends. Your family wasted no time in telling you that you were wasting your time, or that it was just some silly childish thing. They didn’t understand how big Julie and the Phantoms were becoming. The latest gig being opening for panic at the disco at the Orpheum.
You couldn’t take it anymore, which is how you ended up walking to Julie’s house right in the beginning of a thunderstorm. When you finally made it to Julie’s front stoop you were drenched head to toe. Julie being the one to pull you in the front door. In her oversized smiley face sweatshirt and baggy sweats. The movie night dress code.
“Did you walk here?” She exclaims looking at the outdoor storm and turning back to her best friend. Your eyes red from crying and cheeks raw from wiping your tears rapidly. She’d been expecting you for weekly movie night, especially since her dad and brother had been away for a baseball game for the weekend. Just not in this state.
“More like swam.” You replied with a dry laugh. Trying to desperately hold yourself together. Knowing your friends were all in the living room, you didn’t want to burden them with your breakdown.
“Hey was that the chinese food! Y/n? Whats wrong bean?” Flynn stated her mood changing halfway through the sentence noticing the state of their best friend. Who looked like she’d just had the world’s worst day. You smiled fondly at the nice name she’d given you, which was a coffee pun.
“Family shit. Like always.” You said looking down at the floor and the puddle that you were slowly dripping onto the Molina residence’s welcome mat. Both girls smiled sympathetically, they had their fair share of stories of how bad things could get at the L/n household.
“Come on! It’s movie night, you’re getting into cozy clothes and having junk food with your friends.” Julie said taking your hand and leading you upstairs to her room. Julie handed you spare clothes due to you being completely soaked. Then a towel to dry yourself off.
“Here, once you’re ready to come downstairs, we can put your stuff into the dryer.” Julie said smiling at her friend before leaving to give her privacy. Taking the towel she gave you and trying to dry your hair. Then changing into the cozy clothes she gave you. Your phone blowing up from texts from your family. Your parents wanting to know where you were. Not caring how hurt you were. Your siblings saying half assed apologies they didn’t mean. They’d done this before and they’d do it again.
Ignoring the messages, you walked back downstairs. The comforting smell of chinese food wafting at you. Julie, Alex and Flynn stood at the table. Meanwhile Luke and Reggie were were at the local 7/11 getting slushies.
“Did anyone order a hot mess?” You said jokingly getting their attention. Alex standing up and instantly hugging you as if he’d never see you again. Hugging him back. Alex’s hugs always felt as if it was a cloud.
The Molina residence house phone then rang, the caller id labeling your house. “We can just let it go to message.” Julie said turning back from the phone to you. You shook your head, “I’m so over this bullshit.” Walking over to the phone you picked it up.
“Hello ever so loving parental unit.” You said with sarcasm dripping off every word. “Pop off!” Flynn said as she bit into a dumpling. You bit back a smile. “Where are you? You can’t run out because you’re upset.” You heard your mom say. You rolled your eye.
“Where i am every friday night. I told you in advance i had plans so when you take your attention span off miss perfect and genius boy remember you have a third fucking child. Goodnight!” You said promptly and then hung up placing the phone back on back on its home base. “Beyoncé would approve.” Flynn said clapping for dramatic effect.
“How much trouble are you going to be in for that?” Alex said passing your usual that Julie knew to order for you, you shrugged. “Bold of you to assume they’ll remember to ground me.”
“Wow what a rag tag group of mommy and daddy issues we are.” Reggie announced as he placed the tray of slushies down on the counter. “Excuse you!” Julie exclaimed as she took a slip of her blueberry slushie. “She’s dead, that’s an issue.” Flynn said as she grabbed her green apple one. You choked on your food for a second, “Out of pocket!”
“She’s right babe.” Luke said hugging her from behind. “You have mommy issues too.” Julie said turning around slightly. “Only the hottest people have both mommy and daddy issues!” Alex exclaimed holding a hand of for you and Reggie to high five.
“My back hurts from having a healthy parental relationship and carrying that standard.” Flynn said cracking open her fortune cookie. You laughed looking around at your dysfunctional friend group.
“We are all going to hell for these jokes alone.” You said taking a sip of your slushie. Reggie scoffed, “We’re just warming up.”
#julie and the phantoms#julie and the phantoms imagine#reggie peters#reggie peters imagine#luke patterson imagine#luke patterson#julie molina#julie molina imagine#flynn jatp#flynn nolastname#alex mercer#alex mercer imagine
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I love your art, it is very detailed in a neat way. Was wondering how you got started making it as a source of income? How did you get your first paid work, I'd love some advice on how to get started, if that's ok
Thank you. Of course it's okay, although I doubt I have enough work experience in art to really delve into this. I only went full freelance this year, and had been juggling art as a side hobby until then. If you're still interested in my somewhat narrow perspective, and are okay with my long-winded rambles, I'll give it a shot:
So to answer your question fully, I'll describe how I started and move into personal advice and learnings later on. As a disclaimer, I am a white cishet dude in my late twenties with a moderate cocktail of mental illnesses, but overall I can pass for a functioning adult so a lot I have to say may come laced with privilege I cannot fully identify.
So uhh I began drawing in around 2012? I think? Maybe halfway through 2011? And I mostly made fanart for things I enjoyed and tried to branch out in communities that felt nourishing to my style and interests (I caught a bug for alt posters and enjoyed mainstream movies so I spent a long time on posterspy early on). There were a handful of opportunities that came from there but I could only accept a couple because of primary workplace commitments. Still, it showed that networking in a focused community was definitely a good place to start; I myself have huge trouble committing to social networks and really staying socially active, but I knew it was an essential ingredient in succeeding so I tried to make myself be involved in challenges and art support trains etc. as much as I could.
In parallel to all that I also ran a few third party online stores (redbubble, teepublic) for disposable income and would sometimes, if rarely, hit around $100-150 a month from those sources combined. It is a sort of thing that requires helper accounts on other social media sites to promote it on, because the stores themselves have a huge volume of content that translates into low organic discoverability. Obviously it was never gonna be the way towards financial independence through art, and with community projects being few and far between, I opened private commissions in around uhhh 2017 I think, focusing on offering a few styles I knew I could do well, and sometimes operating in individual fandoms (it was mostly a bioware thing to be frank). But I had to close them back down after a year or so, again because of work-life conflict and how badly it was burning me out. The reason I kept trying to monetize this hobby is because I honestly hated what I did for my main job and wanted to see a way out in some shape or form in the future.
And then in 2020 I had to quit my main job altogether because of *gestures at pandemic* and deal with a mental breakdown from all the wonderful things it did to us and me specifically. I took a short break and decided to give art a shot full-time, and that was around May this year. I was planning on opening up commissions again (and I still am), but a few sudden opportunities that fell in my lap moved that timetable down and now I'm grateful to even be doing something I am getting adequately paid for.
So, with that somewhat limited perspective, here's what I've learned that I'd tell myself if I was just starting out:
1. Being a fan of something can be a shortcut towards effective networking kickoffs. Which are important evidently. If you love something and enjoy making content for it, join communities, settle into a combination of social media websites that feel right for those interests + your body of work + your inner rhythm, and try to play to content discovery as much as your mental health allows you to. Like I said, I know that I myself am incredibly bad at self-motivating to talk to people, so I found that synergizing common interests into fanart - which I enjoyed making anyway - could be a way to give myself a gentle nudge forward and build those bridges leading to community activities, which then net experience and coverage. Sometimes even freelance projects from official avenues. Again; picking the right spaces for what you're after is key. Companies roam twitter, concept art recruiters scour artstation or linkedin etc, instagram can land you private commissions and collab opportunities, so on and so forth. Find your niche and try to kick up dust. However...
2. I do not believe that any social profile can replace a good portfolio. The thing that made an immediate difference to me this year was building a coherent, simple website with my best work front and center and a contact form on top. Every single opportunity I got came from that form (maybe via twitter or instagram initially, but always sealing the decision after going through the website), so I firmly believe that showcasing your skills and portfolio in a visually arresting and user-friendly way is a big priority. I had some reservations about tackling that task but fortunately I had help from a savvy life partner and we slapped it together via wordpress in less than a day. Twitter/whatever social media is prevalent in your target groups is definitely important to get the right eyes on your shit, yes, but those eyes will then look for a second stop where your work and rates are more clear and concise. Simplicity is key imo, I cannot overstate this. So make a cute, simple portfolio!
3. Your skills and rates will grow and change as you do. Let them. Over the years I built several lasting professional relationships from my obsession over mass effect and kept getting opportunities both from bioware and their partner companies, some small and some a bit bigger. A one-off job earlier this year opened an unexpected door to another much larger commitment, and then the work I did there brought some attention from small businesses looking for commercial commissions. These were all incredibly different projects in terms of scope and budget, and I've been tackling them all on a case-by-case basis and slowly coming into my own irt my needs, rates, and SOW thresholds. It is still a work in progress (and a LOT of literal work as well), and very much a thing I struggle with in publicly marketing, which is why I felt a tad underqualified to answer your question in the first place (obviously I did not let that stop me). But what it means for me now is that I am rapidly developing into whatever my "version" of a functioning freelance artist is, and when the conditions for that guy are met, I need to be able to confidently plant myself and operate from that space despite past precedents. Do not let anyone bully you into downpricing what you yourself perceive as legitimate products of personal growth and development. Speaking of which...
4. The shitty challenge of turning envy into inspiration, and paddling outside your comfort zones in full riot gear. it is hard, but realizing that being a miserable, self-hating artist in my early days got me nothing but more misery back was the first real step I took and what truly blew the hinges off. I was just not pleasant to be around, I would badmouth my work all the time, and it all somehow made sense in my broken mind because the validation I sought was purely external and the way I sought it was through eliciting sympathy via self-victimization (even when I made something objectively nice). It all led fucking nowhere. Except perhaps to my own narcissism that I one day managed to identify and start managing. So I started looking at things that made me seethe with envy and calmly deconstruct and figure out their inner workings instead, do studies, and find nuggets of inspiration or discover new ways to approach rendering or building up specific elements. It was an application of analytical diligence to what I wanted to be a purely emotional, esoteric workflow, but that I deep down knew wasn't. Art is a discipline and a skill, and maybe it isn't a straight line, but you gotta find some line to thread nevertheless. Being self-hating was almost an identity I had to break out of, and despite it still being like, 4-5% there? I realize its cause and effect on me, my work, and those around me, so it is with a conscious choice that I gently set it aside when I work and especially when I learn. It won't always stay quiet, but the effort is the difference. Your doors towards accepting true growth and venturing into uncharted territories, art styles, and networking will really open from there. But there's a huge caveat...
5. Toolsets, accessibility, privilege, and all the good things that enable artistic expression and profitability are not given equal to all. you might do all the mental work I mentioned to be ready to rock and roll and learn and draw your way out of anything, but digital art is a fucking money pit that asks almost too much at times. I don't got a good case study here but identifying and ensuring accessibility to the tools you need to do your best work is, like, super important. The ergonomics can improve as you make money and settle into the job, but the basics have to be made available to you. And some of that might not even be under your direct control. That can be anything from pen tablets to software subscriptions to opportunities in hiring sullied by sexism or what have you. You gotta navigate all that through careful networking and money/time management. I don't do a good job of devoting specific slices of time to work/study, and my primary clutch is iPad software which went from a good deal to a nightmare scenario over the years. So all I can say here is do what I didn't; network, invest in a PC/tablet, and pick a software you'll learn that won't burn a hole in your pocket.
6. Be nice to work with? This one is hard to articulate and has landed my own ass in hot water in my early years because of how socially inept I am, but nothing is more worthwhile than being.. like. a good person to work with. That can be anything like meeting deadlines, or sometimes missing them but eloquently articulating why, being generous in early stages, being communicable and not too wordy in your emails, having a good grasp on abstract artistic concepts and how to describe them in simple terms, having a clear, laid out framework of your working rates in commercial and non-commercial projects and sticking to those guns with grace, understanding when you need to say no and saying it well, the works. Just being nice. Sometimes that might mean going headstrong with something you believe in, or simmering down and sucking up to the big man, all relative and adaptive. Part and parcel of the service provision dance that we all have to do in order to make bank. Know your lines here, obviously, and don't like. work for nazis. or uh.. *shudders* exposure. but be nice and empathetic and communicable and word will travel eventually. Skill may be in abundance these days, but good people are most certainly not, and capitalism has a way of bubbling up scarcity. Grim, but uh, them's the breaks.
I know I'm ultimately telling you to like. Have a body of work, make a portfolio, grow, and network. But that's really how I see it for now. And being nice can be a cherry on top that sets you apart, along with the inherent irreplaceable voice of your artwork. I think I rambled on enough, but if there is something specific you need my help with, even if you want to come off anon and talk in private, please feel free.
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Sugar and Coffee [21]
Chapter 20 - Chapter 21 - Chapter 21.5 OR Chapter 22
➜ Words: 4.5k
➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU
➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.
cr.
Baking is a mastery. It’s an ability that needs to be practiced and refined. It requires discipline and patience, especially when things go wrong. It’s problem solving and creative with never one right answer. It’s practically magic in a silver bowl, a whisk, and an oven. And Jungkook is the best wizard in this kitchen.
He preheats the oven to three hundred and seventy five degrees fahrenheit. Then he cuts parchment paper to line a baking sheet and moves to brush the ramekins with melted butter. Jungkook adds the tablespoon of white sugar and rotates the ramekins until the surfaces are coated in it.
Five ounces of seventy percent dark chocolate is put into a bowl with two ounces of semisweet chocolate and he melts it over a saucepan with hot water on low heat. Afterwards, he adds the egg yolks until the mixture stiffens. Jungkook wipes his sweat before he mixes in the tablespoon of flour and butter, reducing the heat to low and adding in some cold milk.
It’s thickened after three minutes and he adds salt, a pinch of cayenne pepper as a secret ingredient, and mixes.
The bowl is left over hot water while he whips egg whites with a pinch of cream of tartar, adding sugar after a bit to create glossy, soft peaks.
Jungkook transfers the egg whites into the soufflé base, folding it in gently one third at a time and then he divides the mixture to bake for a full fifteen minutes.
What he’s left with at the end is the best chocolate soufflé on the planet.
“What do you think?”
“It’s really good.” Aeri politely smiles and you roll your eyes.
“You don’t need to feed his ego. He’s been raving about it for days now.”
“And you’ve eaten at least ten of them.” Jungkook grins and you mutter incoherently, unable to really protest against the claim that’s all too true.
The soufflé is puffed and crusty on top, but still gooey and jiggly in the center. It’s risen to its maximum height without collapsing whatsoever, uniform all around. And the texture is cloud-like, soft with the chocolate taste melting on the palate.
It took two weeks to perfect — but the outcome made the effort all worth it.
“I call it the ultimate soufflé.”
Your brows raise. “The ultimate? Not Jungkook’s ultimate?”
“Nope. The ultimate.” He smirks and leans into you. “Want another one?”
You hope he doesn’t know that it takes a lot of strength for you to reject.
Jungkook’s good at baking. That much is clear. You’re not sure if he’s as good as you are of course, but anything that has to do with chocolate practically has his name on it. His chocolate soufflé is no exception. It’s fucking delicious. Enough that even Yoongi asks for seconds and Taehyung almost starts to cry.
But you don’t want to admit just how good it is since his ego’s been boundless these past few days.
“How does it feel to be in a relationship with the best chocolatier on Earth?” he pipes up suddenly when you haven’t even said a single word for the past five minutes. And when you tell Jungkook he’s not a chocolatier yet, he laughs and tells you he will be soon while condescendingly patting your head like you’re his pet.
As if that wasn’t enough, he interrupts snuggling time by rolling over with a pompous look on his face. “I’m just so happy right now.”
“Why?”
You’re expecting a corny answer along the lines of — ‘because you’re here’. But instead Jungkook sighs dreamily and says, “I really nailed that soufflé, didn’t I?”
It’s annoying. You’re just trying to live your life peacefully but in every shape, way, or form, no matter the context, he just has to bring up that goddamn soufflé like it’s his child he’s so proud of. It’s not like you aren’t happy for your boyfriend — frankly, you wouldn’t mind if he bragged or boasted about it to others. But he’s been constantly chirping about it in your ear. And any complaints from you would just warrant his grins and questions of if you’re jealous of his skills.
“I don’t know what to add to my portfolio,” you mention passingly one afternoon after much contemplation.
Your boyfriend hums. “You need something with chocolate, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you could make my soufflé. I’m sure it would help with your grade a lot, but—,” Jungkook draws out the syllable with another sly smirk, “my recipe’s a secret. Sorry, babe. Wish I could help.”
In spite of your inner exhaustion and vexation, for the sake of being a good girlfriend, you simply nod and let him have his moment. Even if Jeon Jungkook was being unbearably arrogant and reminding you of why you hated him about a year ago, he was clearly happy with the recipe he worked so hard on and you didn’t want to step on that.
He deserves some personal limelight, so you let him have it.
But luckily, you don’t have to bear the weight of his smug ass by yourself for long.
“Yuna!” Your arm waves over your head. The high schooler smiles, rolling her luggage behind her and meeting with you halfway. Immediately, you engulf her in your arms even when she grumbles and resists. “How was the trip here? You’re not hungry, are you?”
“God, you’re like my mom,” she huffs. “It was fine. Hey, Jungkook.” Yuna shifts and smiles warmly at your boyfriend who nods, greeting her as well.
“Hey.”
“So this is the school you go to?”
You grin. “Sure is!”
The last time you were with Yuna, she expressed interest in the professional baking and pastry arts program. You didn’t expect that she would actually come visit during the week-long break for a tour but it was a surprise you welcomed. You hope you can take her interest and curiosity and inspire her.
“Namjoon and Sejeong packed some cookies for you. They told me to say...thanks….for showing me around when you’re busy and stuff.”
“It’s not a problem. I’m happy to.” You smile. “Tell them I said thanks too.”
“Taehyung’s joining us,” Jungkook reads off his phone and then pockets it. “Apparently, he’s bored.”
You shrug. “Fine by me.”
“Who’s Taehyung?” Yuna asks.
“Just a friend of ours,” you say to ease her obvious worries of the stranger.
The three of you wait a few minutes, getting caught up with one another as Yuna talks about what her last classes were about. But soon after, the tall brunette is strolling over with his hands buried in his white hoodie pockets. His hair is disheveled like he just rolled out of bed and you don’t think that’s too far from the truth.
“Jimin ditched me to go on some date with the chick from his classic desserts class,” he whines when he gets in ear-shot distance. “I thought I was going to die of boredom.”
“Tough life,” you scoff and don’t notice Yuna who’s frozen next to you. Her eyes are wide on the stranger, gaze sweeping up and down at him.
She swallows hard before stepping forward and making herself known. “H-Hi. My name is Kim Yuna.”
“Oh yeah.” Taehyung grins easily. “They told me about you.”
“Did they? I’m glad.” She giggles and tucks her hair behind her ear. You exchange expressions with Jungkook. This was an awfully familiar situation. “I’m Namjoon’s niece, their boss during their internship.”
“I’m Kim Taehyung.”
They shake hands and Yuna goes in for the kill without hesitation— “Does your girlfriend know you’re here?”
Taehyung is flustered, taken aback by the blunt question. “I….don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Great.” Yuna answers swiftly with a big smile.
You have to admit, she’s bold. The girl has some guts even you don’t have. And you’ve never witnessed Taehyung this perplexed either. It’s hard to catch someone as spontaneous as him off guard.
“How old are you?” Taehyung frowns, an apprehensive expression etched on his features like you’re telling him to touch a gooey substance in the corner of some dirty bathroom stall.
“I turned eighteen in May,” she declares bluntly.
But Taehyung looks unconvinced despite his slow nod. “That’s barely legal,” he mutters and only you and Jungkook catch it.
It’s hard to hold back laughter, but you try your best and interrupt— “Should we start the tour?”
You show her around campus, walking through the corridors, directing her where the lecture halls are and what classes are where. You tell her what it was like for first years and you show her the dormitories, the lockers, the dining hall, and the kitchen area.
All in the meanwhile, Taehyung sticks to Jungkook’s side like gum. It’s obvious that he’s intimidated by the petite high schooler and it’s an amusing sight.
But Yuna is a go-getter and somehow manages to get Taehyung beside her to answer her numerous questions. You and Jungkook fall back, no longer showing her the way and you’re reduced to watching their backsides.
“You know what I want to eat right now?” Jungkook turns to you, mumbling, “My soufflé.”
Here we go again….
You internally sigh, but maintain a stiff smile. “Uh-huh.”
“I should make it for Yuna. She’d be blown away.”
“What?” The younger girl twirls around at the mention of her name.
Jungkook grins at her. “You like soufflé? I make the best chocolate soufflé here.”
Yuna blinks, too innocent to know better. “Really?”
“Your soufflé isn’t even that good.” It’s a lie. “I bet I could do it better.” That’s an even bigger lie, but you can’t stop it once it’s spewed out of your mouth.
It goes silent.
Jungkook stops walking. Taehyung turns around.
“You think you can make a better chocolate soufflé than me?” Your boyfriend’s eyes narrow, taking personal offence.
You shrug — it’s too late to back down now. “Why not? Can’t be that hard.”
Jungkook scoffs with a stupidly smug expression, calling your bluff. “You can barely temper chocolate.”
“You underestimate me, Jeon,” you bite back and his lips curl.
“Fine. Let’s see then.”
//
It was a mistake — something said on impulse, after days of irritation bubbling in the pit of your stomach. It came tumbling out before you could know better, before you could think twice about the consequences, but now you’re standing in the kitchen at an impromptu competition.
“Welcome to the annual Jeon and L/N competition, everyone!”
“This isn’t annual,” you mutter at Taehyung’s unnecessary extravagance.
He corrects himself— “Welcome to the first annual Jeon and L/N competition, everyone!”
The word spread like wildfire, but luckily kept only in the group chat. The last thing you needed were acquaintances, classmates, and teachers coming to watch. The guys were noisy enough. And it’s a testament proven with Yoongi coming over, Hoseok sprinting to get here, and Jimin calling to tell everyone to wait for his date to be over. All of it was enough pressure you could handle at the moment.
But even Aeri had caught wind of what was going on and decided to come by.
It’s clear that there’s still tension between her and Hoseok. You don’t miss the strained expressions they exchange with one another before taking seats on the opposite ends, but you’re glad that they can at least be in the same room as one another. It’s an improvement. A sign of moving on.
Yet you don’t dwell on them — not when you have bigger fish to fry at the moment.
“Over here we have Y/N who believes she can make a better chocolate soufflé than Jungkook, an aspiring chocolatier who literally took weeks and weeks to perfect this recipe of his to make it the ultimate soufflé—”
“Alright, that’s enough,” you cut off Taehyung, the self-designated commentator, before you start actually sweating.
Jungkook is competitive. Everyone and their mother knows that. And that fact alone makes you nervous. He might just throw you entirely under the bus and burn your relationship to the ground for the sake of winning. You’re worried — but you don’t show it. You can’t.
If he knows you’re fearful, he’ll have the upper hand. So you feign indifference.
After all, if there was one similarity between you and Jungkook, it was that you weren’t going to back down without a fight either. You were born a winner and it was going to stay that way.
“And to make it more fair and maximize the amount of desserts we get to eat, over here we have Jeon Jungkook who will be making éclair. A pastry made with choux dough filled with cream and topped with chocolate icing. It is a specialty perfected by Y/N, an aspiring pâtisserie chef who dreams of running her own wedding cake catering services someday.”
“Two very different dishes that the opposing member has a speciality in.” Taehyung continues to narrate and nods his head, inadvertently making Yuna giggle, “Who can make it better? You’ll be the judge of that.”
It’s ridiculous, but you’re not going to cave in or surrender. Not when Jungkook’s ego was insurmountable and you’d never hear the end of it if you gave up.
An hour and a half is put on the clock. Your counters parallel to one another while your friends are gathered at the other, ready to watch, eat their snacks and hang around. You momentarily wonder why you never have the privilege of relaxing like them.
But you don’t think about it for too long. The moment Taehyung starts the time, you begin.
You preheat the oven and begin buttering the ramekins.
“How do you feel, Y/N?” Suddenly a whisk is thrusted in your face, almost puncturing your cheek. It’s a makeshift microphone that you push aside.
“Fine.”
“What are you doing now?”
“What does it look like?” You push Taehyung aside, grabbing sugar to coat the dish.
“Well alright then.” He laughs and slinks over to Jungkook’s side who’s humming underneath his breath. He’s much too casual as he finishes greasing a cookie sheet and moves to combine butter and water in a saucepan. “How about you, Jungkook?”
“Never been better.” The side of his lip is curled. Jungkook’s black long sleeve is pushed up to his elbows to reveal his forearms, and one peek at him is enough to feel your blood boil. It’s obvious that he doesn’t see you as a threat whatsoever.
“You think you’re going to win?”
“Unfortunately, I do.” Jungkook plays along with Taehyung’s antics, head so far up in the clouds.
“Why unfortunately?”
“Well, it’s not everyday I want to crush my girlfriend, but sometimes I just have to.” Jungkook twists to you. “Sorry, babe.”
You ignore him, too busy glancing at the label and dumping the chocolate into a small bowl with butter. In the meanwhile, Yoongi chews on his chips and scrutinizes. “Are you sure that’s the right kind?”
“Fuck off, Yoongi.”
It’s not like you haven’t done this before — you’re just not sure if yours can ever beat Jungkook’s.
You whisk in the six egg yolks and add a pinch of sea salt until the melted mixture thickens. At the same time, Jungkook is singing under his breath, forming his pastry dough and piping it out onto his baking sheet.
You don’t know how he works so fast, but you concentrate harder, ignoring Jimin asking Yuna if she likes the place so far, disregarding Yoongi’s snarky comments and Hoseok’s music that he turns on as background noise.
Once you place egg whites and half a teaspoon of cream of tartar in the electric mixer to beat, you’re finally able to take a moment of relief. Jungkook is also at his mixer beating his heavy cream for the filing. “Nervous, babe?”
You scoff at him. “As if.”
“Alright then.” Jungkook smirks, almost as if he finds your snobbery endearing.
You hate how he can see right through you, but you still maintain the facade anyhow. At this moment, he was your rival first and your boyfriend second.
“It smells so good.” Yuna inhales.
Aeri smiles at her. “That would be Jungkook's choux pastry in the oven.”
“Who do you think is going to win?” Taehyung suddenly asks the high schooler, thrusting the whisk in front of her.
She smiles gingerly. “I don’t know. Who do you think will win?”
Taehyung hums and ignores the protest of his friend when he says— “I’ll put my money on Y/N.”
“Want to bet on it then?” Yuna asks, lashes batting back and forth. “Loser takes the other person to dinner.”
“What about you, Chim?” Taehyung immediately diverts his vision, pretending that he doesn’t hear her deal. He even disregards Aeri and Hoseok’s stunned expressions of Yuna’s forwardness. “Who do you think?”
You add the sugar carefully, one tablespoon at a time until the egg whites hold glossy, stiff peaks. Then you’re gently folding the egg whites into your soufflé base until it’s a light and fluffy mixture ready to be put into the ramekins. But you know it’s too basic.
It would never beat Jungkook’s.
So in the midst of your inner hysteria, you sprinkle in a teaspoon of cinnamon and nutmeg. Yoongi, the only person who’s actually watching, quirks his brow but doesn’t say anything.
The soufflés are popped into the oven and by then, Jungkook is still working.
He’s letting his pastries cool on a rack, his filling already in a piping bag, and he’s busy making the icing.
“How do you feel now, Y/N?”
“The same.” You shrug. “I know I’m going to win, so…”
Your boyfriend lifts his chin, a small smirk gracing his lips. “We’ll see about that.”
“You aren’t intimidated whatsoever?” Taehyung asks. “I mean Jungkook’s soufflé was fucking deli—cious. It was like gooey on the inside and so soft, but really crispy on the outside and very, very chocolatey. It felt like an explosion of flavour—”
“Alright.” You shut him up and move over to steal Yoongi’s bag of chips, much to his dismay.
In the few minutes that you finally get to sit down and rest, you observe Jungkook.
In spite of his arrogance, he’s working quite hard. You’re impressed he agreed to make éclairs in just an hour and a half since it usually takes two. But Jungkook works quickly, efficiently, and your eyes can’t help lingering on his exposed forearms, the furrow of his brows, the tip of his tongue peeking out of his pink lips.
God. As competitive as you are, a part of you doesn’t even care who wins — you already feel like a winner.
The beeping of your oven breaks you out of your daydream.
“You should wipe off your saliva,” Yoongi mutters out of the corner of his mouth, knowing full well that you were ogling Jungkook in silence. You glare at the dark-haired man, a silent threat not to say anything lest it becomes clear you have other priorities other than winning.
You take your soufflés out of the oven, breathing a sigh of relief when you see them.
They all rose. A few with them have cracks and they’re not uniform whatsoever, but it’s more than you hoped for.
The aroma of chocolate fills the room, making Yuna antsy in her seat.
You begin dusting the top with powdered sugar.
“Two minutes left, chefs,” Hoseok warns with a grin, peeking over at Taehyung’s timer.
Jungkook is long finished piping his éclairs, already drizzled the chocolate icing over top of it and allowing them to set in the fridge. You step back from your counter as well. “I’m done.”
“Same here.”
“Finally!” Yuna is cheering. “Can we taste them now?”
You’re the first to go since the soufflés are still piping hot. It’s six servings with Yuna receiving the first one since she’s the guest of honour. Then the rest are passed to Taehyung, Yoongi, Jimin, Hoseok, Aeri. They dig in without hesitation and you watch with your breath hitched.
“It’s really good,” Hoseok says, chewing in his cheek.
“I like it a lot.” Aeri smiles. “You did a good job, Y/N.”
“Thanks.” Even if you don’t win, you feel great at your attempt.
Yuna hisses when it burns her tongue and she hums after letting it cool. There doesn’t seem to be any complaints from anyone.
“The top can be crustier. It’s baked well through though,” Yoongi notes pompously after sniffing his spoonful for the past minute to take in the scent. “Not half bad.”
“But is it better than Jungkook’s?” Taehyung asks.
It’s silent. No one can give a blatant answer. Jungkook is appalled that they even need to think about it.
“Give me that.” He grabs Jimin’s and takes a spoonful. Jungkook bites, chews, and his brows furrow. “What...is that? There's something in there that’s weird. Like the aftertaste is off.”
In hindsight, cinnamon and nutmeg probably wasn’t the best idea. But you don’t say anything and you plop your hand on Yoongi’s shoulder as an implicit warning not to speak about it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
It’s your turn to take a taste and the moment it hits your tongue, you know the outcome.
It’s miles and miles away from Jungkook’s standards. Your soufflé is good, but not crying-worthy. It doesn’t bring tears to your eyes and make you remember your mother’s home cooking, how you gathered around the table for dessert during warm holidays.
The situation only gets shittier when you take a taste of Jungkook’s éclair. The custard is tangy and smooth, pastry crispy and buttery, chocolate icing sweet at all the right places. And all you can think is — what. the. fuck.
This guy had to have a cheat code for life. There’s no way he can be so good at everything he does. It’s impossible. It’s unbelievable. It’s unfair.
“What do you think?” Jungkook stares at you in particular, trying to gauge your reaction.
You swallow hard, managing a half-hearted shrug. “It’s decent.”
It’s clear with his smile he can see you’re trying to hide your true feelings. “Want me to save you seconds?”
“I’m fine.” You wave your hand at him, despite your heart saying otherwise. It causes Jungkook to chuckle, but he doesn’t push to spare your pride.
It’s hard to tell if his éclair is better than yours — but the mere fact that Jungkook hadn’t even had time to perfect his recipe or practice yet made it this good has your knees weak. You’re glad you don’t have him as your competition on a daily basis anymore.
“This is pretty good,” Yuna admits, licking off her fingers.
Yoongi seems to be enjoying it as well, eating quietly as he studies it. Hoseok is making noises at the back of his throat and Taehyung nods in approval. “Have you only made this once before?” Jimin asks.
“Once or twice. Can’t remember.” Jungkook grins and that’s even more impressive.
You’re conflicted of being proud of having such a talented boyfriend and being spiteful of him as a rival.
Eventually, Taehyung dismisses the two of you for the rest of them to ‘deliberate’ and judge.
You step out into the hallway and Jungkook throws his arm over your shoulder, pulling you close.
“Don’t be too sad when you lose, babe. I’ll comfort you with my golden trophy.”
“There is no trophy.”
“Hmmm, how about a kiss then?” His nose bumps against you, smiling wide.
You feign a pout. “I’ll think about it.”
“Alright, love birds.” Taehyung pokes his head out of the door in less than two minutes. “We’ve made our decision.”
You gather back together again. All of them are pretending to be very experienced pâtisserie chefs with decades of experience. It’s both an amusing and lame sight — but you don’t comment in case they decide to deduct your points and Jimin grins, reading off the paper he has in front of him.
“Y/N, your chocolate soufflé was very moist and delectable. It had the perfect amount of sweetness. We found your techniques to be very competent and proficient. The presentation was great. The texture was very soft and the flavour was very deep. The aftertaste, on the other hand, was unique and different. It caused many to continue tasting to pinpoint what it was. You obviously accomplished what you set out to do and you made a very tasty dessert.” Jimin clears his throat. “And Jungkook, your éclair was alright.”
“Y/N wins,” Yuna announces with giddy laughter, arms in the air.
“Wait.” Jungkook frowns. “What?”
“Me?” You point to yourself, starting to laugh. “I won!”
“It was a consensus,” Taehyung spits in the midst of giggles.
“This is obviously rigged!” Jungkook protests loudly.
“Don’t be a sore loser.” Hoseok shouts and the rest ignore his outcry.
Yoongi nods in approval. “Congratulations, Y/N.”
You put your hand over your heart. “Thank you.”
You didn’t plan this — maybe they were sick of Jungkook’s ego too or maybe they just thought it would be hilarious to see his reaction, but whatever the case may be, you’re glad that they have your back.
You lean over to your boyfriend, giving a brief peck on his pouting lips.
“This is so rigged,” he mutters, less upset after your kiss.
You smile at him and quirk your head to the side. “Life’s rigged, sweetheart. But tell me, how does it feel to be in a relationship with the best chocolatier on Earth?”
Jungkook scoffs, a grin spreads into his face.
//
Informal baking competitions are all fun and games, but it’s not so much at the end when there’s a mountain of dishes to wash in the sink and a whole kitchen to clean. The others have long left after satisfying their sweet tooths, so you and Jungkook have been hard at work yet again.
But in the midst of wiping down the counters, your eyes stray to Jungkook’s pastries.
He’s stepped out for a moment, so you take the opportunity swiftly by its throat.
You lurch across the floor and grab an éclair to eat.
But as you’re stuffing your face as fast as you can while relishing in the deliciousness, you don’t notice the man creeping up on you.
“Having those seconds, huh?”
You’re scared shitless, jolting, and you whirl around to see Jungkook with his shit eating grin that just screams ‘I knew it’. You’ve been caught in the act. There’s no denying it now.
All you can do is swallow your mouthful.
“So you liked it that much? You should’ve just admitted it from the start, Y/N. You know I can read you like an open book—”
You grab Jungkook by the back of his neck and pull him in for a smothering kiss, just to shut him up. It’s a slow kiss, one where he cleans the cream off your lips and tastes the sugar on your tongue.
It’s ambiguous who the real winner is. When you pull apart, you know you both feel like it.
“Happy?”
Jungkook laughs, nose scrunched and eyes crinkled. “Very.”
#bts fanfic#bts scenario#jungkook fanfic#jungkook scenario#jungkook fluff#jungkook series#MORE FLUFF INCOMING
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im going to be so fucking predictable right now but, for a prompt... how about some momnight
I'm going to do my Very Best at this though I am very unpracticed with writing her so here we go!
---
"Alright, class. Today we're supposed to do a lesson that follows up on the interviews you did yesterday with Midnight and Mt. Lady. Which means I'm not teaching."
With that, Aizawa-sensei flopped to the ground. The thud was only slightly cushioned by the sleeping bag around him. A few students winced.
"Exactly!" Midnight said, shoving open the door. "This time, we'll be practicing a little more with cameras and a little less with talking."
Oh? The students all leaned in, curious and excited.
"We'll be practicing photo shoots! Come to studio 1-4, come on." She stepped to the side as the class got excited, and just waved Aoyama out the door when he jumped to go ask her a million questions, sparkling.
Toru was excited too, though she took more time to stand than the others. By the time she had, Yaomomo had already dragged the reluctant Jiro out of the room, and all that remained were Bakugo and Koda.
"Not going to be the last one there, I hope, Bakugo?" Midnight asked, tone of voice edging into a tease.
Bakugo grumbled about it being stupid, but he did hurry more out the door.
"And you, Koda? Nothing to be scared about, the camera doesn't bite." But their teachers sure might, if they dawdled- or interrupted anymore of Aizawa's extended naptime.
"Right!" Toru agreed, skipping to the back of the room to reach for the boy's arm. "Come on, it'll be a fun lesson! Better than a pop quiz, and maybe you'll even get to do a cute picture, like holding a bunny!"
Koda stared at her sleeve for a long moment, then finally nodded.
When they passed Midnight at the door, Toru looked up and realized the woman's smile had slipped a little; she looked thoughtful, brow furrowed behind her glasses.
The smile came back quickly though, as she tugged the door closed behind them and hurried them to the studio where the class was waiting for them.
Haya-senpai was also waiting for them, apparently. The cool girl stood in front of a group of third years by the side wall of the room, where several desks and mirrors and lights had been shoved in a row. The rest of the room was cleared out, backdrops and green screens angled around with a few stools and props.
"Alright, class 1a, before we get ready for your first shoot, there are some things to know." Midnight closed the door behind her. "You can take notes on your phone, if you want. There are several different kinds of photoshoots. What ones can you think of?"
"Ooh!" Mina waved her hand and was called on. "There's magazine photoshoots, and if you're lucky you'll be on the front page!"
"Certainly, magazine shoots. What else- Yaoyorozu?"
"Advertisements, with products?"
"Very good, you've done some of that already, haven't you? Alright, what other kinds?"
Toru waved her arm, humming so she'd be more noticed. Midnight crooked her finger at her. "Makeup? Well I guess that could be a product too, but there's also fashion shoots."
"Right on, Hagakure."
The class was quiet for a few moments, and Midnight nodded. "There's other kinds too- a headshot shoot, some hero agencies will require them for an application or their site. Portraits, lifestyle, sports, glamor, portfolio- the point is, there’s different types, and different points to each of them.”
Tsuyu raised a hand, and got a nod. “Midnight, all the different types, but don’t they boil down to either work use- like the headshots- or publicity for everything else?”
“That’s not a bad way of looking at it, Asui,” The teacher tapper her cheek as she paused, “But there’s more than that. You could also be doing it for benefit of others, either like a charity calendar photos, or perhaps even as a favor for a friend if one of them asks for a photo op.”
“And if,” Bakugo spoke up, apparently at the end of his patience for waiting for an explanation, “we don’t care about that crap? Publicity? If we haven’t got any friends who just want to take pictures of us?”
Midnight’s smile stretched, just a little, like a smirk. “Not a bad question. Anyone else think they have an answer?”
No one spoke, looking at each other, then Iida raised his hand.
“Midnight-sensei! Regardless of wanting to do publicity or charity or not, an agency may require to and all parts of a hero career should be done as exactly as one can, whether or not you want to-”
Midnight coughed. “Not bad, Iida, but not what I was thinking of. Bakugo, everyone, consider it like this. Once you become a hero- before that, even- you are going to have publicity. You are going to have paparazzi. Your photos are going to end up in ragmags no matter what you do.” She emphasized those words with a tap from her whip to her palm. “But, you can decide how you present yourself in other media. Sure, you can go way underground like Eraser. Or, you can take control of your representation. Choose your own photographers, magazines, products, vlogs, anything. That’s why you have to learn how to do these photoshoots and other media courses.” She clapped her hands, and the third years jumped. “So, we start with makeup.”
The older students waved some of her classmates forward, and Toru pushed Koda forward so he’d sit.
She found herself watching them get makeup put on, holding Iida’s glasses for him while Haya mused with his hair. Next to him, a senior was marking lines under Uraraka’s eyes to make the lashes pop.
“That looks really cute!”
“Thanks!”
“Do you mind me using a bit more foundation here?” Another senior said, poking at Midoriya. “It’s not quite even, but some of your freckles are showing through still.”
“Uhh,” Midori said, eloquently.
The older student raised his eyebrow.
“Um, actually, its,”
“It’s what, Midoriya?” Midnight asked, stepping from out of nowhere to peer over his shoulder at his mirror.
“It’s fine!” The makeup didn’t completely hide how red his face went.
Their teacher met his gaze in the reflection, clicking her tongue. “Come on, what did I say the point of the lesson was?”
“Um, control?” Midoriya asked, then went “Oh.”
Midnight smiled, straightening back up.
“I’d like my freckles to be- to not be covered up. Please.” Midoriya was still red, but the senior just shrugged.
“Alright. I’ll darken them with this then instead, so they actually show well under the lights and all that.”
He nodded, relaxing back in his seat, and Midnight squeezed his shoulder before moving on, nodding at Iida before looking at her.
“Hagakure, you haven’t gotten someone to start makeup yet?”
Toru shook her head- and shoulders. “No, Sensei. It’s not like I’ll show up on camera anyway, so.” She kept her voice cheerful, but her smile faltered halfway through.
It was fun to watch everyone else get dolled up and decorated... but would probably be fun if she could join them too.
Midnight stared at her, and she couldn’t read the expression before the teacher shook her head. “No, no. You’ll still have to participate and I have an idea!” She took Toru’s hand, then led her to the seat next to Uraraka.
Toru couldn’t keep the startled giggle from bubbling up as she sat.
“Midoriya,” Midnight said, riffling through the makeup on the desk, “You heard Hagakure. What do you think she could do in a photoshoot like this?”
“Hm.” Midoriya considered it, but when he answered he sounded much more confident than he had earlier. “Well, she’s invisible, but anything on her wouldn’t be. You could play with elements like dust or sparkles to suggest shape in an interesting way- oh, if you don’t mind being in your hero suit, that is.”
Midnight hummed an affirmation. “There’s a lot you and your team could do with that, and body paint is a fun medium to work with.” She paused, then leveled an eyeshadow brush at Toru like it was her whip. “Only when you’re eighteen, though. What do you think, Uraraka?”
“You could use your quirk, you know, to shine?” The brunette waved a hand. “Lighting up in different places to outline you, maybe, it’d look really cool if you had a space-y dress or something with it.”
“Oooh,” Toru had to admit that would be fun. It’d need a dark background and probably a camera without a flash or something, but it would be a picture of her, using her own quirk.
“Or like, even a space suit or something alien!”
“As long as I don’t upstage Mina!”
Midnight decided on something, then turned back with a nod, eyes sparkling. “Those are good ideas. Now, I’m going to try something with eyeshadow on you. Tell me when your eyes are closed.”
Toru closed her eyes as asked. “They are now, Midnight.”
If the point of this lesson was control, she wasn’t quite sure that this counted since she was just letting someone else do it, but Toru didn’t mind. She had a couple new ideas bouncing around for real photoshoots, in the future, and she really wanted to see what her teacher came up with.
She’d been right, this was fun.
It tickled a little, when Midnight traced eyeliner all on the sides of her face, but Toru managed to keep her face still enough. Then came brushes and colors she couldn’t see, shapes she could feel but not recognize.
Finally, the touches to her face stopped and she heard the brush clatter on the table.
“You can open your eyes now.” Midnight said, moving out of the way between the chair and the mirror.
Toru gasped, then stood so she could lean closer to her reflection.
Her teacher had painted elaborate designs over both her eyes, branching out like butterfly wings. They shimmered with many neutral tones, light and brown and pink between the black lines. A few sparkles were touched heavier on the ends, and overall they looked beautiful.
“Oh! Guys, look!” Toru turned, and Uraraka gasped too, clapping.
“Those look so pretty!”
“Right? Thank you so much, Midnight-sensei!”
The hero laughed, waving a hand. “You’re very welcome. You’ll have to work with the photographer to decide how to model it on your own though. Speaking of...” She checked the clock on the wall. “Fifteen minutes left! Get to pictures then washing off.”
She walked off down the row again, checking on the other students, though not before she squeezed Toru’s shoulder for a second when she passed.
Toru was beaming as she asked for a senior with a camera to work with her, and she ended up with a picture of herself winking- one eye open to show the full butterfly, the other closed to show the colors swirled on the eyelid too.
It looked pretty, and it looked fun. It felt like a perfect picture.
#*offers this* sorry it took a while#it was pretty fun to write tho!#pocket talks to people#owlf45#my writing
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* ryan destiny, cis woman + she/her | you know kira blake, right? they’re twenty four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ever? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to babooshka by kate bush like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole lazily stretched out in a ray of light, daisy shaped irises and daisy chain braids, performing an intricate dance to move the ocean's waves thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is october 31st, so they’re a scorpio, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 22, est, they/them )
hllo ive hd kira in my head fr a bit bt i also know ntohing abt her! this is me winging it even though i hv no right to <3 this is my third character maybe whose birthday is in honor of ella n coincidentally 2/3 of them r in this rp. yea im messy smirks sexily.
DEATH, GRIEF, DRUGS TW
mini playlist.
wuthering heights ;; kate bush / babooskha ;; kate bush / dreams ;; fleetwood mac / california dreamin’ ;; the mamas & the papas / lavender moon ;; haroula rose / time of the season ;; the zombies / after the storm ;; kali uchis / left hand free ;; alt-j / always forever ;; cults / wait a minute! ;; willow / your dog ;; soccer mommy.
statistics.
full name: kira blake
nickname(s): keely.
birthday: october 31st, 1996.
zodiac: scorpio sun, cancer moon, aquarius ascending.
mbti & temperament: esfp & catalyst / sanguine.
label: the ebullient.
sexuality: bisexual.
pinterest.
biography.
born to two original hippies which hs pretty much set up who kira is fr the rest of her life <3 the type of ppl who didnt like the boundaries of marriage n held off frm it fr as long as possible until theyd hd a spur of the moment elopement involving a celebrity impersonator at fannie’s <3 yea theyre lesbians lets go <3
nvr rly took things srsly until kira ws like 5 yrs old n then they were like ah gee ah fuck we probably shld probably settle settle. n they job hopped n worked many odd jobs until they found their footing in careers they liked n one of them probably does like. blown glass art. n the other prob fixes old computers n other ~vintage~ mementos of the past fr ppl.
they make a decent living n they live in delpinius heights n they try a few times fr another kid bt it nvr rly works out (raises an eyebrow. adopted siblings anyone?) n fr the most part kira as a child spends her time running around town and tugging on the hem of other’s shirts to ask them small favors (mostly to play a game with her)
often left unsupervised as a kid, bt not in the way tht her parents dnt care (bc her parents love her a lot a lot a lot like she is their world) bt in the way tht they simply raised her the way they were raised. running amuck all day n coming home jst in time fr dinner, front porch light always on, cat always waiting faithfully on their stoop.
pretty evident frm a young age tht kira’s mind saw things differently, in a different light - the world an array of light n mystery n sound n taste n sometimes those collided n created new experiences. prob hs some form of synsthesia bt dnt ask me which one yet. she’s a painting prodigy with an excellent understanding of color theory.
always ws known as a kind of like. rambunctious kid. a well meaning class clown who cld nt keep her mouth shut fr the life of her. grew up constantly with a yellow card beneath her name in school bt ws always well liked by her teachers n classmates alike.
jst a very bright child who did well naturally bt always ws turned more towards art.
feel like her parents very noticeably turned a cheek when she started smoking weed w the cool older kids when she ws 13. the type of person who wnts 2 b liked so bad she’d jump over a hurdle fr it. hs jumped over many hurdles n many fences n many other obstacles to be liked bt does it without breaking a sweat.
(edit: nw tht i think abt it hwevr i dnt think she does tht anymore i think while a bit of a mess atm she. likes herself. n doesnt rly want or need the approval of others anymore she jst does her own little thing. bt when she ws younger? she jst wnted 2 b friends w the entire world.)
nothing bad rly happened fr like. a good bit of her life. got into psychedelics at some point in high school n tht only heightened her artistic abilities. most of her high school art portfolio ws probably done while high bt <3 does it matter.
hd a high school sweetheart n they were pretty serious like. full on in love. a total believer of soulmates kira ws jst like. this is the one. there is nobody else i cn imagine my life with.
death tw
death tw
death tw.
death n grief tw // yea. sometime during their freshmen year of college. car incident. kira ws nvr the same though she’d like to pretend tht nothing’d ever happened. like theyd nvr existed. like she didnt plan out their entire lives together hiking thru hills n valleys n boating across various bodies of water n traveling together until they were old n wrinkly. end of death tw //
cld nt explain 2 u why kira hd bought a van n completely demolished it only to drain all of her savings remodeling it bt nw she lives in it by the beach. hd dreams of travelling the world bt cannot go long distances in a car without feeling sick. sees planes n feels envy. stopped painting fr a long time bt she’s started back up recently. took on surfing. told her parents tht it ws fine n tht she ws fine n theyre concerned bt shes always by the beach, her van rarely leaves. she’s trying her best bt its only been a few yrs n i think ppl cn sense tht shes jst nt the same cheerful girl as they once knew. end of grief tw //
anyways. tugs on my collar. tht’s kira! she lives on the beach n surfs everyday n is obsessed with daisies n is prob growing her own shrooms somewhere.
personality & facts.
always been very emotional n a little dramatic. nt a drama queen bt is a little messy n does not hv like. many rational thoughts up in there. very cup full or cup empty.
regardless though she hs an. overall reputation fr jst being. enjoyable to be around. her her little moments bt shes also pretty like. laidback. in a way. KDSHFSDLKHGHFLKSD
prob bc she smokes a lot or is often <3 on a trip if u know wht i mean <3
god. got obsessed with the 60s n 70s aesthetic at some point n hs not gone back evr. big fan of psychedelic rock. is a prodigy painter bt her life dream outside of traveling ws always to own her own record label. hs nt happened yet, maybe will never happen? works at a record shop though n does hide the good vinyls tht she wants away frm the customers.
very cheerful n usually uplifting n she doesnt like to b negative around others bt smtms she cnt control it n smtms thinks tht ppl r out 2 get her jst out of. anxiety. hs long bouts where she’ll sit in a still sort of sadness n then shake out of it n hop back into conversation like nothing’s happened bt. its fine we’re fine kira is fine.
shes not gullible or naive bt wants to believe tht everybody hs a heart of gold even if its false. keeps giving ppl second chances bc she hs a savior complex n thinks she cn change ppl.
is very into zodiac n will judge u by ur chart. knows everybody in town’s natal chart. even newcomers. it’s a little scary hw quick she finds this information bt its very important to her.
kind of like. into spirituality bt i wont lie its very surface level n a little superficial. learning tarot cards bt cannot fr the life of her memorize the meanings so smtms she jst makes up things on the spot. hs so many crystals she will not stop buying them.
i think a part of her is desperately trying to cling onto tht like. think positive. self care. msg thts super prevalent online without addressing or actually helping any of her problems. it is her flaw </3
hates to admit when she needs help. wld rather do everything herself.
head is a little in the clouds n her parents r a little concerned fr her bc shes nt rly doing much rn bt like. she jst needs time i think. shes jst doing her little thing.
does not give up on ppl easily she absolutely hates dropping ppl frm her life even if she grows 2 resent them over time which is bad bc she is bad at hiding when she is upset at someone or when she doesnt like someone.
like shes jst passive aggressive abt it n does not properly communicate <3
bt this is rare i think ... negative feelings abt other ppl
self centered bt not selfish if tht makes sense. she will do things fr others without a problem n sometimes trips over herself 2 do it bt at the end of the day i think she cares abt herself the most.
hs only been in love once bt hs hd many infatuations n many like. admirations n very surface level feelings. her body is a temple n she loves 2 b worshipped.
prob does fkn. beach yoga. probably vegan bt also maybe breaks tht every once in a while. almost noncommittal its hard 2 distinguish between her being carefree, not taking care of herself, or jst hving commitment issues? flaky or not? who knows.
feels jst a bit too strongly bt tries to contain it. jst full of multitudes or smth. idk. icon <3
like. cares bt doesnt care. does thinks tht r purposely self destructive n then acts like shes like. cool girl monologue frm gone girl. bt does it while being like peace n luv on earth x
ok thts all i hv goodbye
wanted plots.
a pseudonym 2 fool ‘em... ;; jst hd this idea pop up bt i like the idea of kira going undercover 2 expose cheaters. whether she does this on her own accord or is personally requested by smbdy is up in the air. a plottable point. she h8s cheaters n is chaotic good she prob thinks shes the relationship vigilante testing the strengths of other’s relationships. once again she cld b. specifically going undercover fr smbdy 2 help them out. im sure she wldnt go 2 very. extensive srs measures like actually. sleeping w the assumed-cheaters bt once again. world is our oyster n i lov drama?
crystal visions ... ;; once again. shes super into crystals n astrology n she will base sm of her opinions of others on it. this is nt just abt her being judgmental of others bt also jst. catching her running around in the rain trying sooo hard 2 fkn. charge her crystals in the rainwater bc she forgot 2 charge them under the full moon the night b4. this is her giving wrong tarot readings. she hs no idea wht shes doing at any given time bt acts like she does know. acts like she knows the entire world. she gives crystals as gifts n will do ur natal chart for u bt will also pack her things n leave if ur a capricorn.
time of the season... ;; i dnt knw admittedly. this song’s abt being horny so perhaps? perhaps. kira isnt rly able to keep a grasp on long term relationships rn due to. factors in her life so she hops frm person 2 person often. smtms jst flings smtms its jst a relationship accidentally led on. shes noncommittal n a little flaky atm when she’s usually ride or die fr others. perhaps this is all in the name of some good fun! world? oyster.
literally anything .dsfskhdkgs ;; god. shes so new i jst dnt know. childhood friends. current friends. friends shes hd frever. enemies n ex lovers n ppl shes constantly pushing away or scorned lovers or both or anything?? she pushed them out of the roller rink to make more room fr herself or maybe they did tht to her. perhaps theyre both constantly pursuing some sort of fkn. meaning in their lives tht they cnt quite grasp. mayb they go on an acid trip together. who knows.
#irvingintro#death tw#grief tw#car accident mention tw#drugs tw#specifically weed n psychedelics i think
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the photographer’s assistant.
Repost from my old account, @/softperfuma.
Modern AU.
“This stop is- Sinsa Station. Sinsa Station. The doors are on your left.”
Catra was the first out the train car and up the stairs, grumbling every step of the way. The faster she was off the train meant the faster she got to her meeting, which meant the faster she was out of Gangnam.
If anyone asked, she didn’t hate being there, not really. But she definitely didn’t care for all the pricey clothes and even pricier cars, and people that seemed to have never worked a day in their lives. A short train ride to the southern side of the Han river didn’t bother her. It was the air that reeked of privilege and wealth gap as soon as she left the station. Though considering she got a fine dust alert that morning, it might be the pollution as well.
She glanced at her watch as she got closer to the cafe where her meeting would be held, deciding to wander upon realizing she was nearly a half hour early. Milling about the attached boutique, she looked at a tag out of curiosity, quickly hissing at the sight of the price. Catra wasn’t exactly a broke college student, but the blazer in her hands cost more than a shopping trip and month of eating out combined. Gingerly setting it back in its place, she headed to the cafe and ordered the americano she desperately needed. It was before noon, which meant it was far too early for her to come to grips with being awake.
Sliding into her seat after grabbing her drink, she fell into a daze, looking out the window and following the lines of the makeshift bamboo forest outside the cafe. She was so out of it that it took a few moments for her to notice the hand waving on the other side of the glass, and she sat up with a jolt as the hand - and its owner - headed inside to greet her.
“Hi, Catra! It’s nice to finally meet you!”
She didn’t need him to take his mask off to know he was grinning from ear to ear, settling into the seat across from her with a huff as he finally peeled the thing off his face.
“You too, Bow,” she replied calmly, her eyes following the camera he placed on the table between them. “Busy day?” she asked innocently, her head nodding to the side as she wondered who her competition for top priority may be.
While Bow Arcas was new to the city, he definitely wasn’t new to photography. Mostly doing hobby and occasional freelance work, his portfolio was three years and dozens of models long. Catra couldn't believe it when he reached out to her first, and even had one of her roommates look over her phone to make sure it wasn’t broken. (The phone was fine, but when she got it back it had a VPN that was set to a server in Milan. She didn’t ask.) And as aloof as Catra always appeared to be, she was afraid of having to fight tooth and nail to work with one of the best photographers in the city. Between her college classes and finally beginning to accept brand deals, she didn’t have much energy for anything else. She doesn’t remember how she did it before her social media accounts started to pay the bills; it was just one long blur of anxiety and scholarship applications.
He smiled again, toying with his cased camera as he answered. “Not really. Just some test shots this morning with my roommates. I usually do fashion and event stuff, but lately I’ve been wanting to delve into candid photography.”
“Ah, gotcha,” she answered, immediately relaxing in her seat. She looked on as Bow took the camera out of its case, pressing a few buttons before handing it to her from across the table.
“If you want you can look at them while I order. Here, these buttons will take you back and forth through the photo reel.”
Before Catra could protest, Bow was up and on his way to the counter, leaving her to flip through the photos.
The first couple were fuzzy and silly: a shot of Bow in the mirror, both hands holding the camera in front of his face as the strap dangled in front of his pajama-clad body. Following that was a woman, presumably his roommate, flipping him off from the hallway. Her hoodie was pulled tight and obscured her face, but Catra could still make out long tufts of purple and pink hair. Then there were more closeups; light streaming through someone’s fingers, the manicured nails recognizable from a few photos before. A collection of feet crossing the living room floor, the shutter speed slowed so the feet seemed to move in slow motion. The girl with pink hair came into view again, her hoodie pulled back enough to reveal a soft, round face and short eyebrows. Her head was thrown back in a laugh as she walked, her body frozen in time mid-stride towards the kitchen.
And then she appeared. And she was beautiful. Of-fucking-course she was beautiful.
The change in angle meant a change in lighting, and Bow definitely took advantage, taking the shots from a lower height for the next dozen or so photos. She was broad shouldered and blond, her hair grazing the middle of her back before a few stills caught her sweeping it up into a ponytail. The muscles in her arms were taut as she fixed her hair, only outlined by the steam rising from the kettle behind her. The next still took Catra by surprise, the mystery woman staring directly into the camera. Her eyes were a piercing, stormy blue, and Catra felt like she was looking right through her. The next few shots cut a little deeper, with the woman smiling instead, standing in the same position as she fiddled with the heart shaped pendant that hung just above her sports bra.
Catra flipped back to the beginning as Bow walked back, trying not to linger on the blond.
“What’d you think?” he asked, taking a sip from his sweet looking latte.
“They look good as hell, dude.” Catra replied, sipping on her drink and hoping she wasn’t absolutely transparent.
“Thanks! I was thinking I could try a few candid shots with you too; I feel like it fits the current aesthetic you’re going for, especially on Instagram.”
Catra nodded, thankful to any and every god that Bow did his research. Now she didn’t have to whip out her Pinterest board and subsequently feel very weird about it.
“So, what do you have in mind?”
They talked for over an hour after that, discussing everything from the photos Catra would want, compensation, and editing preferences. Bow offered to do a primer shoot first, and Catra was glad to see how well they could work together before she had to start burning holes in her pockets. Bow’s prices weren’t nearly as steep as Catra would’ve thought, but with rent on her heels and her brand work just getting started, she could really use a free session. They agreed to a time and place the following weekend, and Catra saved Bow’s number into her phone as he started texting rapidly and organizing his things. Bow mentioned that he might have one of his friends help with the shoot, which Catra agreed to with a quick wave of her hand. The more that Bow can focus on the photos the better.
“You heading out?” she asked, stirring the melting ice in her glass.
“Almost,” Bow answered. “My friends are going to meet me here so we can walk home together.” Catra fiddled with her hair, hiding her ears in the curls in case they started to redden.
“If you’re good to stay a little longer, Catra, you can meet them.”
“No it’s alright,” she said a bit too quickly, packing the last of her things in her purse. “I have some errands to run and I live in Hongdae, so..”
“Oh yeah, of course! Sorry I assumed you live closer; I live around here so I just-”
“You live here? In Sinsa?” Catra asked as she stood, leaning on the seat with one knee as she waited for an answer. “You got money like that, Bow?”
He laughed hard at that, causing a few patrons to turn to see what the commotion was. One glance at Catra and they were satisfied, quickly turning back to their own business.
“Not really,” he said, as he wiped a tear from his eye. “Just lucky. And I have some good friends.”
She nodded in response, pushing her chair in to leave after they both bid their goodbyes. Walking towards the exit, Catra was already thinking about how the photoshoot the following weekend would go, and if she could ever handle meeting Bow’s friends.
But unfortunately, the universe didn’t much care about what she could handle. She was looking at the ground as she walked towards the exit, so she didn’t see the face of the person that opened the door for her, opting to softly say her thanks in Korean and stride past. She then got a nose full of wisteria and an English reply.
“Of course… Catra?”
She quickly looked up at the sound of her name, hoping it wasn’t a stranger. She wasn’t against her followers approaching her on the street, but she’d be lying if it was anything short of draining. But with the way her heart dropped to her stomach, she might’ve preferred a fresh face.
It was her. Adora. That’s what Bow said her name was. And she smelled like wisteria. And she was beautiful. Of-fucking-course she was beautiful.
And just as any other sane person would’ve reacted, Catra’s mind went completely blank.
“Hi,” she said, nodding vaguely to Adora and the cotton candy girl from the hallway photos. Then she just… turned. Turned and kept walking. She was sure she heard someone pipe up to speak behind her, but she ignored it, turning the corner and not looking back once, eyes fixed ahead and searching for the nearest station entrance.
She slumped into the train seat with a huff, the seat next to her as empty as it often was. Catra never felt hurt by the fact that people tended to be too intimidated to sit next to her, and was actually a little thankful for it now, as she opened Bow’s account and started to scroll through his feed looking for a familiar face.
After 30 minutes and a train transfer later, she finally found it: a selfie of Bow and the cotton candy girl, Shimmer, she thinks, and a bit of blond hair at the edges of the photo. Tapping on the screen, she captured the missing piece, a tag that would lead her directly to the page. ‘et.adora’, the tag read, and she cursed under her breath when it led to a locked account. She squinted at the abstract display photo as she stepped off the train again.
“Why the fuck do locals always lock their shit? They don’t have anything to hide!”
By the time she reached the exit, she had given up on what felt a lot like cyberstalking, ready to stuff her phone in her pocket and focus on the music thrumming in her ears as she walked home. But her phone buzzed in her hand before she was able to, the emojis quickly filling her screen.
Bow: It was nice meeting you, Catra! I’ll see you next week! Adora and I will be at exit 5
Adora and I will be at exit 5.
Catra stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, her head rolling to the side as people walked around her, ignorant to her sudden distress.
“Fuck.”
Next week was going to be interesting.
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Never Break the Chain Pt. 2
Part 2 of 5
Characters: Javier Peña x OFC
Summary: Javier and Esme's first time seeing each other in almost twenty years. A photograph leads to an obsessive hunt for the woman he thought was dead. They both find they got where they wanted. But is it what they want now?
Warnings/Tags: Tension. Big reunited kiss.
Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!
Time passes, as it always has and always will. It stopped for no man, not even Javier. Seeing his first love fade into nothing had left him a different man. Walls came up, barriers were built that his enemies would even be impressed by. She’d done him a favor, snapping him out of the young man’s dream, but he felt he had nothing left but trying to help once she was gone. So he threw himself into his work.
Sure there were other women. He thought he loved some, but would always leave them. He always hurt them and that wasn’t his intention precisely but they would thank him years later. He was what they would refer to in close company as “a dodged bullet”. He’d been called far worse.
He despised his cliche reactions to his trauma sometimes. Drinking, smoking, being a general pain in the ass, renowned and proud asshole was easier. Burying yourself in prostitutes and let them take away the thoughts for a little while was the easiest. He would fantasize he could help them, even save some of them. He surely wasn’t getting his hero complex stroked when it came to his work. He had a soft spot for women, he had learned the hard way the shit deal they’d landed when they were born. He couldn’t do much...but he could try to help. So he did. Loss after loss he kept trying. This was that bit of good Esme had always believed in. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would have it so he made the best of it while he could.
The night before was nothing knew, an old habit at this point for him. He went out and got a woman, he’d pour every bit of good in him into her, convincing himself he still had it. He’d make them feel good, listen to them, things that were in short supply in their lives from men. He could be that good guy exception, if only for a short while. It felt nice to not be looked at with disgust or fear. The slivers of affection kept him going after dark. He’d leave them breathless, moans turning to laughs as they dressed, joking they might not make him pay. But they always took the money. And he offered it with no judgment, pulling his jeans on and halfway through a highball glass as his lean outstretched arm offer up their compensation for making him feel something good and push out the bad thoughts for a short while. He could be making worse decisions.
He rubs his temple, suppressing a groan as he slid his way into the uncomfortable chair at the beaten-up metal table. The chatter of his coworkers all making their way into the room was grating but nothing he couldn’t ignore. Morning debriefing, something he gave a shit about. Well, work was the one thing he gave a shit about right now, hyper-focused on the clock and trying to drown out the obsession off the clock. It was a dynamic that he was still trying to perfect. He downs the hot black coffee in his hand and nods at the secretary just outside the doorway, “Get me another, sugar. No sugar.” he winks and sends her off. She side-eyed him and went on her way, that was just Pena to her, horny but harmless. He cracks his back, a grunt before landing his elbows on the table to focus, the overblown commander coming in with a handful of photos, spreading them on the table as they talked about what they always did, the cartel.
Pena tries to approach everything individually, but there was only so much range these guys had, and not seeing them all as one giant collection of piss ants with assault rifles was something getting harder and harder to do. So as new and old names were said, he watched the board fill out, the line attaching known connections and new ones. There had been a new wave of intel, something Pena and his partner Murphy were used to being the ones doing, but he wouldn’t complain if someone else finally wanted to sack up and their fucking job like they were supposed to.
“So we have our old friends,” a slap of photos to the board. “Then there’s a new round of boys coming in.” he taps the newest addition to the board. “Seems we’re getting inbred with the other families, the jewel smugglers, the miners...seems we’re trying to venture out and expand our already impressive portfolio.” he snorts.
“They can never just be fucking satisfied with their millions.” someone groans and complains.
“It’s a good chance try to take them down too.” Murphy shrugs.
“Eyes on the prize, kiss ass,” Pena says quietly, accepting his coffee without a second glance. “Do we know these women?” he asks with a nod in the direction.
“Typical.” Murphy rolls his eyes.
“No. Our assumption is prostitutes. Nothing new there.” the commander goes on, but he quickly becomes background noise as Pena stands and moves toward the board. He stood, hips jutted forward, eyes scanning, hand over his mouth in thought. Once he saw the new pictures he hadn’t heard another word the men had said.
“PENA!” barked his way grabs his attention as he casually shifts his attention.
“Mmmph. Yeah.” he mutters, eyes moving back to the board.
“I was informing you, you’d be doing street intel on these newcomers.”
“Yeah,” he says disinterested, thumbing his lip before placing his hands on his hips. “Do we have these photos in color?”
The question catches the room off guard. “Why?” he’s met with annoyed opposition.
“This woman…” he taps the photo of a woman with a sly smile on the arm of a very powerful man. Dark waves teased and a heart-shaped face buried in a fur coat collar worth more than he made in a year. He clears his throat. “I’ve seen her before…”
“They’re whores Javi, of course, you have.” Murphy leads the room in a wave of amused hums and chuckles.
“No I’m serious,” he says with no inflection, catching his partner’s attention. “Do we have a location on them if there’s no color?”
“Why’s color important?”
He’s quiet for a moment, jaw tense and eyes blinking, baffled at what he was allowing himself to think. “Her eyes… were green.” MUrphy readjusts himself in his seat, watching Pena’s eyes carefully. He could swear they looked sad.
“What information we’ve got is here.” the commander points at the table with its thick manilla envelopes.
Javier nods with no spoken response, staying in place until the room is empty except for a hesitant Murphy who approaches him. “Who is she?” he asks quietly.
He shakes his head in response. “It can’t be her,” there’s a heavy pause, “But it...fuck it looks like her…” his voice trails off and Murphy is left with more questions.
“Well, are you gonna answer me or just write poetry about her Javi?”
“She’s…” he sighs and sucks his teeth. “She’s supposed to be dead.”
“Did you-?”
“No… no… nothing like that.” his voice still quiet. “I knew her… fuck...over a decade ago now.”
“So we can add hunting ghosts to our agenda now too. Great.” Murphy takes it lightly and presses his lips together. He stares at Javi, his eyes dark and focused. He was left with more questions than answers. His money was still on it being a hooker. It’s not as if Pena had even talked about Esme since the investigation when he was young. His partner may have his back in life or death situations, and they may have been close, but no one knew about her. Pena had hoped to keep it that way. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped it wasn’t her. Because if it was… well he didn’t know what he’d do.
---------------------------------------------------
Esme didn’t know it but with every minute that passed, she was being proven right about her belief in her first love, that if he knew she was alive, that he would find her.
Esme had ran, a bug out bag down the river and no trace left behind. She made her way south over the years, learning her craft and making friends in the right places. She’d started with rich men, especially rich white men trying to make a living off exploiting her fellow man in Mexico. It had been almost too easy. They thought nothing of her and wore her as if she were a watch; on their arm and shiny and proof of their wealth. She would gain access, gather intel and then sweep in and take the goods and ghost out.
Esme had been legally declared dead and was now living as Estelle. She had so many names over the years but her current incarnation was Estelle. And she was a star. She’d become what she wanted, she was rich and self-reliant. She needed no one and had her fun as she craved it. There were men and women and drugs and jewels and for so long it had been a pleasant hazy dream. But the novelty of it wore off, she grew bored, a witness to her hypocrisy, growing soft and lazy with her indulgence. When she emerged from her haze and saw the state of the world around her she knew things had changed. Narcos now ruled the world. The government bowed to them, the poor worshipped them. She saw they were the future, the new leaders. And for her, that meant that’s where she had to be.
She found herself once again sharp and full of adrenaline. Her new role took real savvy and cunning. Otherwise, she’d end up dead for real. She cozied up, working for Narcos to steal for them. It wasn’t hard in skill, but it was in the amount of sexist shit she had to deal with. She’d killed men for laying hands on her, and worse. She’d pulled knives and guns and made frown men piss themselves as she threatened them with words they’d never heard women utter up to that point. Most of the leaders would laugh until they cried after the fact, seeing a woman act in such away. She entertained them. They underestimated her, saw her as some novelty pet that fetched things and entertained them. She could handle that. As long as she got paid.
Following the groups, making her way around it made sense she found herself in Columbia. She knew it was dangerous, but she was addicted to it. It filled the void of sex and drugs for her for the most part, although she did partake among her peers from time to time. She thought it made her admirable, independent, and a shining example of what a woman could be if she had the nerve to do it. She was, to a degree, but she was also wrong. She lacked the softness in her life anyone, not just a woman needed. A void where no love or trust or intimacy was in her life she filled with material things and lists of her accomplishments. if she kept busy and looking ahead she wouldn’t be still king enough to face her demons.
Except she was about to come face to face with her biggest one.
—
As was his way, Javier had become a bit obsessed. He had to know if this woman was Esme. He’d been tracking her and was able to have DEA level observation to do it. It was a personal mission he’d been able to spin to look like a cartel one. There was a connection, she was seen with them, but little was known outside of that. After he’d put the word out for the beautiful woman with green eyes it hadn't taken long before someone scorned by her leaked information on her next job. The informant knew what his boss wanted to be stolen and when she’d be there. Normally no agent or cop would care to pay attention to her, or some jewels being stolen, she was just some woman to them. But serendipitous timing made sure she became THE woman for one of them.
She practically waltzed into the store. She scaled a fence, a wall and came through a window but for her, that was practically begging her to steal from them. The rooms were dark, silent except for the sounds of her feet as she made her way into the back, unseen and unbothered. It wasn’t until she’d stopped to admire her score before snatching it they the clicking of a gun behind her caught her attention.
He’d waited in the shadows, and none too patiently. With the aim set to intimidate, not kill, he Easter no more time. “Who are you?” It came out as an order.
Her head snapped up, back still to the faceless voice she felt was all too familiar. She blinks, the former goal now removed and replaced with a flood of emotion. She remains silent, her turn to be shocked like he was when he saw her face in the photos.
“Turn around.” Another order. The voice was deeper, darker now but still made her feel the same way.
She turns, and painfully slow. She doesn’t meet his intense gaze immediately, reading his body language first and calming her racing mind. There’s no way it was him.
There’s no way it’s her, his mind reassures him. But as soon as her eyes raise to meet his his stomach drops. He was right.
“Javi?” It was almost a whisper, for the first time in she couldn’t remember when she didn’t hide her emotions in her face.
The gun falls first, his sense falling to the wayside as it slipped into its place in the back waist of his jeans. His frame was broader, still lean moves towards her with an earned confidence now. He doesn’t speak, staring at her as if she might not be real. She gives him his time. He’d earned it. “It really is you.” It was his turn to let the veil fall, dark eyes shining in the low, cool light.
She nods. “Javi I can explain.” She begins, prepared to apologize and ask forgiveness before asking him why the hell he was there at all. They were a long way from home.
“You’re alive.” A rather obvious statement that made her smile. It was all he could handle.
“I can explai-“ a quick burst of words before they’re cut off by his mouth landing against hers. She hadn’t expected this. She was prepared for many things last but not this, at least not for him to be kissing her. “Javi my-“ she tries to get out but his hands are already on her cheeks, hot and damp and certain. She lets her concern fade for a moment, it would all be fine. She gives in to it, lets him take the lead, and pull her against him roughly. The anger and hurt coming through in his grip on her back and face as they kissed breathlessly. He stole her focus without trying, there was the signature huff from his nose, the nuzzle into her between separating to catch his breath but he felt different. But so did she.
Where they once held differences in certainty they now held the opposite. He kissed her like he just found out his first love was alive after decades of vices to cover the loss. Because he had. Every woman and experience he’d had between her and now, every skill and thus gained confidence was clear and apparent. This was not a boy handling a girl. He was a man handling his woman.
And there she was, blindsided and touch starved, passion and intimacy starved being devoured by the only man she’d ever truly loved. The only man she’d ever let in and see her for what she was. The only man that knew Esmeralda. It was a raw and painful ache that emanated from her chest as she clutched her hand around his wrist and the other gripped his shirt in her hand. She gave in because she knew it wouldn’t last long, and after it was over she’d miss it.
With eyes squeezed shut, his forehead pressed to hers, his statuesque nose gently rubbing against hers he exhales hot against her face. “Esme…” he pulls back and holds her face, demanding her focus.
“It’s been so very long since someone’s called me that.” she sighs and puts her hands on his forearms.
“Since I called you that?”
She nods and smiles, face pressed into his hand.
“Maybe it’s about time people called you that again.” he pauses and looks her over with a hard brow, he couldn't hide his simmering anger underneath the confusion, relief, and affection. “Where the fuck have you been?” She sighs in response. “Why the hell are you HERE?”
“Same as you. Work.”
“Why are you with those men? Don’t you know who they are? What they do?”
“Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?”
“Why Esme?” his eyes water and his hands squeeze her face a bit too tightly before a wave of dizziness hit him.
“Same reason now as then,” she whispers, his grip loosening and not hearing her response, she slicks his dark hair back as his eyes start to roll around in their sockets. “You're fine, Javi. Seems you fell for my defense mechanism.” she smiles and he looks at her, starting to slump. “To be fair I didn’t know to expect you. You’ll wake up soon enough. It’s only temporary.” she wipes the culprit of the sudden wave of forced unconsciousness he was going through, her lipstick off his mouth. He was out quickly, and she spent some long moments exploring the now aged face of her once wide-eyed companion. “You are even more handsome than I thought you’d be.” she coos and kisses him after dragging him into a chair and pushing it into a corner so he wouldn’t fall. “It now inevitable we’ll meet again. My old hound dog.” She chuckles, a kiss to take in the scent of his hair before she parted ways. “See you later, mi amor.”
-----------
Peña awoke to a boot knocking against his knee and an odd headache. It was pitch black outside by now, people on the streets outside none the wiser to the life-altering experience he’d just had.
“Are we blacking out in stores now?” Murphy snarks and shakes his head, leaning against a door frame.
“That’s not...I’m not…” Javier shakes his head, rubbing and tapping at the pulse in his skull.
“Then what the hell is it?” He can hear the judgment in his partner's voice.
“If I told you you would think I was crazy.” he groans and sits up with his back straight in the chair, one cocked brow looking over to the man staring him down.
“And I don’t now?”
Peña huffs out a laugh. That was a fair assessment. He’d think the same thing. He looked across the room, the glass case he’d found her standing in front of now empty. “She took the jewels.” he switches the subject, an arm raised lazily and collapsing against his lap after.
“Were they made of cocaine? Why do we give a shit?”
“It’s not the jewels that are important. It’s the woman that did it.”
“A woman? Huh. That’s something you don’t see every day. That is… a little bit crazy I guess.”
“That’s not what’s crazy.”
“Am I gonna have to fuckin’ waterboard you man, just tell me.” he groans.
“That woman I told you about... that stole those... she's been declared legally dead for almost twenty years.” he finally says with a defensive tone and a face that said don’t fucking try me to the man still assessing his sanity with no attempt at hiding his negative prognosis.
“Oh.” Murphy contemplates looking away to the empty case. “That... yeah okay that is crazy.”
@jaegeeeeer @likedovesinthewnd @inkededucatednnerdy @biharryjames @ladamari68 @past-romantic @weliketomoveit
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Once Bitten, Twice Stupid 192
192
Holding Keith’s hand in public felt nice. Walking from the hotel to the restaurant, Lance found himself watching families of all types as they walked. He couldn’t help it. A smile coming to his lips as he watched kids nag their parents, or listened to them as they played. His hand sitting on his stomach while his mind substituted the kids for their twins, and the parents as Keith. Keith would be such a good dad. He absolutely knew that for certain. He’d worried when Keith had spent most of the night sleepless, the walk seeming to invigorate him as it wore away Keith’s energy. Keith needed his coffee pronto, lest a server cop his boyfriend’s uncaffeinated anger loaf rage.
Leading Keith into the restaurant, it had a kind of rustic charm. Heavy oak logs made the walls, with all kinds of memorabilia stuck to the walls, including a giant stuffed fish with a plaque that red “Billy Bass”. It appealed to his tacky side in all the right ways. Sending Keith to find a seat, his boyfriend slouched off to throw himself into the only available booth. Lance giving a shake of his head affectionately. He really loved that cranky werewolf. Waddling over to the counter, he forced himself to remember to look and act like a girl. Keith didn’t know he was terrified of the same kind of comments made at the petting zoo being repeated. This trip had to go as well and as smoothly as it could. Picking up the menu, he knew instantly he wanted more than pancakes. Everything smelt vaguely appealing, and Keith would eat like there was no tomorrow.
“What can I do you for, darling?”
Jumping at being unexpectedly talked to, the woman behind the counter cackled at him
“Sorry, love! I didn’t think you’d be lost in thought over a menu”
Lance flashed a smile, careful of his teeth. He kind of wished he’d worn a set of glasses. The more he stood in the restaurant, the more he heard and the bigger the world suddenly seemed to be
“Sorry, everything sounds so good I’m not sure where to begin”
The woman chuckled
“I remember those feelings. How many you got in there?”
“Two. I guess I do look pretty big”
“And carrying low, you’ll be in labour no time, love. Now. What do think?”
No. Nope. No labour for him. Not unless he was comfortably set up at VOLTRON... he’d hold his legs together for as long as possible if their twins dared to think of coming this soon
“I think I’m famished. Can I please order two sets of pancakes and two sets of the bacon breakfasts? Ooooh, and I’ll grab a fruit salad, two of the largest coffees you have, aaaand... I think I’ll have a green tea latte... and a fruit salad. Yeah, that’s all, thank you... oh! Do you guys have soy milk? I don’t want to gas my boyfriend”
The woman behind the counter ogled him fo a moment, shaking her head and laughing again
“I don’t know where you’re going to fit all that... We have soy, almond, and regular. None of that skin stuff”
Lance blushed. He couldn’t help that he didn’t exactly know what he felt like, but food seemed like an amazing idea
“It’s for me and my partner. Soy will be fine, thanks”
The woman slapped his arm gently with the back of her hand
“I know that, love. Just an old woman teasing”
“You don’t look that old”
She looked about the age he should look... her name tag reading “Dae”, the white tag almost lost in the red of her bright red shirt
“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day. Now, darling, cash or card?”
“Card please”
The woman rang up there largish breakfast bill. Lance paying as he was trapped into small talk
“So, love. Are you here for our Easter markets? Or you one of those passing through?”
“Oh, my boyfriend and I are spending a few days here. We’re meeting up with some friends”
The woman printed him a receipt without him asking
“I’m sure you’ll find this quite boring compared with the cities around here, but we have own charm. Now, can I get a name for this order?”
He’d been prepared for that. He’d made kind of a mental story for himself. He and his photographer boyfriend were driving up, stopping in small towns as Keith built up a portfolio in the hopes of turning to selling prints online
“Lancella... my, uh, parents were hoping for a boy”
“I’m sure they love you at any rate. We can’t help our names. You go take a load off and I’ll bring your coffee over. Take my advice, love, take a look at the markets while you’re here. They really are something else”
“Awesome. We might just take your advice. Thank you”
Siding, barely, into the booth opposite Keith, Keith was glaring at the menu in his hands. Tugging it free, his boyfriend huffed as Lance set the menu back into its holder
“Your coffee’s coming”
“Good”
Keith should have perked up at the thought of coffee. The scent was strong enough that Lance’s stomach was threatening to turn traitor right there at the booth
“Babe?”
“It’s nothing. You looked like you were having a good conversation, Lancella”
Lance rolled his eyes at the name
“I’m a simple man. The best lies have a kernel of truth in them”
“It pisses me off that you have to lie. You’re you. If people don’t like that, they can go play in traffic”
There was his grumpy little anger loaf. He’d also realised something that was likely to make Keith grumpier
“You can’t just put them in traffic. You know, we’re going to be in trouble”
Keith sighed deeply
“What for now?”
“I’m starving... and all that food has to come back up. Plus, apparently I’m going to pop soon”
Scowling at him, Keith sat back and crossed his arms. His voice firm and joke free
“There’s no way you’re allowed to even think about giving birth in this crappy town. Don’t even think about going into labour”
Sometimes it was scary how in tune they were. He didn’t want to give birth here, yet he couldn’t hate this town
“I don’t know. This town isn’t that crappy. This is the town you were born in and you’re not crappy. Maybe crabby... but not crappy”
“You’re fucking hilarious”
Lance shot his boyfriend double finger guns
“I try. But seriously, I’m starving...”
He’d also forgotten to do his shots before leaving the hotel room. Keith coming out with the bath mat around his waist had driven away the thought. His boyfriend hadn’t questioned why he’d packed heavier than usual. There was a whole suitcase of towels and bedding, waiting to be unpacked. His new plan was that after breakfast they’d unpack a little more, and he’d look up the directions to the cemetery where Keith’s dad was buried. The vampire knew his own pain from having now lost both his parents, yet that was nothing compared to Keith losing his dad at such a young age. Making the comparison seemed really shitty and like it lorded the fact Lance had had his parents for so long, that’s why he’d never say it out loud.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the coffee and the latte. Keith sliding both mugs towards him as Lance thanked “Dae”. Wrapping his hands around his cold drink, there was kind of a happy peacefulness as Keith took his first sip of coffee. This was nice. Them having no real schedule. Not rushing around. Kind of on a date, but not at the same time...
“Stop staring”
Chuckling, Lance moved his hand up to take the straw between his fingers, stirring his latte as continued to stare
“What are you going to do if I don’t?”
Kicking him under the table, that was Keith’s great comeback
“Really, babe?”
“Fuck you. Fight me”
It’d be soon long since he’d heard that one. The second they found out he was carrying, he had to behave himself and training went out the window
“I could beat you, but we both know you’d liked it”
Delivering the words slowly and purposely, Lance succeeded in making Keith choke on his coffee. Placing the mug down, his boyfriend coughed into his hand
“Fuuuuck...”
“Still want to fight me?”
“Keep this up and I’ll beat your arse so hard you won’t be able to walk for a month”
“Do you promise?”
On the back of choking on his coffee, Keith choked on air. His hand fanning his face as he shook his head
“You deserve to be punched in the dick for that”
“Nah. You love me too much for that”
“God. I fucked that one up”
Lance knew Keith was teasing, yet he felt himself automatically tear up. Apparently he could dish it, but his ego was too much of a diva to take it. Dropping his gaze to his drink, he felt awful for how he’d reacted
“Babe?”
“It’s nothing”
“You know I love you, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I guess my hormones are being silly. It’s ridiculous”
Keith wisely decided not to agree with him, changing the topic
“What did you order?”
Raising his head again, Lance shot him that fake smile that hadn’t come out in so long that he wasn’t sure he was doing it right
“Pancakes. Eggs, tomatoes, bacon, sausages, and fried onion. Coffee for you. Tea for me, and fruit salad”
“You think that’s enough?”
Now he was feeling self conscious over how much he wanted to scarf down his food
“I figured you’d eat what I didn’t...”
Keith playfully kicked him under the table again
“Great. Now I’m the garbage disposal unit”
Shit. Why had his mood plummeted so much? Now it had, his ego was getting riled up. He was starting to feel vulnerable over being pregnant and into a strange place, where people he didn’t know could easily target him, or Keith. He couldn’t scent anyone like them in the place, yet he’d been so care free when they’d come in, he hadn’t thought to. The sudden shift to extreme vulnerability by his ego threw him off. They were a goddamn vampire. Had he been so inclined, he could easily take every single human on in the restaurant... Why was he suddenly so spineless? And why was his ego not propping his mood up with its usual douche attitude.
“Babe, you’ve gone pale. And you’re shaking. What’s wrong?”
He was shaking? He hadn’t noticed...
“Sorry. My ego... just went funny...”
Keith stared at him in confusion
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know...”
He didn’t know. Was it not sure keith could protect them? No. Keith could and would go beyond them. Then why did it want him to run? All he wanted was a nice breakfast with Keith, so Keith wouldn’t be so stressed about what was to come...
Leaning across the table, Keith’s confusion grew. Cocking his head, he drew back slowly
“You feel like... you’re pushing everything away. If there’s something wrong...”
“I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m sorry”
Trying to let his ego flare a little, the instinct to run grew with it. Lance quick to force it back down. Maybe he’d been too focused on being home of late? No one had made any kind of threat towards him
“If you’re not feeling well, we can go back to the room”
“That’s not it. All of a sudden I got a spike of fear and I’m not sure why”
Keith pursed his lips, shook his head, then suddenly decided to move to sit next to Lance, a little too fast for Lance’s liking. Taking his hand in his, his boyfriend squeezed softly
“You don’t need to be scared”
Having Keith close should have calmed him, yet the spike of fear had spiked his anxiety over not knowing why he was kind of internally freaking out
“I know. All I wanted was a nice breakfast”
“We can still have a nice breakfast...”
“I’m so sorry. I know you’re stressing badly. This has to be so much all at once”
The restaurant was loud, despite it being breakfast time. Too many people seemed way too awake
“The glasses help. Do you want them?”
Yes. And ear plugs. Someone dropped something in the kitchen, Lance flinching at the sound as he shook his head
“No. No... it’s okay. I’ve been doing this longer than you have”
“Are you sure?”
“Babe, I’ll be okay. It’s just weird... I don’t smell anything... bad. Maybe I’ve spent too much time hermitting”
“Or maybe people just suck?”
“Careful, babe. Your grump’s showing”
Keith huffed with a pout
“I’m not being grumpy”
“Fine, your lack of people love is showing. I hope breakfast doesn’t take too long”
“You need to eat more. You’re all skin and bones”
Lance’s ego chose to take the wrong way. He ate. Keith knew he ate. He couldn’t bring Keith’s mood down any further
“I’m going to. Your babies are demanding it”
Bring their hands to Lance’s stomach, Keith rested them there
“Already causing so much trouble. You two better give your dad a break”
“That’d be nice. I think the first thing they’re getting when they’re old enough is a trampoline”
“Why do I feel like you’re the one who’s going to be spending more time on it than them?”
“Because it’s nice to lay out under the stars?”
They hadn’t done that in so long... Maybe they’d get a chance while they were here?
“I wonder what sex would be like?”
And there Keith went stating the real reason he supported getting their kids a trampoline
“I’m not conceiving any future siblings on a trampoline”
Keith bumped his shoulder lightly
“There goes that idea...”
“I’m going to put you in a time out if you don’t get your mind out of the gutter”
“But without the gutter, my mind would be homeless”
Without missing a beat, the werewolf had him groaning
“Who taught you that one? They need to be shot”
Keith grinned, Lance kind of envious that no matter how upset Keith was internally, he was keeping his ego well under control. He should be proud. No. He was proud. He just wished his would perk back up
“Pretty sure I learned that from you”
Great. He couldn’t exactly shoot himself... though he’d definitely shot himself in the foot in the metaphoric sense
“You don’t want to listen to me. I’m going crazy in my old age”
“You’re not even that old”
“Older than you”
Keith put on that bad southern drawl that never failed to work on him
“And twice as pretty. A pretty little thing like you should be careful. A big bad wolf might just gobble you up”
“Nah, my boyfriend takes care of all the scary things out there”
“I could take him. They don’t call me the Mullet for nothin’”
Oh lord. That was terrible. That was terrible and Keith knew it was terrible
“Is it because you’re kinda fishy? A bit limp all dead eyed?”
“Why, miss. I’ve been told I’ve got the perdiest eyes around”
Lance let out a long groan of defeat. He didn’t feel safe, and as much as he didn’t want to feel amused, Keith’s stupidity was kind of turning his frown upside down
“Alright. No more. I get it”
“Do you feel any better?”
No...
“Yeah. I’m still staving, though”
“It won’t be too much longer... hopefully”
*
Keith kept a careful eye on Lance once their breakfast finally arrived. Lance noticing, and responding by eating despite the lack of interest in the pancakes he’d wanted. It was hard to pretend to be happy. Everything felt too much for him, and having it all feel too much for Lance threw him.
Holding it together, the walk back to the hotel was brisk. Lance tried to shake him off to go to the bathroom alone, but Keith wasn’t having it. As Lance “threw” himself down to vomit, he slipped behind him, tugging off the annoying wig so he could rest his chin on Lance’s shoulder. His boyfriend was shaking, his skin felt a little colder than its above barely warm natural state. Having played breakfast over in his mind, he still didn’t know why Lance had spooked, or why his ego had drawn in. The only thing he could think of was that that woman’s words brought up Lance’s fear of giving birth soon. No one had said anything to his precious mate. No one had barely looked their way. No. Everyone else was too busy fucking chewing like a herd of cows. The noise infuriating now he’d noticed.
Staying with Lance until his stomach settled, his boyfriend wobbled on his feet as he stood. Keith had spent the time giving Lance belly rubs and trying smother him in his scent to calm him down. His own ego was rattled by their mates strange actions, making it almost mad at a situation where no one was to blame. Rinsing his mouth out, Lance stared at him in the mirror. He looked exhausted
“I’m sorry”
No. Lance had nothing to be sorry for
“Babe. Hey, it happens”
“I’m supposed to be the one in control here... and I freaked out for no real reason”
“It’s okay”
Lance didn’t know he was semi echoing Keith’s earlier movement as he kicked the basin cabinet lightly
“No. No it’s not. You’re stressed. You’re in a new environment. You’re being forced to go out with me when I look like this. And I couldn’t even keep my shit together long enough to enjoy being out to breakfast with you. It’s fucking pathetic. I should be past all this shit”
“You’re overthinking things again”
Sighing deeply, Lance went to grab his toothbrush out the toilet bag, only to knock the contents out. Sensing the impending tears, he turned his boyfriend towards him, gathering him against him
“Babe. Hey. It’s okay. I’m not mad and you haven’t done anything wrong”
Lance shook his head again
“I’m sorry... God. I feel so fucking incompetent”
Lance wasn’t incompetent. Keith ego saddened to hear their mate talk about himself like that. He wanted to make Lance smile again
“You’re not. Didn’t Dae say something about a fair?”
Again, Lance shook his head
“Sorry... I think I want to lay down for a bit... and I really need to pee. Can... can you get the blankets out the suitcase? They’re in the black one”
“And you’ll be okay?”
“I’m going to pee, then I’ll be out”
Kissing Lance’s hair, Keith found himself more anxious over Lance than the thought of seeing his father’s grave. Maybe Lance was more tired from the day before than he was letting on
“Alright. I’ll be waiting”
When Lance came shuffling out the bathroom, he made straight for Keith. Keith having covered the top of the hotel bed with their three blankets, the bottom one acting as the sheet between them and the crappy bedding below. Lifting the corner back, his boyfriend climbed in beside him. Shoes and all. Lance had to be dead tired to not fight him over his shoes, which had kind of become part of Keith’s daily job. Laying himself against him, Lance rested his head on Keith’s chest, arm snaking around him. Somehow the feeling that came to mind was akin to missing that bottom step and terror flooring you for a moment as your stomach dropped. When Lance started crying, Keith could only let him cry it out. He’d gotten used to Lance having more emotions than he thought possible for a vampire. Lance’s motto seemed to be “sometimes you just need to cry it out”. Still. It sucked. They were so far from their friends. So far from home... and the hard bit was yet to come.
*
Falling asleep Keith, Lance carefully pried himself off his boyfriend. He felt safer for being in the hotel room, and disoriented from how hard he’d seemed to nap. Creeping to the bathroom, then back into their room, Lance mentally sighed to himself over his emotions. He was being so dumb. Keith needed him... None of this... he couldn’t break down now. Taking his phone off the bedside table, the vampire crept back into the bathroom. He’d already talked to Keith, explaining that he didn’t get what was going on at all... Yet he wasn’t sure that Keith believed him. His people hating boyfriend had offered to take him to the markets on for Easter. That wasn’t Keith’s thing. That was Keith grasping at straws and trying to find a way to make him happy again.
The call took a long time to answer, Krolia’s voice happy as Lance wondered if he was annoying her
“Hey, Lance! How are you?! Did you and Keith arrive safely, I swear that boy never thinks to let me know he’s okay”
They’d sent a message to group chat, and that was about it. With some small unpacking, they’d both been too tired for phone calls and any form of in-depth conversation
“Sorry, Krolia. Yeah, we got here okay. If this is a bad time, I can call back”
“No. Not at all. Is everything okay? I mean, I’m thrilled you called, but I’m confused as to why”
That stung a little. He hadn’t spoken to Krolia all that much since Keith turned...
“I won’t keep you long. I have a question, and I think you’re about the only one who understands what it’s like to be pregnant”
He would have turned straight to Mami if she’d been alive. He felt like he really needed that maternal support right now. Hearing her voice would have driven home she was safe and she would have teased him for being hopeless
“Shoot away! Are my two grandbabies giving you grief already? I can have a stern talking to them, if they are”
He wanted to reach through the phone and hug Krolia. Keith was absolutely amazing with him, yet he couldn’t fall pregnant. A small snort escaped without him meaning for it to
“They’re fine. Using my bladder as a trampoline and wriggling around in there. I... uh... I was wondering if when you were pregnant with Keith, if you ever felt... scared for no reason”
There was a pause. Lance grateful Krolia was taking the time to think about it
“Sometimes, yes. Especially in the line of work I do... Did something happen?”
So Krolia has only experienced fear when thinking of vampires and werewolves...
“We we’re having breakfast and all of a sudden I got scared. There was nothing there to be scared of. No one else who wasn’t human... but... I feel like I was too care free lately. I didn’t guard my scent. I didn’t think about what would happen had someone caught it. I didn’t think about bringing Keith here and what if there was someone like us here... I didn’t think about it... and I feel... like me not thinking about it is the same as me thinking Keith... is... something less than he was”
Starting to cry, he felt really very stupid for his tears. He treasured Keith. But he’d been running around trailing his scent after him without a thought of the impact. All he’d wanted was to get things done and settle his ego
“Lance, you love that idiot son of mine. I’m sure at the first hint of danger you would have reacted. Is Keith there with you?”
“He’s asleep... I’m sorry for calling... I would have turned to Mami, but...”
“No. No. I’m glad you called. I want to be there for the both of you. Yes, I was scared. But nothing like Keith’s father. The slightest thing and he wanted to rush me off to the emergency department. You’re under a lot of stress. Have you been...?”
Lance shook his head, then remember Krolia couldn’t see him shaking his head
“Not yet. I freaked out and Keith had to take care of me...”
“You’re nearing the end of the pregnancy. Fears happen. I know that all too well. Especially how the insomnia can play on your mind. You’ve both been through so much, and I heard from Curtis that you were looking forward to some alone time with Keith. My opinion is that you let Keith take care of you. He’s strong”
“He’s not that strong when it comes to his dad”
“No, but keeping it in will only make him worry more. He loves you. If anything were to happen to you... well, I feel sorry for whoever crosses you. I believe both of you would sense actual danger”
“How am I supposed to know the difference?!”
“You’ll know. Take these feeling of fear and ignore them. Push them aside. They’re useless. Focus on you and my grand babies. You should be safe there. Coran didn’t mention anything about anyone living there that you should be wary about”
Lance sniffled. Krolia hadn’t given him much of anything useful and it sucked... but she tried in her own way
“Thanks, Krolia. I’m going to go back to Keith now”
“No worries. Let me know how everything goes. You can call me. Anything you two need...”
“Yeah. I will. I... thanks for talking to me...”
“Anytime. I’m your mother too. You can come to me”
Coming out the bathroom, Keith was awake, meaning he’d heard some, if not all, Lance’s side of the phone call. Stopping a few steps into the room, he expected Keith to be angry at him for admitting he hadn’t thought of his precious boyfriend’s safety. He hadn’t thought of anything much when it came to the more important things he should have been almost paranoid about
“Babe... come here”
Holding his arm out, Lance caved instantly as he moved to climb into bed with Keith, his emotions getting the better of him as he started crying again. Krolia wasn’t Mami. She didn’t give advice like Mami did. The vampire craving that maternal touch, that Krolia had only taken the point off of
“That’s it. I’m here... I’m here, let it all out”
“I’m sorry”
Keith gentle ran his fingers through Lance’s hair, hushing him softly
“Shhhh... I’ve got you. I’m okay and you’re okay. It’s okay”
“I miss Mami”
“I know you do, babe. I know. Let it out... let it all out”
He was such a selfish boyfriend, yet Keith loved him anyway. He didn’t deserve the love he felt from Keith, but he did notice that together like this, the fear had mostly gone away. There really was no substitute for cuddles with Keith.
#once bitten twice stupid#oncebittentwicestupid#ashratherose#klance#mpreg#pregnant lance#werewolf keith#vampire lance#two halves of the same idiot
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