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greenorangevioletgrass · 4 months

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tuesday in the park (a.d.)

pairing: divorced!art x reader

synopsis: your alone time at the park takes an interesting turn when a little girl breaks the quiet, but maybe... her dad is a good company.

warnings: language, smoking, mention of divorce, lily is an adorable lil oblivious cupid, sooo much tension tho, maybe smut in future parts? idk

notes: i am back and pathetic bitch boy art has officially given me a brainrot. this is also very self-indulgent and heavily based on my irl experience (except the fact that it's art, sadly) soooo... enjoy!

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City parks are fucking depressing. Especially the industrial type that’s square, and covered in concrete and has, like, four trees. They’re all well-manicured and hung with string lights, but there’s still barely enough greens to call it a park. And to add insult to injury, a Tiffany’s installation art currently sits at the head of the park—a giant diamond ring in a lush velvet box the size of a Range Rover. It’s gaudy as shit, and the massive Aston Martin billboard overhead is an assault to the eyes. You honestly have no idea why you’re sitting here.

Oh, right. It’s like 2PM on a Tuesday afternoon in some downtown office area, so there’s nobody else there. You can just sit and smoke and watch the water spout from the ground in pretty patterns. The steady rhythm of the fountain jets quiets the chaos in your mind.

Inhale. Exhale. As the fountain hisses and ceases, hisses and ceases…

And then suddenly… another pattern.

A pitter-patter. Like little footsteps. Quick moving, and then it stops. Right to your left.

You turn your head and see a little girl sitting right next to you. Her white sneakers look so small next to yours. She pushes a lock of dark ringlets off of her face as she watches the floor fountain in quiet curiosity and awe.

It takes you a moment to realize you still had a cigarette in your hand. You quickly stub it out as far from her as you can. “Uh… hello.” You frown at your own words, but how the fuck do you talk to kids in this situation?!

But the kid looks up and smiles at you politely. “Hello.” she nods and then returns her gaze to the water bursting in canon.

You’re even more confused. She doesn’t even seem deterred by sitting next to a stranger—willingly, at that. “Well, are you… are you alone?”

“No. With my dad,” she answers, light as a feather.

“Oh, good. Good.” You sigh in relief and look around for any sign of a parent, adult, anyone looking for a missing child. “Where’s your—”

“Lily! There you are!” A man’s voice cuts through the dull noise of the city. You turn around to see him rushing over to the little girl, grimacing apologetically at you. “Sorry. I’m not a negligent father, I swear. I just… turned around and this little monkey’s run off.”

The little girl—Lily, apparently— giggles as her dad throws her a look, gentle but firm. “You said we could watch the water fountains, Daddy!”

“Yeah, but don’t run off like that…” He rolls his eyes, though you notice his sharp jaw twitching with a hidden smile. And then, leaning into Lily’s ear but still loud enough within your earshot, “And you certainly weren’t supposed to invade this nice lady’s personal space—”

“It’s no trouble. I was just sitting here,” you quickly wave him off.

“Daddy, can I play over there?” Lily points at the streaming water at the center of the park.

The man pulls a face. “I don’t know, Lil—”

“Come on, Daddy…”

“No way.”

“Just for five minutes. Please?” She bats her eyelashes, and you can immediately tell it’s her father’s Achilles heel. Because as much as you try to stay out of the conversation, you can hear the audible sigh coming from him, followed by,

“Fine. Five minutes, okay?”

The little girl bolts off to the fountains, tiny hands reaching out to the jet streams, testing out how strong it is. Figuring out the fountain pattern and stepping on each jet right as it shuts off, one foot after the other. It makes you wish it was socially acceptable for adults to do that, too.

“You’re free to sit and watch her from here, if you want.”

He looks at you, like really looks at you for the first time. At your rolled-up button-down, the chain around your neck with a pendant he can’t see under your collar. But mostly at your kind eyes—weathered, witnessed, but somehow not judging.

He pushes his short blond hair out of his face the same way the little girl does, and the similarity almost makes you laugh… if you weren’t so worried about making a fool of yourself in front of this handsome man. “You sure? I… didn’t want to intrude.”

You shake your head softly and scoot over on the steps, allowing him just enough space to sit down.

He notices the stubbed cigarette between your forefinger and middle finger. “You got another one on you?”

It takes you a beat to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh!” You reach for your pack of Camel, and offer it to him, one cigarette stick already pushed out for easier access.

He takes it with a polite smile, but then pauses upon realizing he has no lighter either. “Um, do you mind if I borrow—”

You lean in as he puts it between his lips, one hand cupping the light from the breeze, and his heart stops at how close you are. Close enough to notice the gloss on your lips. Close enough to get a faint whiff of your floral perfume.

(And unbeknownst to him, your heart stutters a little, too, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you fumble lighting your own cigarette.)

“Thanks, um…” he trails off.

You tell him your name, and he repeats it almost thoughtfully. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, like he’s chasing the taste of your name as it leaves his mouth.

He nods. “I’m Art.”

He does look like it. The navy blue sweater hangs just right on his broad shoulders, understated but high-quality. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing a sleek black Piguet around his wrist. A simplicity to complement his refined features. His bone structure is cut like the gods, but the permanent frown etched between his brows, casting a shadow over his deep-set eyes, tells you that he is facing the troubles of man. And the awkward way he’s holding his cigarette makes him look like a boy. Of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with,

“Nice to meet you, Art.”

He can’t remember the last time somebody said that to him and meant it. And right now, sitting in this concrete park alone, he can see no pretense coming from you. No ass-kissing, no sizing-up, just a genuine kind gesture of a stranger. And it makes him so fucking relieved.

“So what brings you out here?”

“Work, actually. A meeting,” Art replies somewhat vaguely. He’s not really keen on divulging the details of sponsorship and endorsement deals. Not when you don’t seem to know who he is. “Lily saw the park from the window and insisted we check it out when we’re done.”

“Ah, does she normally tag along with you to work meetings?” You ask with a playful glint, although the unspoken question of his whole situation is well heard. “She should. She looks like a great negotiator. Just saying.”

He chuckles. “Maybe she should. My, uh…” Art stops himself before he could say ‘wife’ because Tashi isn’t that anymore. Not his wife because they aren’t married anymore; not his coach either, because he doesn’t play tennis anymore. “Lily’s mom and I take turns every other week.”

And there it is. Your lips pull up into a soft line, not quite a smile but a gesture of understanding. “Must be tough.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a lot of changes. But she’s doing okay, I think…” Art pauses, “I hope.”

You follow his gaze and look at Lily, who must be playing some kind of Indiana Jones fantasy scenario with the water fountains. Not an ounce of care in the world. “She looks like a tough kid.”

“She is.” Art smiles bittersweetly. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to my sob story. What brings you to this park?”

The air that pulls both of you in releases, and you lean back on your elbows against the concrete. “Oh, I just finished work and I… needed some air.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an interpreter.”

His eyebrows shoot up in interest. “Like the Nicole Kidman movie?”

“Exactly.” You point your half-cigarette at him, and share a tentative smile with him.

“Do you do, like… high-profile, UN-related assassination investigations, too?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s not nearly as cool in real life. Most of it’s pretty boring, like contract negotiations and focus group discussions…”

“But the stories you must’ve heard, right? Or do you just… zone out at some point?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes you end up shutting off your brain and go on autopilot.”

“But not today?”

You smile ruefully at him, and he knows the answer. You take a thoughtful puff of your cigarette. “It’s… a bit hard when they’re talking about… how they had to jump off of the ship and swim across the channel in the dead of night, because they would rather die in the open water—a couple of them did— than die working in the fishing vessel…”

“Fuck.”

“And I know it’s not really meant for me—they’re talking to my client sitting next to me. But when they look you in the eyes and speak to you…” you trail off, taking a long drag of your cigarette.

Art takes it as a cue for his cigarette, too, although he notices you tapping the ashes off one, two, three times. “Must be tough.”

You roll your eyes playfully at him for quoting your own words back to you. “Ah well, it pays the bills. Besides, I get to clock out at 2PM on a Tuesday and enjoy this…” you inhale through your teeth disdainfully, “beautiful, brutalist… Soviet-core park.”

He laughs, the real kind of laughter that throws his head back, and it warms your heart enough to laugh, too. “It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

“It’s bullshit! And what the fuck is that horrendous giant ring doing here?” The two of you cackle over the installation art across the park. “And that billboard… it’s ridiculous.”

Art’s laughter dies down on his lips as he looks up at the billboard in question. The Aston Martin “Game Changers” campaign from last year. Fuck. Even when he’s completely separated from Tashi, her presence still looms over like a panopticon.

You turn to him with a smile still etched on your face, completely oblivious to the storm in his head. “What?”

But he looks ahead, too caught up in the hurricane to hear you. He just… looks up at the billboard, his face darkens.

Oh.

You feel silly for not putting two and two together—you’ve been staring at the billboard mindlessly for a good fifteen minutes, goddammit— so you tread very carefully. “That, uh… Lily’s mom?”

Art looks down on his lap, as if not daring to look at Tashi’s picture. Or at Lily, or at you. “Yeah.”

There’s no right word for it. There’s no coming back from this, nothing he can say can make this better, and he can’t help but kick himself for fucking up. What he is fucking up, he’s not entirely sure. But he’s not ready to end this conversation with you, not on such a weird note.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like…” because you can’t. Losing a spouse is hard enough, but to have it out there in the open…

“It’s tough,” he nods in confirmation, and you smile feebly at his attempt at a callback to your little inside joke. To the moment where things are fine, all things considered.

If the air ebbed and flowed earlier, it must’ve just… froze now. You don’t even remember the cigarette in your hand until the ash falls onto your hand and you gasp at the sudden heat, putting it out on the ground.

“I’m sorry. I should get out of your hair—”

“Do you wanna get a drink some time?”

The question catches both of you off-guard, eyes blinking at each other in shock. He didn’t think he heard you right, and your mouth seems to work faster than the filter in your brain.

Your face runs hot, and you chuckle sheepishly. “Sorry. You probably don’t wanna hear that—”

“I do.” He’s not sure which question he’s answering. Maybe both? Definitely both.

“Oh! Um…”

And right in that moment, Lily comes padding over with squelching steps in her shoes, completely drenched but over the moon. “Daddy, Daddy, that was so much fun! Can we come back here? I see lights on the floor, and I think the fountain lights up at night!”

Art puts out his cigarette under his shoe, chuckling at his daughter, “Baby, you’re soaked! Did you try to take a shower there or something?” immediately wringing water out of her hair.

“I’ll take a real shower when we get home.”

“Well, duh. But I don’t want you to catch a cold… come here.” He crosses his arm to grab the hem of his sweater and tug it over his head to put it on his daughter.

The girl looks thoroughly unamused as the clothing item falls halfway down her calves and the sleeves nearly touch the ground. “Daddy, this is ridiculous.”

You grin, and you can’t help but wonder how much of that sass came from Art. “Looks pretty chic to me.”

He nods at you, glad that you’re backing him up. “Thank you.” He then turns to Lily pointedly.

Lily half-smiles at you. “Thank you,” although she still isn’t quite convinced.

“I’m sorry, we really gotta go. But how do I, um…” he trails off. Gosh, he was hoping to do this out of Lily’s sight. Lily’s sight means Tashi’s sight, and he’s not ready for that talk just yet.

“Take my card.” You whip out a neat stainless steel case, and slides out a white-and-blue business card. Your name is printed in a sleek black font, right above ‘Interpreter’ in a smaller case. Your email and phone number follows.

His fingers brush against yours as he takes it, and he prays to God or whoever is up there that he doesn’t give anything away to you or Lily. Not a quirk, not a peep. Just two strangers connecting by chance.

“Thank you.” He nods evenly as he pockets the card, trying to contain the butterflies in his stomach—he’s always thought he was too old for that by now, but maybe… just maybe… “You have a nice day.”

“You, too.” You squint up at him under the sun, and then smile and wave at the little girl. “Bye, Lily.”

She waves at you as Art sweeps her up into his arms, and you don’t let yourself turn all the way around to watch them leave. Instead, with one final look at Art’s “Game Changers” billboard ad in the distance, you grab your pack of Camel and light another cigarette between your lips.

#art donaldson #divorced!art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #divorced!art x reader #art donaldson fluff #eeeeeeeee im so h-word physically and emotionally for him #ava writes #challengers fic

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katanra · 2 years

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Industrial Home Office

#Inspiration for a huge industrial freestanding desk concrete floor home studio remodel with white walls and no fireplace studio #drawing paper #industrial art studio ideas #work space chalkboard #art #workshop #workspace

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monstersandmaw · 7 months

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Male kelpie (dad-bod, single father, biker) x plus size f. reader - Part One (sfw)

Background info post on the Full Moon Motorcycles group here Oats Appreciation post here

Featuring a plus-size, bisexual, not very confident reader, and a divorced, Scottish, single-dad, biker kelpie with a soft-dad bod and a heart as big as his bike’s engine (possibly bigger).

CW: there is a very brief moment where a character (not Oats!) insults the reader for her size and uses some fat-phobic language towards and about her, unaware that she can hear him. If you’re sensitive to that, it is brief, but you can skip from “…you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.” to the paragraph beginning, “After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror…”. Also, if you squint, there’s a passing moment that could possibly be interpreted as the reader having some potential issues with food, but it’s not intended to be a big deal and it’s only for about two sentences. Still putting it in here too, just in case.

Wordcount: 7562

You pushed open the glass door of Full Moon Motorcycles and willed yourself not to feel self-conscious or out of place.

Having both an older brother and a mother who rode motorbikes had at least given you a fair bit of familiarity with bikes and the general ‘biker culture’, but it was mostly the fact that almost all the ‘biker girls’ you saw posing on social media were slim and toned, which you were decidedly not.

From the utterly foetid takes in the comments section of the one post your brother had shared on his page with you in it, you’d also got the impression that the biker community was not particularly kind to any woman with a waist over 25 inches. It probably wasn’t the case, but your one experience with it had been enough to make you very wary.

And yet, as you made your way towards the bike shop’s counter and the older man with floppy, greying hair and warm brown eyes looked up, you were greeted with an open, welcoming smile.

“Hi there,” he said, standing up with a grunt from the comfy chair where he’d been sitting in the corner near the shop’s antique cash register. “What can I do for you?”

You smiled shyly and glanced along the wooden countertop before returning your gaze to him. “I’m looking for a present for my brother, but I’m kind of on a budget…”

“Gotcha. We’ve got some silly key fobs there,” he said, indicating a rotating display rack at one end of the counter, with mottoes that ranged from funny to explicit, “But if they like working on their bike themselves, you can’t go wrong with some maintenance supplies… Not the most glamorous but I promise they’ll be grateful to you all the same.”

“Could always tie a festive ribbon round it,” you said, and he chuckled and nodded.

“That’s the spirit.”

You eyed the reasonable price of the fobs with some relief, and then followed his gesture towards the various bottles of chain degreaser and the like, and a few other useful tools and kits that were stacked on shelves on the back wall to the right of a door that presumably led into the back and store rooms.

The right hand side of the shop had the counter and some shiny, new bikes that had been parked in a row around the perimeter of the space, and the left hand side was more open with a bench or two against the brick walls, and some red, mechanics’ tool-chests tucked against the back wall. A number of leather two- and one-piece suits hung in racks at the furthest end though, with helmets on shelves and a few rows of t-shirts, jeans, gloves, and boots displayed too. There were oil stains in the centre of the polished concrete floor, and you suspected that tinkering took place there outside of the shop’s usual opening hours.

The whole vibe of Full Moon Motorcycles was friendly and cosy, with a slightly industrial, grungy note for some flavour.

In short, you loved it.

“There are also some fun helmet covers –” the older man chuckled, and added, “A number of the regulars here have them, and there are also some earplugs, or perhaps a tough phone case and mount? A chain care kit? There are some vinyl stickers too, and t-shirts, socks, neck warmers, balaclavas, mugs, helmet care kits, thermals…”

Laughing, you held up your hands for him to stop, and he started to chuckle too.

“I’ll let you browse in peace, sweetheart,” he said, his whisky brown eyes twinkling. Even his un-looked-for endearment came across as kindly instead of creepy, and not many men could pull that off. “You just holler if you have questions and I’ll be happy to –”

The door opened behind you and he broke off as his attention was snagged by the arrival of a heavy-set guy in dark jeans and a softly-worn, black leather jacket. He held a black helmet with a tinted visor in his large hands, and he looked more than a little wind-blown and rumpled.

Incongruous with his rather roguish-dishevelment, a lock of his long, thick, slightly grizzled, black hair was held back by a little hair-clip with a Barbie-pink, fabric bow. It didn’t fit with the dark scruff of stubble on his jaw or the piercing green-blue eyes at all, but he seemed completely unfazed by its presence.

“Oats!” the older man exclaimed with obvious joy, clapping his hands. “It’s been a while, my boy! How was the trip to Scotland? You make it round the NC500 this time?”

The ‘boy’ looked to be in his mid to late thirties…

“Ach, no’ a chance this time, Hank,” the man chuckled with a heavy, Scottish accent lacing his rich, rough baritone. Exactly where in Scotland he was from, you couldn’t tell, but it was lyrical and attractive all the same.

“Ah, next time, next time. And is Natalie well?

“Oh aye, my wee Loch Ness Monster is doing just fine. She’ll be terrorising her mother for the Christmas holidays. I came straight from the road though — clutch started playing up just south of Birmingham.” He grimaced, but even that looked charming somehow. “Sort of hoped you might find a minute to take a look at it for me if I left the Old Girl here. No rush though.”

“No problem, Oats. We’ll get her running properly again in no time. Bet you’re missing little Natalie already,” Hank added sympathetically.

“Ah, you have no idea,” the man, peculiarly-named ‘Oats’, sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

“See she left you with a parting gift though,” Hank snorted, pointing at the bow hair clip.

With a slight frown to his dark eyebrows, Oats reached up and patted at his head until he found it, and then he laughed. It was a loud, delighted, full-bellied sound that reverberated through the space while it lasted, and he left the hair clip where it was with no trace of self-consciousness as he lowered his hand again. “Aye, that she did. Surprised it survived the journey down with my lid on and everything. Oh –” His unusually pale green eyes landed on you, watching him and lurking near the rows of t-shirts on the back wall, and he went still.

Those sea-grey eyes raked you up and down, clearly noting the way your black leggings clung to the curves of your thighs and hips, and the black hoodie, which maybe went some way to hiding the softness of your stomach a bit, and he swallowed visibly. He looked… hungry. That was not the usual reaction you had grown accustomed to from men, and you let the flare of heat lick up your insides for just a moment, daring to hope that maybe he did find you attractive.

“Sorry,” he said in your direction, with a soft, dusky smile. “Didnae mean t’interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” you managed to croak back at him before returning your attention, however reluctantly, to present options for your brother while the older man, Hank, hobbled out around the corner of the wooden counter to chat amicably with the man. You couldn’t hear what was said as the two chatted in lower voices, but it was evident that they were good friends. While they talked, however, you couldn’t help noticing that he stole occasional sidelong glances in your direction, and you felt your face warm pleasantly.

‘Oats’ was certainly an unusual nickname, but then again, almost everyone who rode with your brother also had their own nicknames for one reason or another. As you browsed, you wondered what Oats had done to earn that one. He certainly looked like a snack to you, but you vowed not to let your attraction to the stranger show. Awkward situations (or worse, silences) tended to arise when you let that happen.

He had a tanned, outdoorsy complexion, and longish, black hair that was tied back in a low ponytail that brushed below the collar of his black leather jacket. It looked like it had a tendency to flop into his face when not restrained by that out-of-place pink bow. He filled out the jacket very well, and clearly had a soft paunch, and his thighs looked frankly delectable in those thick, indigo jeans. You prayed you wouldn’t have to see him fully from the back if he turned around, to witness the way he filled out the seat of his jeans too.

Fuck. Concentrate.

Bike gifts for brother, not delicious-looking stranger you’re never going to see again.

“Well, I shouldnae hang about, I suppose.”

Oats’ voice cut through your musings in front of chain degreasers and you jumped a little. Glancing back over at him, you offered him a smile when he too turned to look at you one last time, and a slow, charming smile crept onto his handsome face.

“See you,” he said with a dip of his head. Before he strode from the shop though, he let his eyes roam once more down the length of you and he bit his lower lip, almost regretfully, then turned away abruptly.

Oh yes. He absolutely did fill out the ass of those jeans beautifully.

Quite honestly, you weren’t totally sure what you ended up getting your brother for his birthday. You took whatever it was to the counter in a daze, your mind replaying over and over the way he’d looked at you.

“Must say,” Hank said conspiratorially as he fished your change from the antique cash register and slid it across the polished, wooden counter towards you. “I’ve never seen Oats quite so taken with someone, miss.” He chuckled, his kind, whisky-brown eyes glinting. “You take care now.”

Swallowing, you nodded and left the shop, hoping perhaps to find Oats waiting for you outside on the street, leaning against his motorcycle, but life was not a movie, and wherever he was, he was not lingering in the hopes of seeing you. In fact, the street was completely deserted, so you crossed, clambered into your little hatchback, and drove home with the feeling that you’d let a pivotal moment in your life pass you by.

Your sour mood persisted like a raincloud for the whole week, but by the time you were driving over to your brother’s on Saturday for his birthday ride, you were trying to pull yourself out of it. You had your own helmet with you, secured in the back of the car, and beside it was (now wrapped) the present you’d got him. In fact, it was a chain care kit, and, although you hadn’t noticed at the time, Hank had thrown in a free keychain that said ‘In my defence, I was left unsupervised’ which was very on-brand for your brother. You had planned to go back and thank him for the freebie as soon as you could, but your brother’s birthday ride had been planned for that Saturday, and work had been hell that week, so you’d not had the chance.

Predictably, Alex wasn’t in the house when you rang the doorbell, so you followed the sound of metallic clinking and laughter, and went round the side to find him tinkering with his mad little Honda Grom in the garage, while his two best mates — Eggs and Sparky — were lounging around and either making unhelpful suggestions or lewd comments.

“Yo!” Sparky grinned when he saw you, sitting up straighter and almost falling off the mechanic’s tool chest he was leaning his weight against. At Sparky’s exclamation, your brother sat up and banged his head on the handlebars of the short little Grom with a curse.

“Hey,” you mumbled in Sparky’s general direction. “Happy birthday, Alex.”

Alex scrambled upright and came over to hug you, probably smearing grease and dirt all over your armoured jacket, but since it was black anyway, you didn’t mind too much. Alex was about as opposite to you as it was possible to get — straight up and down like a beanpole, and tall. You took after your mother, inheriting all her thick curves and soft edges. Soft heart too.

“Thought this might come in handy,” you mumbled when Alex released you and you held out the brown paper bag stamped with the logo of Full Moon Motorcycles.

His eyes lit up when he saw the logo, and he tore into it like a chipmunk after a peanut, grinning in delight when he’d dismembered it, and in particular he showed off the keychain to his mates. Eggs snatched it and tried to claim it for himself, but Alex was having none of it, and the three of them scrapped and goofed around while you sat down on an old, metal stool in the corner and waited for the other two of your small party to show up, with a cool, curdling kind of dread in the pit of your stomach when you heard one name in particular. Nooner.

Within an hour though, you were all out on the road.

You took the pillion seat behind Alex, and warded his mates off at red lights when they came for his killswitch to immobilise him. A while later though, Alex zoomed off down the open road that would take you all out of town and towards the somewhat famous biker cafe, ‘Elusive Neutral’, that sat nestled amongst the fragrant heather of the rolling hills surrounding the old market town.

The sky was a gorgeous, autumnal blue and the weather was perfect, neither too hot nor too cold, and as your brother’s Yamaha flew along the winding A-road that was every biker’s dream, you cracked a smile and gently tipped your head back. As much as it had scared you when you’d first ridden behind your mother all those years ago, you did love the feeling of being out on a bike. Not that you were actually brave enough to want to try and learn yourself though. Something always held you back, made you wary and unsure, and then you inevitably felt down about that too. God, you wished you had Alex’s wild confidence.

Nothing good ever seemed to last for you though, and when Alex’s R1 had purred into the car park behind Eggs and Sparky, and you’d hopped off to let him reverse more easily into a space, you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.

“…if he didn’t have his fat sister with him, we could have fucking ripped it up along those twisties.” That, of course, had come from Nooner, named for the fact that he rarely stuck to two wheels and always pulled wheelies, or ‘nones’, whenever he got the chance. Out of all of your brother’s friends, he was the one you liked the least, for… obvious reasons.

“Talk about killing the vibes, huh?” Eggs replied, trying to suck up to him, as ever. “More like ‘crushing’!”

The reason Eggs had earned his nickname was that he’d lost a bet and shaved his head when they’d all been about sixteen, and he’d looked like a boiled egg til it grew back. You wished you had the sass to remind him of that every time his spine seemed to crumble in favour of earning a half-hearted snicker out of Nooner.

When Alex joined you, he caught the crestfallen expression on your face and frowned, but you shook your head and walked away from them, heading for the cafe alone.

“Can’t wait to shove some cake in her fat gob already,” Nooner added as an aside to Eggs, and your vision blurred as tears welled along your lashes. Why did people have to be so cruel? To trample all over someone else just to feel a little taller themselves?

You vaguely heard what sounded like Sparky’s voice countering the comment, but you didn't stick around either way. If you mentioned it to your brother again, he’d just say it was banter with the guys and not to take it to heart. Easy for someone who's never been on the end of that kind of comment to shrug it off, after all.

You ducked straight for the toilets when you got inside the airy, modern cafe, not even bothering to look around or find a table first.

After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror to see that you hadn’t turned your eyeliner into a panda cosplay, you headed out again and made for the little bar that doubled as a counter for people who were there solo to sit and eat instead of taking up a whole table to themselves. None of your brother’s friends joined you, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you saw that they’d settled themselves around a table in the far corner and already had a number for a server to bring their food order over. They hadn’t even waited for you.

“Fuck them,” you hissed through gritted teeth, taking a seat at the bar instead. The stools were made of old tractor seats, and they were surprisingly comfortable, and as you leaned your forearms on the countertop, the young woman behind the counter came over to you with a smile that made you feel a little better.

“Hey,” she said. “What can I get for you?”

You ordered a hot drink, and then took out your phone while you waited for her to make it for you.

For half an hour or so, you sat scrolling through social media and sipping your drink and telling yourself this was your brother’s day and not yours. He did come over a couple of times, but you declined to sit with his friends, and because he’d never had any real reason to doubt you before, he took you at your word when you told him you were happy enough where you were. “I don’t want to get in the way,” you said, and he believed you.

Patting you on the shoulder, he left you for the third time, and you looked down into the dregs of your drink with a heavy sigh. “This sucks.”

Outside, the sound of more bikes arriving made your ears perk up, and you wondered idly what they rode. Elusive Neutral had once been an old cattle barn, but it had been completely redone and the walls on two sides had been replaced with vast picture windows that showed the sweeping expanse of moorland beyond, and a small sliver of the car park at one end. Craning your neck, you saw a group of maybe five or six bikers draw up, some on hipster looking cafe racers and others on racy sports bikes. There was even a Ducati Panigale among them, and behind them followed an old, battered, blue pickup truck.

The door opened a little while later, and you glanced over, eyes drawn instinctively by the movement.

Above the general chatter and merry chinking of china in the room, the energy of the new group of bikers rose like a cloud of dizzy mayflies; buzzing and excited and full of joy. You watched them all with interest from your perch at the counter.

The first through the door was an absolute Amazon of a woman, with her long black hair restrained in a thick braid, and shoulders the width of a barn door. She was lean and tall, and in her biker gear she looked… incredible. Her face was strikingly handsome, but until she glanced down at the woman walking beside her, her features were hard and glowering and unspeakably stern. She held the door open for one of the others to follow her inside, but when she locked eyes again with the brunette by her side, her whole expression melted into unguarded adoration. Your gut twisted briefly with jealousy.

It wouldn’t matter to you who looked at you like that, if only someone would.

You looked away, and by the time you glanced back at the bikers, the whole group had filed in from outside. There was a guy with golden-brown skin and beautiful dark brown eyes who had his arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a pale, skinny guy in black jeans and a moth-eaten, black jumper, with his long hair tied back in a bun, and behind them came a strikingly attractive guy in a manual wheelchair, flanked by a very short biker with slightly anaemic looking skin. You wondered fleetingly if the guy in the wheelchair had ridden a motorbike there, and if so how, before you realised he was probably the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, with long, flowing red hair and dark green eyes, and the kind of mouth that was made for laughing, and for kissing.

Jesus, was it an unwritten rule of being a biker that you had to be unfairly attractive? Even Hank, who you recognised with a start of surprise coming in behind the guy with red hair, wasn’t unattractive, in a bulky, older man kind of way.

The guy walking with him though… he truly made your stomach swoop.

It was Oats.

You looked away before he could spot you, sitting alone at the bar like some pathetic creature waiting for cocktail hour to begin. It was lunchtime on a sunny, autumnal Saturday though, and there you were sitting alone because you didn’t fancy sitting with your brother’s loser mates.

God, the way Oats had looked in his tough-looking leather jacket, with his eyes crinkled mid-laugh at something the guy in the wheelchair had shot back at them over his shoulder… You bit your lip and stared into the bottom of your cold, empty mug like it would divine some kind of solution to your situation for you.

The new group didn’t seem to notice you while they filed up to the counter, jostling and joking, and when they drifted off to another corner of the cafe, you turned back to your phone, trying desperately to resist the almost overwhelming urge to keep turning over your shoulder to watch them.

Before too long however, you startled at a soft tap on your shoulder, and you looked around to find Oats himself stepping back to a polite distance and smiling down at you like he’d found a treasure in an unexpected place.

“Hey there,” he said in that rolling, Scottish accent that did unspeakably indecent things to your insides. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but you were at Full Moon last week, right?”

Mute for a moment, you nodded, and mustered up a slightly dazed smile for him.

“You… here alone?” he asked, eyeing the currently-empty seats to your left and right. In fact, someone had only just gathered up their belongings and left.

“Kind of?” you croaked, letting your eyes slide over to the table where your brother and his friends were hunched over one of their phones, snickering at something. “It’s… It’s my brother’s birthday today. I… tagged along as pillion, but… you know… I’m kind of a spare part really.”

At that, Oats’ dark eyebrows knitted into a scowl and he looked across the room at them before returning his attention to you. Then, his unearthly, almost prismatic, silver-green eyes took in your empty cup and he grinned. “Can I get y’a top up?”

Your instinct was to refuse, but you bit your lip. This didn’t feel real. A cute, handsome, courteous guy was actually taking an interest in you.

“Sure. Thank you.” And the smile that spread itself across your face telegraphed your delight in a way that was impossible to disguise with any kind of suave grace.

Oats, however, seemed equally delighted, and nodded. The barista came back over and he leaned his weight on the counter to talk to her. He seemed to have that enviably easy manner with everybody, and he even charmed a free slice of cake out of her too with what felt like no effort at all.

“Chocolate? Or something else?” he asked you.

“Pardon?”

“Cake.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” you said, but he frowned.

“You sure? I’m gonna have a bit of their chocolate cake. It’s so good, it’s practically a sin.”

“I…” you faltered.

He didn’t pressure you though and shrugged easily, turning back to the barista. “Gimme two forks with that, love. Just in case.”

“No problem,” she beamed back while she bustled about, and Oats eyed the empty bar stool next to yours.

“May I?”

You swallowed your nerves and nodded. “Please.” And then, because apparently a demon of confidence had temporarily possessed you, you eyed his slightly helmet-flattened forelock and said, “No pink hair clips today?”

He guffawed loudly enough that your brother actually glanced over and frowned when he saw you talking with a stranger.

Oats snorted and shook his head. “No, not today. My daughter is still up in Scotland with her mother.” He fixed you with a more serious look and said, “She and I divorced, before you get the wrong idea about me flirting like this with a beautiful woman.”

The compliment caught you so off-guard that you just froze for a moment, but when the heat of a blush filled your face, you looked away and he chuckled.

“I’m not normally so forward, but I’ve been kicking myself for not talking to you when I first saw you in Full Moon. Hank was telling me just this morning what a muppet I’d made of myself for walking away like that.”

You looked behind you at the group of his friends and then turned back to him. “Won’t they think you’re being rude, ignoring them like this?”

He shook his head and smiled. “They’re probably all taking bets on how quickly you’ll shoot me down.”

“What? I’d have to be an idiot to do that.”

At that, his face split into a huge, handsome grin and he shook his head just a little. “Lucky me,” he said. “You ride?” he added, eyeing your jacket that was obviously a motorcycle jacket.

You shrugged. “Pillion. I’ve never ridden myself, but my brother lets me come out with him sometimes.”

Oats nodded, and then, as the barista set down his coffee, your top-up, and the plate of decadent chocolate cake with two forks, he said, “I’m Euan, by the way, but everyone calls me Oats.”

You introduced yourself, and then said, “Oats?”

He snorted and nodded. “Not the worst nickname, for sure.”

“Can I ask where it came from?”

Oats nodded and shunted the plate towards you first before leaning his elbow on the bar and watching you while he spoke. “I think it’s because I’m a dad, but I’m always prepared for most situations, and when it comes to my Natalie, she’s always hungry. I’ve usually got about a thousand granola bars stashed away about my person —” he said, cutting himself off to pat conspicuously at his jacket pockets. Pulling a slightly dog-eared crunchy bar from his breast pocket, he wielded it like a magic wand at you and said, “Case in point.”

“Hence, Oats,” you said, eyeing the healthy brand name on the packet.

“Exactly. Like I said, it could be worse. See the tall lass over there with the dangerous scowl?”

You didn't need to turn around to know which of his friends he was talking about, but you did anyway. “Yeah.”

“We call her Pixie.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” he chuckled, stowing the granola bar back into his pocket and taking a huge scoop of the chocolate cake with his own fork.

“What do you ride then?” you asked.

“Triumph Bonneville T120,” he said with almost exactly the same intonation and fondness as he’d just said ‘because I’m a dad’, and you couldn’t help smiling. “Can’t be doing with all these glitzy sports bikes and the like,” he added with a laugh, setting his fork down and blinking slowly. His lashes, you noticed, were thick and dark and enticingly long.

Laughing, you smiled. “Don’t say that too loudly — my brother rides an R1.”

“Nice,” Oats grinned back. “But nothing could entice me away from my girl.”

“I’m surprised you’re here, flirting with me then,” you said. Evidently that confidence demon was still lurking.

Again, Oats laughed, though it was more of a low whicker this time, and it rolled right through you and lit you up all over. God, how long had it been since someone had laughed like that for you?

“There are… exceptions,” he said in a rumbling murmur. “Tell me about yourself?” he asked, and you did.

You spent the next hour at least talking in an easy back and forth with him while he charmed a few more refills from the barista and a lot of answers out of you, before one of his friends sidled up shyly and waited for a lull in your conversation.

“Sorry to butt in,” the small, unbelievably beautiful woman said. She was the one who’d been on the receiving end of the adoring look from the Amazon, ‘Pixie’. She had chocolate-brown hair falling in thick ringlets around a gorgeous face, and, you were pleased to note, she had wide hips and a softness to her that a lot of the biker chicks you’d seen online didn’t have.

“Coco,” Oats beamed. “Meet my new friend.” He introduced you by name, and Coco smiled at you, holding out her hand.

When your palms connected, you felt a warmth rush through you and you felt like your heart skipped a beat. The feeling like you could tip forwards and drown in her endless, dark brown eyes almost unseated you, but she let go of you and stepped back with a pretty smile on her Cupid’s-bow lips. “Pleasure to meet you. Just wanted to tell Oats that we’re thinking of heading off soon. Ariel has a photoshoot he wants to get to in an hour or so, and Demon’s keen to get going as well.”

Oats nodded, and you tried not to let your stomach drop down to your boots at the thought of all this coming to such an abrupt end.

Coco turned her head sharply to look at you just as the feeling hit, and she smiled faintly. “You could always stay here though, Oats,” she added with a pretty smile. “We’re only going back to Full Moon, and Demon clearly has no intention of lingering there…” She shot a meaningful glance back at their table. Demon, the guy with dark hair and tanned skin, was seated with the guy he’d entered with now draped in his lap, his skinny legs dangling as he sprawled languidly back against the guy’s muscular chest. Demon whispered something into his ear before he clearly bit the shell of his boyfriend’s ear, which made him sit abruptly upright and flush a vibrant pink.

Oats laughed again and shook his head. “Fuck me,” he chuckled privately. “Never thought I’d see the day. You guys go on. I’m… I’m very much content here.”

“I can see that,” Coco smirked, and walked away.

When she was out of earshot, you turned to Oats with a hot flush of your own in your face and said, “Don’t stay if you don’t want to… I’m sure my brother will be leaving soon anyway…”

Just as you said that, and before Oats could reply, Alex reappeared at your side and jutted his chin in Oats’ direction. “You good?” he chirped at you.

“Fine,” you replied. “This is Oats. I met him at Full Moon Motorcycles when I was buying your birthday present.”

“Oh,” Alex replied, holding out his hand for Oats to shake. “Good to meet you, man. You tell her what to get for me? If you did, it was a good choice.”

“No,” Oats said carefully, his grey-green eyes sliding back to your face even while he shook your brother’s hand amicably. “No, whatever she got you, it was all her.”

“Oh, cool,” Alex said. “Listen, sis, we’re gonna hit the road in a while. Nooner and Eggs want to hit the twisties for a bit, but I can’t really do that with a backpack, so Sparky said he’d give you a ride home, if that’s ok.”

You swallowed. “Um…”

“I can give her a lift,” Oats replied after a swift glance in your direction. “She’s already got her own lid, and there’s room on the Bobber’s double seat for both of us.”

“I don’t know, man,” Alex said with a wary frown.

“Your choice,” Oats shrugged easily, looking at you and holding his hands up just a little.

For a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure, but the idea of wrapping your arms around Oats’ thick middle and sitting astride his gorgeous bike kind of decided it for you. Besides, it was a long time since you’d done anything truly just for yourself; simply because you wanted to. You nodded at your brother. “It’s fine. You go ahead.”

“You sure?”

Nodding to reassure him, you smiled again and Alex backed up a pace. “Cool. Text me later, ok?” he said as he retreated towards his friends, clearly trying to hide his excitement at not having a passenger for the great, twisting section of A-road they were heading for.

“Will do. Have fun, and don’t crash!” you called after him. “Or get a speeding ticket!”

He waved a hand over one shoulder without looking back, and you laughed and returned your attention to Oats. “Brothers.”

“Bikers,” he replied. “You try telling that to any of that lot though —” he gestured towards his own group of friends who were now filtering out of the door. “You ready to head out too or do you want to stay?”

You did want to stay, but the seat wasn’t that comfortable anymore, and you wanted to move around a bit. “No, I’m good to go,” you said and prepared to slide off the stool, but Oats stepped down first and held out his hand to you. You didn't need helping down, and his playful little smirk told you he knew as much, so you rode out the last of that demonic possession and let your fingers slide across his palm and he steadied you off the stool.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“Pleasure.”

You picked up your helmet from where you’d stowed it on the floor at your feet and straightened to find him waving casually across the room to the good-looking guy with the ethereally pretty boyfriend. Before he stepped away from you and made towards the door though, you cleared your throat and said, “Oats?”

“Mn?” Looking down at you, his entire attention honed in on you, like you were the centre of the universe, and you swallowed back a sudden welling of emotion.

“Listen… Thank you… for… coming over to me today. Like I said, it’s my brother’s birthday, and he was here with his friends, and he only included me so I didn’t feel completely left out, but…” Accursed tears washed over your eyes for a moment but you blinked them away furiously and ploughed on regardless. “I’m really glad I came along today anyway,” you finished rather pathetically.

His full, beautiful lips curled into a gentle smile and he blinked softly and exhaled. When he spoke, his voice was low and his words private, as though you weren’t standing in a busy cafe surrounded by people and the cheerful clatter of coffee cups and laughter. “I’m really glad I did too. I wasn’t going to, you know? I was going to stay at home and edit a boatload of raw photographs for a client, but Demon convinced me to come out. I guess I owe him.”

“‘Demon’? For… For the speed?” you asked, wondering how he came by his nickname.

“For the horns,” Oats replied in deadpan humour. “Have a look if he’s still there when we go outside. You ready?”

You followed him out of the cafe with a nod, and just as you took a deep, indulgent breath of fresh, heathland air, Oats’ group of friends filed out past you on their bikes. The one named Demon was in the lead, and the nickname made immediate sense. Sitting astride a blood-red Panigale, with his boyfriend clinging on behind him like a limpet, the guy had pale, curving horns fixed to the crown of his helmet.

“Yeah, that tracks,” you said, and Oats waggled his dark eyebrows.

The Amazon had a Yamaha R1 like your brother’s, but hers had a pearl-white wrap that made it look almost spectral, and riding out in front of her was Coco on a yellow and black Honda Hornet.

The telltale red plait told you that the guy in the wheelchair was on a modified Kawasaki, with unusual struts at the back that looked like they would come down when he stopped to stabilise him instead of having to take his legs off the foot pegs, where they were currently Velcro-ed in place. Watching the whole group file out was Hank, standing beside a battered old pickup. In the bed of the truck, you could just see that the red-headed biker’s wheelchair secured in place.

Hank waved the last of them off, then glanced over at Oats. The older man lifted his nose just a little, as if he too was enjoying the fresh, moorland wind that whipped across the car park, and he nodded once at Oats, and then at you to your surprise, before clambering stiffly up into his pickup and closing the door. It shut with a raucous yelp of rusty hinges.

You stood there and watched Oats’ friends all file out, all waving at Oats as they passed, before they set off down the road in a roar of revving engines to leave a lonely looking Bonneville waiting patiently near the stone wall of the car park nearby.

“Yours, I presume?” you said, nodding at it.

“Yup.”

“She’s a beauty,” you mumbled, self-consciousness prickling at the sides of your neck for the silly comment.

Oats beamed though, his sea-foam eyes lighting up as the crinkles around his eyes and the slight dimples in his cheeks creased under the force of his obvious pleasure. “Thank you. She’s my pride and joy. You ready? Oh, wait, you should put your address into my phone before we get going,” he laughed.

You nodded, taking the offered phone from him. Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you took it, and a tiny thrill passed through you that you did your best to quash. With your address plugged in and a route home waiting to be followed, you handed it back to him and looked up into his handsome, rugged face as he smiled.

“Cheers. Let’s go,” he said, and you trailed along beside him over to his bike, heartbeat thudding in your ears with your nerves.

He swung a leg over and turned the key, then pushed the bike upright and nudged the side-stand in with his left foot before flicking the switch and bringing the bike to life. She growled beautifully, the low, thundering rumble of her engine sounding far more visceral and primal than your brother’s sports bike did. Perhaps it was the design of the lower-slung Bonneville, with its visible parts that made you think of a Steampunk aesthetic, but you instantly preferred it. Plus, the double seat looked way more cushioned — and less precarious — than the one you’d perched on to get to the cafe that morning.

Oats got himself comfy while you slid your helmet on, then he looked over his shoulder at you and nodded, so you took that as your cue and got settled on the pillion seat behind him. The footpegs were already down. The pulsing purr of the machine beneath you was almost enough to distract you from the fact that you were entrusting your life to a relative stranger, whom you’d never seen ride before, and as you climbed on and rested your hands politely on his shoulders, you felt a shiver travel through your whole nervous system.

“Do whatever’s comfortable for you, obviously,” Oats said over the noise of his bike, “But if you want to hold my waist — if you can actually get your arms around my middle, that is,” he chuckled self-effacingly, “— feel free. Totally up to you.”

“Thanks,” you yelled back, and, because apparently that pesky demon of confidence was still kicking around, you hugged his torso.

It was wonderful.

Slowly snaking your arms around his middle, you felt your chest press against his back and you caught the way he inhaled slowly and tried not to wonder what it meant. It felt so good to hold him that you had to remind yourself it wasn’t a hug. It was to keep you in place while a gorgeous stranger drove you home on his equally gorgeous bike. With a final thumbs-up to check you were happy, to which you replied with a nod of your head and tried not to clack your helmet against his, he pulled away and your heart leapt for the sheer joy of it.

Where the R1 was built for sleek speed and bursts of power, the Bonneville was build to be enjoyed, and oh gosh, did you enjoy every curve.

And not just the curves in the road, either.

Oats was soft, but he was solid, and the urge to rest one hand on his thick thigh was almost overwhelming, until he took the corners at just the right pace to be exhilarating without you having to worry about your safety, and you clung on instead and laughed behind the safety of your visor.

It was all over way too soon, and as the Bonneville chugged into your road like a steam train and halted outside your poky, terraced house with its quaint little kitchen garden out the front in the postage-stamp of space between the pavement and the house, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Please don’t let this be it, you thought desperately.

You went through the motions of getting carefully off the bike without staggering or falling, and again, Oats held out his hand to help steady you. You gripped his fingers gratefully and when you gave an extra little squeeze to his hand at the end, you could have sworn he answered with one of his own and a throaty chuckle.

He dismounted too, which surprised you, and you wondered if you were going to have to ask him inside. As much as you wanted that in principle, you desperately didn’t want it to happen today because the house was a mess: laundry was still hanging up all over the place, and you’d cooked a curry the previous night and it was definitely still lingering in the air.

Oats took off his helmet but left his bike idling, which went a little way to reassuring you, and when you looked more closely at his expression, you thought you saw a hint of something familiar lingering in the corners of his eyes. Was he nervous?

Swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing behind the thick, 5 o’clock shadow that looked like it lingered pretty constantly no matter the time of day, Oats took a deep breath, held it, and then smiled at you. “Fuck,” he exhaled, and laughed. “I’m… very rusty at all this.” He held his helmet in both hands before him, toying with the strap.

“If I gave you my number, would you maybe like to meet up again?” you asked, taking pity on the man.

“Very much,” he said softly. “Like I said, Natalie is with her mum for the holidays, and apart from a wedding I’m covering next week, this is a pretty slow time of year for me. I’m free… mostly whenever.”

The reminder that he had a daughter with someone else did make you wonder what you were letting yourself in for. Children weren’t really something you had any expense of, since neither you nor your brother had shown any parental inclinations yet, and you weren’t particularly close to your cousins who had small kids.

“Ok, let me give you my number and we can figure something out.”

That done, he slid his phone back into his pocket and zipped it up, biting gently at his lower lip for a moment. “I know it’s bold,” he said, “But may I kiss you?”

Your heart skipped and soared. Breathless, you looked up at him and whispered, “Yes.”

His tiny, gentle, lopsided smile heralded the kiss’ approach, and he took your jaw delicately in one, leather-gloved hand as he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. They were soft but insistent against yours, and you answered with a little moan as your eyes fluttered shut.

He groaned, pulling you closer with a low growl so that you were pressed flush against him for a moment before he stepped back and exhaled roughly. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you soon?”

You nodded, feeling like you were floating inches above the ground.

You watched him re-mount his bike and adjust himself a little once he was settled, then he revved it playfully for you, and rode away after a final look back at you. He flipped his visor down as he pulled away, and you watched the bike and its rider disappear down the road.

‘Soon’ couldn’t come soon enough…

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rbbrbikerthorp · 4 months

Text

Biker Upgraded To Cyborg

For as long as anyone could remember, Jake and Eddie had not only been best mates, but they’d been crazy about motorbikes. Both their dads were bikers so it was no surprise that as kids they were introduced to bikes in real life and got to watch MotoGP, WSB and BSB either in real life or on TV with their enthusiast dads.

They were riding off-road in their early teens. They got their first mopeds at 16, upgrading to 125cc bikes a few months after their respective seventeenth birthdays. Now in their early 20s they have held full licences for nearly three years. Jake rides a black Honda CBR600RR, bought second hand through the weekly motorcycling title, MCN. Eddie rides a used Red Yamaha R6 that he bought a couple of months earlier from the main dealer in the city where they live. Springtime and the light evenings meant they would be out as much as possible riding 'the highways and byways', and this day was no exception, but it would be a day that changed their lives forever.

Jake and Eddie had spent most of Sunday riding and were at the edge of the city when Jake’s bike had started spewing smoke out of the engine before rolling to a stop alongside a large industrial estate. Jake jumped off his bike, but with no tools to hand he had no option but to seek help. He pushed his bike into the entrance to one of the large modern warehouses that populated the industrial estate. Jake kicked the side stand into place and sighed heavily. Eddie pulled in alongside Jake, kicked down the stand on his before turning off the ignition.

Although they were back in the city, they were still about ten miles from home. Jake reached into his leathers for his phone only then realising that they were in an area without mobile phone coverage. Jake and Eddie looked around for a payphone to call the breakdown service - but in this era of mobile technology, BT had removed most of the phone boxes - so there wasn't one within sight. Realising they needed to get help they looked around for signs of life. In front of them was a sprawling grey structure resembling more of a fortress than a warehouse. Its metallic surfaces gleamed under the late afternoon sun, making it look otherworldly. Figuring it might be their best chance at getting help—or at least finding a phone—they started walking towards the massive building.

The front gate was oddly open, inviting yet silent. Jake and Eddie didn't think it weird for a security guard building to be unoccupied with the gates open. More concerned about getting help they walked towards the main building entrance. Jake pressed on the intercom button and waited for a response. After a minute he pushed the button again, but this time there was a buzz. Jake looked at Eddie and shrugged his shoulders, pushing on the door, it opened. They walked inside.

Expecting to see a reception area the two friends were surprised to enter the building at what appeared to be the beginning of a long dimly lit corridor. Jake and Eddie looked at one another, Jake spoke first, “Why don’t you wait here, while I see if I can find anyone to speak to”.

Eddie nodded.

Both looked at one another, for a moment unsure of what to do. Then Jake smiled, turned and started walking along the seemingly endless corridor, his boots echoing on the cold, concrete floor. The air was chillingly sterile, as he walked he would pass the occasional door and window revealing glimpses of high-tech interiors.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice disappearing into the ether without an answer. The lack of response was unnerving, but as he walked on he could hear noise coming from much further along the corridor. Jake kept walking, driven by his need to get to a phone and call the breakdown service to sort out his bike.

Eventually, the corridor turned to the right, after another dozen or so yards it opened up into a colossal space. What Jake witnessed was like a scene reminiscent of a sci-fi horror film.

The room was stark yet brightly lit. On one side it was filled with row upon row of raised surgical beds. Yet these weren't like the ones you’d see in a hospital; they were repurposed contraptions where human flesh was being melded with alien, synthetic and electronic components. Shocked by what he was witnessing, he turned his head, but there was no escape from the nightmare he found himself in.

The other side of the room was populated with dozens of cylindrical tubes. Jake’s eyes widened as he took in the sight before him—humans, all young males, lined up and undergoing transformations into, well all he could think of was 'something else'. Whichever way he turned he could see men his age were being outfitted with mechanical limbs, others had technology intricately woven onto weird shiny black body suits, still others were in varying stages of being processed into full cyborgs.

The horror gripped him; his instinct was to flee back to Eddie and both to get the hell out of there. But before he could move, cold metal hands grasped his shoulders with an iron grip. His heart sank as he was spun around to face what had caught him—a cyborg, its body a haunting hybrid of human and machine, expressionless yet totally menacing.

“Welcome," its voice an unsettling blend of tones, both mechanical whilst still eerily human. "Your arrival is opportune. Your integration process will commence shortly."

Panic surged through Jake as he struggled, but the cyborg's grip was unyielding. Despite putting up strong resistance, he was dragged towards one of the ominous stations. Glancing around, he noticed the other captives were not fighting; their eyes showed a haunting resignation, some flickering with the vague light of fear.

As he was forced onto what appeared to be a surgical table, Jake looked around frantically, hoping for any chance of escape. His heart raced as mechanical arms equipped with various tools whirred to life around him.

In a split second metallic straps shot out from the surgical table and tightened around his limbs and across his torso, a sense of utter helplessness began to wash over him. His heart pounded hard against his chest. He desperately sought that extra bit of human strength that would allow him to escape. He struggled and struggled against the restraints, but the metal straps simply wouldn’t budge.

Stage one of his transformation was about to begin. From above a helmet descended slowly from the ceiling, its approach marked by an audible, mechanical whirring. Jake squinted upwards, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He was used to his bike helmet, but this was unworldly.

Two drones approached the surgical table Jake was strapped to and grabbed the helmet, which had opened up. One lifted his head slightly and the other slid the back of the helmet under the back of his head. As the helmet closed over his head, a claustrophobic fear gripped him. The world outside the helmet faded, leaving him in a confined sphere of existence. Almost immediately, an overwhelming barrage of white noise bombarded his ears, punctuated by low, droning hums that seemed to resonate through his bones.

Then, the visuals began on the inside of the visor. Spirals of colour appeared in front of his eyes, intertwining and unraveling in hypnotic patterns. Reds, blues, yellows and greens blended into a kaleidoscope that threatened to absorb his mind. Jake tried to close his eyes, but the images were inescapable, imprinted on the insides of his eyelids, searing themselves into his brain and more nefariously his subconsciousness. Almost as if recognising Jake was finally submitting the noise and visuals seemed to become amplified.

As the sensory overload continued, Jake felt a strange detachment creeping through him—a numbness that suggested the audio and visuals were beginning to take effect. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice screamed in terror and defiance, urging him to resist, urging him to hold on to his identity.

With a surge of willpower, Jake focused on that voice, blocking out the chaos threatening to engulf him. He concentrated on memories of standing in the stands watching the best riders in the world, the challenging rides with Eddie, the feel of his motorcycle, the wind against his leathers. He thought about his best mate Eddie and the fun they’d had. He thought about his family and his other friends. These human experiences, these emotional connections to his past life, became a lifeline to cling onto.

As Jake fought against the sensory bombardment, the helmet detected his resistance, It recalibrated its internal mechanisms in response to his defiance. Suddenly, the white noise in his ears shifted, morphing into a series of low, almost inaudible subliminal messages. Each word—"relax", "comply", "obey", "drone", "conform", "follow", "respect" could be heard—the words flashed across his vision, barely there long enough for conscious recognition, but deeply penetrating his subconscious.

The colours that swirled before his eyes intensified, becoming more vibrant and pulsating rhythmically, as if to synchronise with his own heartbeat. It was a sensory assault designed to break down the walls of the individual, to reshape his mind into something more compliant and obedient. Jake’s initial surge of resistance began to wane as mental exhaustion set in, the messages infiltrated deeper into his psyche, their insistence relentless and overpowering.

His eyes, once sharp with determination and fear, started to lose focus, the vibrant spirals turning into a soothing blur. The resistance in his muscles softened as his body began to accept the inevitability of his situation. His thoughts, those last bastions of his free will, were slowly suffocated under the warm, smothering blanket of compliance and security that the helmet now forced upon him.

With an audible click and a beep, the helmet sealed its final adjustment, signalling the completion of its preparatory phase. At this cue, the two drones, their movements precise and devoid of any hesitation, glided smoothly towards the table where Jake lay subdued. Their appendages were equipped with various tools and devices necessary for the transformation process.

The drones worked efficiently, attaching additional apparatus to Jake’s limbs and interfacing seamlessly with the helmet. As they initiated the physical transformation, Jake’s body was being prepared to receive bio-mechanical enhancements that would connect him irrevocably to The Hive which he learned was housed within the humongous building.

Somewhere in the dwindling recesses of his mind, the essence of who Jake once was—a biker with a love for the open road—flickered weakly. This essence watched as his limbs and muscle fibres were methodically integrated with synthetics and his nervous system was integrated with advanced circuitry. The process was both horrifying and fascinating to watch.

As the transformation progressed, Jake’s human senses were gradually overridden by electronic inputs. His vision, once clouded by the colourful spirals, now interfaced directly with data streams providing real-time analytics about his environment. His hearing was no longer filled with subliminal messages but was tuned to various frequencies beyond the range of human hearing.

By the time the transformation was complete, Jake, as he had been, no longer existed. In his place stood a new Jake, a cyborg, what was exclusively biological had been augmented with technology. The drones, recognising another successful integration, had begun to step back.

The new Jake climbed down from the surgical table to be guided by the two drones. He moved with a robotic precision that was both chilling and enthralling to witness. He was led to what looked like a modified dentist's chair, but larger and imposing. The chair had been upgraded and was fitted with numerous ports and circuitry interfaces. Without hesitation, he sat down, his actions appearing devoid of the personality that had once defined him.

He leaned back so that his head touched the headrest. The chair immediately sprang to life, adjusting to accommodate his new form. A second later the old Jake would have felt a light sensation on both sides of his head as what can only be described of as two metallic ear pieces, out of which came sets of wires slid into his ears and began to work.

Somewhere, an echo of the old Jake could sense what was happening, words echoed around the room and in his head. Screens nearby flashed “accessing biological memories…beginning total erasure”.

“NNNOOOOOOOO”, But even as the word was said, Jake’s relatively short lifetime of memories were disappearing, flashing before his eyes for a split second before evaporating into nothing - gone forever.

Monitors next to the chair flashed “Memory Wipe successful,” again, the words echoed around the room.

Any human observer in the room looking at new Jake’s face would describe it as passive, distant, dull, emotionless. Empty. His eyes were missing their human sparkle.

Then the drone formerly known as Jake again felt another funny feeling in his ears, as if a static charge was coming out of the wire. Suddenly the screen flashed “Beginning Program Upload”… While that happened, nearby monitors flashed, “Emotional Centres being accessed”.

“Installing Human Emotion Suppression Software”

“… 10%… 20%… 30%… 40%… 50%… 60%… 70%… 80%… 90%… ”

“Human Emotions Suppression Software installed. Fully functional.”

The monitors flickered for a moment and then more text appeared, “Beginning Cyborg Program Upload”. The upload began. The Hive, a vast network of interconnected AI and data banks, started feeding a stream after stream of programming directly into Jake's brain. These were not merely instructions; they were directives that informed behaviour, dictated functions, and defined purpose.

For hours, data was input into him, a relentless torrent of information reshaping and repurposing him; any lingering traces of his previous humanity now completely overwritten. His eyes, once vibrant with youthful emotion, now displayed a steady, unblinking focus as the programming was embedded, ensuring his obedience and efficiency.

At the appropriate time the interface with the new Jake confirmed the programming had been successful. “Operating at 100%,” it said in an emotionless, synthetic voice. “Organic memories have been wiped. Emotional Suppression Software is fully functional. The new data and objectives have been successfully uploaded with zero errors”.

The chair returned to an upright position, and the new Jake stood once more. His movements were smooth, almost graceful, a stark contrast to the somewhat ‘cavalier’ sports biker he once was. He was a product of advanced technology, a being created to serve a purpose far beyond his previous human desires.

Approaching him now were two more drones, carrying items that symbolised his final transformation. They presented him with a set of Dainese bike leathers, not ordinary leathers but augmented to interface seamlessly with his cybernetic body. The leathers were equipped with sensors and conductive circuitry that could communicate directly with his system, enhancing his interaction with the Hive.

Then they presented him with a pair of white boots, larger to accommodate the modifications of his feet, designed not only for protection but also to enhance his connection to the ground and his bike. Gloves that reached up to his arms were fitted next, embedded with micro-circuitry to increase his grip and control.

Finally, they brought over a new crash helmet unlike any other. This helmet was his direct link to the Hive mind. It was designed to keep him constantly connected to the Hive's data stream.

As the helmet settled over his head, a subtle hum filled the air, signalling the activation of all its systems. The new Jake stood there, a figure of both awe and dread, transformed entirely from the young man who had once freely roamed the roads on his motorcycle.

Now equipped, Jake was led to a new motorcycle, one that matched his new form. To the casual observer it looked like a traditional bike that had been upgraded; integrated with technology that responded fluidly to his enhanced senses and capabilities. As he mounted the bike, the connection between man and machine was seamless, a perfect union crafted by the Hive’s sophisticated engineering.

The new Jake rode the highway on his futuristic bike, a sleek and menacing marvel of technology that effortlessly caught the eye of any enthusiast. Its design was unlike anything on the roads—sharp angles, glowing panels, and a subtle hum that hinted at its advanced capabilities. It was designed not just for speed and efficiency, but as a lure to attract exactly the kind of individuals the Hive sought to convert.

As he travelled along a popular bikers’ route known for its scenic views and biker cafes, he spotted his next targets. Two young bikers, probably in their twenties, had pulled over in a lay-by, their bikes parked as they enjoyed a brief pause in their riding, catching up on conversation and checking their mobile phones. The new Jake slowed down, looking at the two bikers oblivious to Jake’s presence, his connection to the Hive confirmed they would be perfect candidates for upgrade.

Pulling over smoothly, Jake dismounted his bike. His helmet's visor slid up as he approached them, revealing a face that was human enough to be relatable but enhanced subtly with metallic hints that suggested something more beneath the surface.

"Hey," Jake called out, his voice modulated to be friendly and inviting. “Hey there. Not seen you riding ‘round here before.”

The two young bikers, intrigued by the stranger and his extraordinary bike, smiled and walked over. “What is that you’re riding? It looks like it’s straight out of a sci-fi movie. What is that?" one of them asked, his curiosity piqued.

The new Jake chuckled, a sound perfectly calibrated to put others at ease. He needed to win their trust so began to make conversation with them. "It’s a custom build from a place not too far from here. They’re experimenting with some next-gen and EV tech. You guys interested in seeing where something like this comes from?"

The offer was tempting. The allure of advanced technology and the chance to see more bikes like Jake’s was too good to pass up for any avid biker. The young men exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them before they nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, definitely,” the other replied. “We’ll follow you!"

Jake smiled and nodded, turning back to his bike. As they put their helmets on and started their engines, a part of Jake’s programming confirmed the successful engagement of two targets. He led the way, riding at a pace that was thrilling yet careful to keep his new followers comfortably in tow.

The journey took them away from the familiar routes into less traveled roads, the scenery shifting subtly as they moved closer to facility where he had been transformed. The two bikers were unaware of the true nature of their destination, caught up in the thrill of the ride and the excitement of seeing advanced motorcycle tech.

After some time, they arrived at the vast building that looked more like a huge distribution centre than a motorcycle manufacturing factory. The gates opened automatically as Jake approached, a silent signal of his authority and belonging.

Jake signalled for the other two bikers to do follow him down a roadway between two buildings. Jake brought his bike to a stop, opened his visor and announced, ”we are here.” The other two brought their bikes to a stop, dismounted and removed their helmets.

Jake walked forwards into the huge building just ahead of them; the two other bikers looked at one another, shrugged their shoulders and followed. They would ingress through a different route compared to the one Eddie and Jake entered.

The space inside they walked into was clean and modern, filled with prototypes and machines that made the two young bikers' eyes widen in awe.

"This is incredible!" one of the exclaimed, walking closer to inspect a particularly sleek model that caught his eye. "How do you get in on this?"

Jake's response was calculated, his tone still friendly but now carrying an undercurrent of persuasion. "Well, there's actually a selection process. Part of why I brought you here. If you're interested, there’s a quick tour and some tests to see if you're compatible with the tech."

Excited and completely unaware of the implications, the two young men agreed eagerly, following Jake deeper into the facility. As they walked, the doors behind them closed silently, the outside world receding as they moved further into the realm of the Hive.

Little did they know, their fascination with bikes and the temptation of combining their love of biking and dreams of futuristic bikes had led them into a trap. This walk would be their last as mere humans, as they stepped unknowingly into the next phase of their lives dictated by The Hive's needs.

=========

Oh, are you wondering what happened to Eddie? As you might have expected The Hive detected his presence and determined a new purpose for him, but that’s another story.

#drone #boots #conversion #helmet #leather #biker #leather biker

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blogport · 2 months

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EPOXYSHİNE - DRAGON+ (4)

When it comes to innovative interior design, the choice of flooring plays a pivotal role in defining the overall aesthetic and functionality of a space. Among the various options available, metallic floors have emerged as a striking trend, blending style with durability. Their unique finish not only adds a contemporary edge but also reflects light, creating a sense of openness in any room. Meanwhile, alternatives like quartz flooring offer an equally compelling mix of elegance and resilience, perfect for those seeking a natural yet refined look.

Metallic Floor

Metallic floor have become an exciting trend in modern interior and exterior design, offering a sleek and futuristic aesthetic. This type of flooring is typically made using materials like epoxy, polished concrete, or terrazzo, which can be infused with metallic pigments that reflect light. The unique appearance of a metallic floor allows for a striking look, making a bold statement in any space.

One of the significant advantages of metallic floor finishes is their durability and resistance to wear and tear. Unlike traditional flooring options, metallic surfaces are often resistant to stains, scratches, and impact damage, making them ideal for high-traffic areas such as commercial spaces or homes with pets and children. Additionally, they can be easily cleaned and maintained, preserving their luster and shine over time.

In terms of design versatility, metallic floors can be customized to fit various interior themes, from industrial chic to modern minimalism. Available in a range of colors and finishes, they can seamlessly blend into the environment or stand out as a focal point. Furthermore, incorporating metallic flooring can enhance the overall ambiance of a space, reflecting light and creating an illusion of depth, thus making a room feel larger and more open.

Quartz Flooring

When it comes to choosing a flooring option that combines beauty and durability, Quartz flooring stands out as a premier choice. This type of flooring is composed primarily of natural quartz crystals, which are not only aesthetically pleasing but also incredibly tough. As a result, Quartz flooring is resistant to scratches, stains, and other wear and tear that can occur over time.

Another significant advantage of Quartz flooring is its versatility. It is available in a vast array of colors and patterns, making it a suitable option for any home or office decor. Whether you're looking for a sleek modern look or a more traditional style, Quartz flooring can provide the perfect finish to your space.

Furthermore, Quartz flooring is known for its low maintenance requirements. Unlike other flooring types that may need frequent refinishing or special cleaning products, Quartz flooring can be easily cleaned with mild soap and water. This not only saves time but also makes it an economical choice in the long run.

Concrete Floor

When it comes to flooring options, concrete floor have risen in popularity due to their durability and aesthetic appeal. Unlike traditional flooring materials, concrete can be customized in various finishes and colors, allowing homeowners and businesses to create a unique look that complements their design vision.

In addition to their visual versatility, concrete floors are incredibly strong and resistant to wear and tear. This makes them an ideal choice for high-traffic areas, where traditional flooring may suffer from scratches, dents, and fading over time. Concrete not only stands up to heavy use but is also easy to maintain, requiring only simple cleaning and occasional sealing.

Sustainability is another key advantage of concrete flooring. As a naturally abundant material, concrete has a lower environmental impact compared to other flooring options.

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girlkisser13 · 2 months

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athena cabin headcanons

children of athena

• they all have amazing penmanship.

• they help with any school/summer work when a camper needs it.

• they also offer a free tutoring service to other campers.

• they have a long list of study tips for demigods, including what has worked for them to help focus their adhd in school (as most demigods struggle with remaining on task in work environments).

• they secretly love police procedural/detective shows. law & order, criminal minds— you name it, they watch it. and there's always a "friendly" competition to see who can solve the crime first.

• someone engineered glow-in-the-dark paper for late-night studying and planning. they always have a huge supply.

• they have a pet owl that they all take turns feeding and looking after.

• they help organise camp events that aren't run by chiron and they have a calendar full of birthdays and dates that are special to other campers.

• they are the only people on earth to have discovered a constantly comfortable reading position.

• they all start to feel slightly nauseated if they're in water for too long. showers, the lake, a pool, the rain— any water. this comes from athena's rivalry with poseidon. the only way for it to be neutralized is if they are in the presence of a friendly child of poseidon.

• some of them trap spiders and use them in experiments. this helps them gain more knowledge, combat their fears, and take revenge on these spiders all at the same time.

• they aren't normally ones to break rules. however, they rarely go to bed on time. when other campers ask them why, they simply laugh and say, "we're all night owls." (get it? i’ll stop. 😔)

• they aren't scared of normal horror movies. they usually just laugh at how frustratingly stupid the characters are. the only movies that make them scared are ones where spiders are involved.

• they take monopoly way too seriously and take it as a personal affront that they keep losing to the hermes cabin.

• they have a website that you can only view inside of camp half-blood. it’s sort of a virtual log book, which makes it easy for the kids that have been away during the year or on quests to catch up on what they’ve missed.

cabin exterior

• their cabin is designed in a classic greek architectural style, reminiscent of the parthenon, with tall, elegant columns supporting a triangular pediment.

• the cabin itself is made of grey, marble-like stone. the stone is etched with intricate designs and ancient greek patterns.

• the exterior features intricate carvings and statues of owls. they are perched on the roof of the cabin and integrated into the designs on the columns.

• carvings of books and scrolls are incorporated into the exterior design, highlighting the importance of knowledge.

• celestial bronze shields and pieces of armor are displayed on the inside and on the outside of the cabin. these items are both decorative and functional, ready for use if needed.

cabin interior

• their cabin gives off industrial vibes with its marble and concrete exterior.

• this is balanced out with beautiful ornate rugs, cozy woven blankets, and hardwood (olive obviously) floors.

• two words: organized. chaos.

• they have a caffeine station for pulling all-nighters or for long afternoons of studying, debating, and inventing.

• their cabin always smells like peppermint oil because spiders hate it.

• they have floor to ceiling bookshelves and boxes of rolled blueprints EVERYWHERE.

• they all have a customizable personal space with a bed, a desk with adjustable lighting, and ample storage for personal items and projects.

• personal areas feature soundproofing options to allow for quiet studying or rest amidst the bustling cabin environment.

cabin traditions

• they have debate nights at camp half-blood that get more and more heated until the cabins start watching the two opposing sides instead of listening to the actual debate.

• they even have debate nights in their own cabin. huge cups of coffee are passed around as the "discussion" of the day begins, growing louder and louder as time goes by. books are pulled from the shelves, laptops are opened and the most obscure sources are cited just to prove the most minor points.

divider by @plutism

#percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pjo #hoo #pjo hoo toa #pjo fandom #hoo fandom #pjo series #hoo series #pjo tv show #pjo disney+#pjo cabins #athena #minerva #athena cabin #cabin six #cabin 6 #children of athena

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anonymouspuzzler · 8 months

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blacked out and finally made my first decent environment design in like. probably literally years. please enjoy Buck and Davey's shitass room

misc design notes slash thoughts if they're of any interest:

All the furniture's a combination of stuff Buck already had when Davey moved in, and stuff Davey brought over from his place when they decided to partner up. All of that in turn is either gotten cheap from thrift shops, rescued from the dump, or for a few of the smaller/nicer items Stolen Outright. As is probably obvious, they also repair and re-repair this stuff as much as possible rather than fuss over replacements.

The vast majority of the cosmetics are Davey's. Buck just kinda combs his hair and hopes for the best.

The rug is crooked because it's been there since before Davey moved in - Buck sleeps on the right side of the bed, so it made sense to have more rug (and more space in the room in general) on that side. Davey didn't care enough to insist on rearranging much when he moved in.

Prior to Buck and Davey taking it over as their hideout, the building used to be an illegal chop shop hidden under a manufacturing plant; their "apartment" is in turn a former break/storage area downstairs from the chop shop. The "bedroom" used to be a storage room, hence the exposed pipes, shitty concrete walls & floor, and marks from where big industrial shelves used to be fastened to the walls.

Because it's an old storage room, it tends to get the worst of extreme temperature changes (hot in the summer, cold in the winter). Also, undecided if they have an actual door or if they've just put a curtain up in the doorway. (Either way, it's also not particularly private or soundproofed - not a huge deal when it was just the two of them, but a bit of an annoyance once Minnie starts living with them.)

The drying rack used to be more out of the way in the living room, but they moved it when Minnie started sleeping there so they wouldn't have to bug as much when they do laundry.

Davey "no no I quit years ago seriously (actually sneaks a smoke or two whenever he gets super stressed)" Lastname definitely has a pack or two of cigarettes hidden in his stuff and thinks he's slick about it. (Buck 100% knows and figures so long as he doesn't smoke in the house and he's mostly trying to quit, it's not worth raising a big fuss about.)

Technically the tools and stuff aren't supposed to be in there, but Buck's always forgetting stuff places when he does repairs or tinkers with shit.

#anonymous puzzler art #anonymous puzzler originals #villain coded comic #long post #tw smoking mention #i would say 'hopefully more rooms soon!!!' but let's be honest we all know it's a coin toss. happy adhd

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sweetbillwriting · 2 months

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In The Dead of Night

FIVE

Characters: AU Eric played by Bill Skarsgård from The Crow (2024)

Setting: This story is set in A WHOLE OTHER WORLD than the movie. Shelley isn't a part of this story. Eric will be different from the movie, especially because I haven't seen the movie.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, heavy themes.

“Ehm… Well, it's not much to look at…” He said with a shoulder shrug when we walked into his apartment. It looked like an old storage space but was lightly renovated to be used as a studio apartment. It was quite big but had a cold feeling with the brick walls and concrete floor. The only thing that contrasted with the grays and browns was the wall opposite the windows. It was full of graffiti, both really great ones and bad ones. There was a cool one of a smoking racoon, but someone had sprayed over the joint with a badly painted cock. Against that wall stood a big king-size bed with black silky sheets. The luxury feeling of the bed didn't fit in, and I wondered if he had it like that to get girls into it more easily. I looked at him while he hung up both our coats on a metal hanger that fit with the industrial feeling of the apartment. He moved smoothly and gracefully, but it was something that made him look boyishly nervous, like he was fourteen showing his room to a girl for the first time. That he would be a player didn't feel right, even if he had the looks for it.

“Have you lived here a long time?” I asked so I didn't need to comment on how it looked.

“Two years, I think,” said he with a shoulder shrug and walked in on purple ankle socks. I hadn't taken off my Dr. Martens but felt a need to do it when he walked around in his socks.

“Do you want something to eat?” He opened the fridge and looked up and down in it with pursed lips. I smiled to myself by his sweet ways and walked up to his side when my boots were off. “An omelet?”

“No thank you, but have something if you need to.” I looked up at him with a smile, and he looked at me with those big green eyes I've dreamt so much about. I felt a sob in my nose and throat that wanted to come out and make me ugly cry, but I swallowed it down and smiled even broader to cover it up.

“Nah, I shouldn't…” he said and shook his head, closing the fridge. Instead, he took a leap and jumped up to something in the high ceiling. It was a silver bar, and easily he pulled himself up and down without a complaint. If another dude had done something like that, I would just immediately think he was trying to impress, but Eric was harder to read. He could also just have a need to do it. Something had made an addict look like a Calvin Klein model. Either it was steroids or it was a need for excessive training.

He jumped down lithely and moved to the green couch that stood in the middle of the room in front of the TV. He turned to me and scratched his neck.

“You can take the bed if you want.”

I could see that he wanted to be a gentleman and say that, but the couch was just a two-seat couch, and something told me his height, and that couch didn't add up. I giggled a little at his pained face. He really wanted to be that great guy, but it was like he already could feel the pain in his back.

“I'll take the couch…” If you don't want me to sleep in the bed together with you, I continued in my head. In my dreams, we slept in the same bed many times, but now I didn't even get to sit on the edge of it.

Eric laughed a bit embarrassed when he saw my teasing expression.

“Thank you,” he said, but then gathered a cover and pillow from his bed and gave them to me. He walked to a dresser, and I could see how he searched for new sheets.

“I don't need a change of sheets. It's just a night. And it's time to go to bed for both of us.”

I held the cover tightly in my hands like I was afraid he would pull it away from me. He looked at me a bit confused but just nodded. He didn't seem to understand that I actually wanted to sleep in his used sheets. I just wanted to smell him and hopefully take some of his heavenly scent with me home in my hair.

I saw in the corner of my eyes him strip down to just a pair of black boxers, and I took my chance to look at him when he turned his back on me. Even his back was perfect. Okay, the barbed wire tattoo was far from perfect, but on him everything was perfect. I looked at the muscles shift under his pale skin and how great the boxers sat over his ass. I just wanted to bite one of those juicy cheeks.

I had sat down on the couch, watching him when he turned around and showed of abs and a muscular chest.

“Do you want to borrow a t-shirt to sleep in?”

I wanted to ask if I could wear the one he had worn that night, but instead I just said yes to his question. He gave me a big white t-shirt which I changed into with my back against him. I didn't feel shy about my body in front of him because, for me, we had already done that bit. I just turned around because it felt more natural than showing my tits to him while he crawled down in bed.

I turned around when I had his t-shirt on along with my simple black panties. He smiled a little from where he was lying under his cover, but I couldn't interpret what it meant.

“Weird thing, but is it okay I have the radio on? I can't sleep without it,” he asked and sounded uncomfortable. I had heard others needing to have sound in the background while they sleep. Like a man my mom told me about who needed to have the vacuum cleaner on, anything to drown out their anxiety. We had laughed at that man, but looking at Eric, I didn't feel a need to laugh at all. I knew more about him than he had told me and could imagine what kind of anxiety he had.

“Of course, sure, it can be cozy,” I said sweetly to make him relax. He smiled a little surprised by my words and nodded.

He had the sound louder than I had thought, and I listened to a debate about the use of oil in the world. I didn't know if he was already asleep, but I knew he couldn't see me, so I sniffed his sheets and dragged a hand over my own chest. If I could, I would have laid down next to him, but Eric acted so polite to me that it didn't feel right to be so forward. With another guy, I might have done it, but Eric didn't feel like the type that would be happy to suddenly have company in his bed.

×××

I hadn't noticed when I fell asleep and I woke up with a jerk. I remembered exactly where I was and who I was with, and that made my problem feel even bigger. The alcohol had made me sleep heavy like a rock, so I hadn't noticed when the red fluid had run from between my legs and down under me. I could feel the sticky mess between my thighs but also knew that I obviously had a stain under me, a stain on Eric's green couch.

I didn't know what to do because if I stood up, it would probably cause even more of the blood to run out of me, and I didn't have any panties to change to either. For a moment I just sat there and let the panic grow inside me until I started to cry out of anxiety.

“Oh my god…” I said lowly to myself, between the heavy tears. I couldn't see any solution to my mess and sat frozen under Eric's black cover.

“Hey… Are you okay?” I could hear a raspy morning voice say from the side of the room. If it wasn't for my panic, I would have appreciated how sexy he sounded, but now I couldn’t help but cry.

“I'm sorry…”

Eric stood up from bed groggily, like his muscles didn't remember to hold him up, and looked at me with big, worried eyes.

“Do you want to go home? I can get you a cab. I can… I can stay in bed if you want your privacy. I've done that all night. Promise. I promise.”

He stood with his hands up like he wanted to show he was unarmed, and his facial expression was anxious. I looked at him and realized he thought this moment was just as hard as for me but for other reasons. He thought I had panicked when I realized where I was. He was afraid I would accuse him of something.

“We didn't do anything. We just slept. Like really slept, ehm…” He dragged his hands over his hips nervously over and over.

“No, no, I know that, Eric. You can be calm; it's just…” I started to sob again, and Eric's first reaction seemed to be to sit down next to me and comfort me.

“No! No! Don't sit down!”

Once again, he raised his hands. I took a deep breath.

“I've got my period and… It's everywhere. On your couch too.”

He looked at me with big eyes and sat down on the coffee table in front of me.

“Oh.”

His short answer made me feel awkward, and I started to cry again.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry for destroying your couch-”

“No, no.” He interrupted me and gave me a calming smile. “It's okay shit happens, but… How can I help you? Do you need something to wear? Do you have tampons?” He said it so relaxed and kindly that I couldn't do anything else but smile.

"Yeah, I have some in my purse, but… Everything is bloody…” I said embarrassed and dragged my hands over my face, showing signs of my crying.

“I don't have panties…” he said with an awkward chuckle. “But can I offer you a pair of my underwear and a pair of pants?”

“Yeah, that would be kind but… There's blood everywhere.”

“Trust me, I've seen worse. I’ll look away while you go to the bathroom, and then I’ll leave the clothes and your handbag outside of the door so you can just take them. Ehh… Do you need a towel? You can shower if you want too?”

I looked at him with soft eyes. He did everything right. A true gentleman behind that trashy style. He really was the same sweet guy as in my dream. The warmth in my chest said everything—I was in love with him. So in love with him.

“That would be nice… But the couch?”

“I take care of that. It's a removable cover. I will just get a new one.”

I looked at him with a pained expression, and he probably could see I was on my way to cry again because he stood up and walked away to the window.

“I'll have a cigarette on the roof while you go to the bathroom, okay?”

I nodded and didn't ask about what he meant about the roof. I just assumed he meant he had a roof under the window to jump out on.

×××

He fixed everything. A dark gray towel, a pair of black boxers, black Adidas sweatpants, my handbag, my bra, and top, a plastic bag for my dirty clothes, but also…

“There is an extra toothbrush on the highest shelf in the cabinet,” he said through the door when I was done with everything else. I stood in his boxers, his long sweatpants, and my black long sleeved top. Just that simple sentence made me tear up again. What a man he was. He was thinking about everything. Lotti had done a great job with him, to be honest, much better than she had done with Robin, and I wondered if Eric just had that in him. That sweetness.

When I was done, I walked out to Eric, standing in the little open kitchen. He loaded an old, white coffee maker and was dressed in boxers and a black tank top. He didn't seem to have noticed that I had come out, and for a minute I had the luxury to just look at him. He stood with a hand under the tank top, scratching his tattooed stomach while watching the coffee run down the pot. I looked towards the couch and saw that he had removed the cover on one of the cushions, and once again I felt heavy shame. I had destroyed his couch.

“Oh, hey, I didn't hear you,” Eric said to me, and I looked at him again.

“Thank you… And I'm sorry again for destroying your couch.” Eric smiled a little and shrugged his shoulders.

“I'll try to wash it later.”

The thought about him scrubbing my period stain was probably the worst thing I could imagine, and I laid my hands over my face.

“I said it is okay.” He laid his big hands on my shoulders, and they weighed me down comfortingly. I took a deep breath and looked at him but couldn't stop myself from sneaking my arms around his waist. In my dreams, he would have hugged me, and real Eric did too. He laid his long arms over my shoulders and dragged his hands comfortingly over my back. I didn't know if I'd gotten such a good hug before, and after a while, engulfed in his embrace and his wonderful scent, I breathed slowly and calmly.

“God, you're so perfect,” I said to him with my nose pressed against his chest. Eric laughed a little, and I could feel him shake his head. I looked up at him confused because, for me, it was obvious he was perfect.

“You're such a great guy, Eric.” He looked away embarrassed and didn't seem to know if he wanted to smile or not.

“I'm not really, but… Thanks?”

He laughed unsurely and looked down at me. I continued to stare at him, and he gave me a little smile and a shoulder shrug. Once again, I was reminded of the couch and pushed my face onto his chest again.

“I'm really sorry for destroying your couch…”

Eric laughed now.

“What can I do to make you forget about that?

I looked up at him again, then stood up on my toes. I searched for deep eye contact, and in my embarrassment, I didn't feel like I had anything to lose.

“Kiss me.”

Eric doubted and looked away, but then down at me and put my hair behind my ear with some struggle.

“I can't really date right now…”

“I don't care. Just kiss me.”

So he did. After a while of looking at me seriously, he laid his hands on my cheeks and steered my face towards his. He pressed his lips softly against mine, just like he had done in my dream, and they were soft as silk. It was he that made me separate my lips so our tongues could meet. When he did that, he also opened a gate to my heart and planted infinite love for him.

×××

“Do you want coffee?” He said with his voice raspy again after we had shared a few soft kisses. I looked up at him and giggled when I saw his pink cheeks and dazed eyes. He gave me a crooked smile and a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, coffee, please,” I said and released his waist reluctantly.

He made an omelet for each of us and explained that he eats six eggs per day, sometimes even more than that if he didn't have time to do a proper dinner.

“Is it because of the workout?” I said and took a bite of the fluffy omelet. We sat on the floor by his coffee table because he didn't have a dinner table, and I didn't dare to sit on his couch.

“Yeah, I need the protein.”

“You look so great, but is it worth it? I mean, work out so much, eat so boring…”

I had a thought it maybe was connected to his addiction, but he hadn't told me himself he had an addiction, so he believed I didn't know anything about that. He shrugged his shoulders and chewed the big bite of omelet he had in his mouth but didn't finish before he had started talking.

“I like it. It's a hobby. And I have something to really focus on ehm…”

He swallowed and looked down on his plate, thinking about something.

“It's good for me.” It felt like his thought was to say something else and he looked away a bit awkwardly. I wanted him to be honest with me; I wouldn't judge him for his baggage, but clearly he judged himself for it.

“Do you train or anything?” He asked and made me feel a bit stupid. I didn't work out much, and maybe he would think I sounded lazy.

“I worked out at the gym once a week or something, but then I did something to my shoulder, and yeah, I started to just go out with my dog.”

Eric smiled a little and nodded.

We talked about Odin. I shared that he had a strong will and it was hard to discipline him. He seemed to have too much energy and too many ideas but was also afraid of much and barked at people, dogs, and sounds. Eric listened without trying to pretend he knew anything about raising a dog, even if I wondered if he knew. He had been able to calm down Odin both in my dream and also outside of the store; still, he didn't say anything; he just said he thought Odin would become better with age.

I could feel when we talked that I knew too much because I got a little upset he didn't share more with me. If I hadn't known so much about him already, I wouldn't have thought about it, but now I just waited on him to tell me about his dog Max, which he had had when he was little.

“Have you had any pets?” I asked just to lead the way to him talking more openly. Eric laughed a little and put down his cutlery on the empty plate.

“I have cats. But they’re not mine. I have three that break in here, so I have started to give them food. I don't know who's cats they are.” He smirked with a shoulder shrug, and I laughed. It was actually even better hearing him talk about things I didn't know anything about.

“How do they come in?”

“The window, they're not some sort of master burglars.” I laughed at him and shook my head.

“Have you named them?”

“Yeah, Orange, Black, and Orange Number Two.”

I giggled, put down my cutlery, and then searched Eric's eyes. He smirked at me a little embarrassed and then lowered his eyes like he realized now he had a girl in his home.

Slowly I started to crawl on all four to him in a cat-like fashion while thinking about what kind of games he liked in bed. He turned to me a little and didn't protest when I crawled up in his lap.

“You're sexy, you know that?” He said with a shy smile and dragged his hands over the small of my back.

“Yeah,” I faked an attitude and made him smirk. “But you're so much sexier… Can I just…” I took a hold of the edge of his tank top, and he leaned back a bit when I pulled it up to look at his abs. I made a pleased sound while Eric breathed heavily with his mouth open.

“Good boy,” I whispered and dragged my fingers over the tattoo on the side of his stomach, but “good” had been crossed over. I looked deep into his eyes and gave him a harder kiss than before.

“You're a good boy.

×××

We stood together in the subway station, closer together than I had expected. It was he who had pressed his body against mine, but it was me who stood on tiptoes to have my arms around his neck.

“You're cute in my pants. But I want them back,” he smirked, and careful fingers dragged over the elastic waistband. I wondered if that meant he wanted to see me again.

“What are you doing next weekend? I work, but I have the half-night free? I always meet Nick and Jackie when I work the early shift, and…” He dragged a hand over his face in the middle of his rambling, and it warmed my heart but also calmed me down to see him like that.

“I would love to visit you, if that's what you mean, but I don't have a dogsitter.” I said with a disappointed shoulder shrug.

“Bring him?”

He said it like it was obvious, and I furrowed my brows.

“I don't think you understand what a pain in the ass he can be. If I destroy your couch, he will destroy your whole home.”

Eric laughed and hugged my waist.

“Then he can destroy my home; you've seen my home. There’s not much of worth there anyway.”

He smiled sweetly and looked at me intensely, waiting for me to say yes. I giggled and dragged a finger over “Lullaby” tattooed over his brow.

“Okay.”

We exchanged numbers, even if I already had his but pretended I didn't, then we kissed over and over until I needed to go to my subway line. It was hard to let him go because I could feel how my heart stayed in his tattooed hands.

×××

Robin rang the doorbell the next Saturday when he left Odin to me. Otherwise, he always invited himself in, but that day he seemed to understand it would be inappropriate when we hadn't settled our fight yet.

Before opening the door, I closed the one to my bedroom, where I was packing things to bring to my stay at my oldest sister, or maybe the stay at Eric's. Black outfits and lacy lingerie shared space with my beauty products. I had decided with my sister that I would stay until Monday, and I hoped Eric wanted to hang out with me one more night.

Robin stood awkwardly in the hallway when I had let them in while I sat on the floor, saying hello to our wild dog. I could feel his energy and looked up at him with a small but kind smile. I was mad because of what he had done to Lotti but also knew what I was doing wasn't right either.

“Do you want a cup of tea? I need one myself,” I said with a shoulder shrug, and Robin gave me a nod.

“Yeah yeah.”

We sat down on my deep purple couch with a big tea cup each. I didn't have time for a long chat, but I wanted us to get along again. We were dog parents together, best friends, but he was also the brother to the guy I was in love with.

“I know what we do to our mom seems horrible, but… She's sick and has always worried about Eric so much she more or less became sick from that. He has always disappointed her,” he said and looked down in his cup with a sad expression. “My parents didn't know what shit they would find themselves in years later when they… Started to take care of Eric. I guess they just saw a cute two-year-old with big eyes.” He shrugged his shoulders, but I didn't say anything because I wanted him to continue to talk. “His mom was a crazy junkie and would come and try to take back Eric and even hit dad once. It was then social service decided he would live with us even if he showed signs of being just like his mom. He could get fucking crazy too, and then he started with the drugs. He even stole dad's asthma medication. He was… He is… Sometimes it feels like he's an addict before a human, you know? He can't stop, and it will always be more important than everything.”

Robin sighed deeply and rubbed his eye. I still sat quiet and tried to understand that it was Eric he talked about. The guy who had given me his boxers and made an omelet when I had left a big red stain on his couch.

“I see that you think I'm awful for saying it like that, but… You don't get how much harm an addict can do just to get drugs, and my parents were way too nice to do anything else than serve him.”

“But why did he say yes to ‘play dead’ then?”

“Dad died and mom was destroyed, but instead of helping her, he just did more drugs and then ODed. We all thought he would die, and when mom got a stroke and thought he actually had, we thought-”

“You thought. If he was totally gone on drugs, I don't think he could even discuss such a thing.” I said it more angrily than was appropriate for the situation he thought we were in, but I was just thinking about the man I had kissed six days ago.

“Fine!” Robin said, irritated. “I don't understand why you care so much. I was forced to handle an awful situation in some way. My dad was dead, my mom sick, and… Eric, he just wanted to shoot up. What do you think I should have done?”

He looked up at me with shiny eyes, and a lonely tear spilled over. I felt awful for judging him so hard because I couldn't say what I would have done. I put down my cup on the coffee table and then crawled up to him so I could hug him hard. Like usual, it was the only thing he needed to start crying violently. I felt so bad for him, for him needing to make such hard decisions all by himself and carrying that alone. I wish he had told me instead of lying, but there was also another side of this story. Eric had lost everything. Robin had decided that he wasn't worthy to have a mother anymore. Eric had also lost his dad and not only had a sick mom but also a mom he wasn't allowed to meet. Everything because he had a drug addiction he no longer has. Right? He was clean now?

×××

Robin and I said goodbye as friends, and an hour later I took mom and dad's car with Odin to meet Robin's brother. I knew Eric was a good man and took Robin's story with a pinch of salt and didn't feel any worry about meeting Eric. My heart beat at the thought of being close to him again.

Demi and her daughter stood once again with me while I applied my makeup, but instead of being an audience, they had a verbal fight about Demi wanting alone time with me, but her daughter refused to leave the bathroom. After her dad had raised his voice, she did what my sister wanted and closed the door to the bathroom on the way out.

“Don't have kids,” she joked and rolled her eyes. She sat on the toilet lid, turned to me, and played with her long ponytail.

“Trust me, I won't,” I said sincerely, but my sister laughed like it was a joke.

“You will feel different when you're in love… Don't you think Eric wants kids?” She teased. I looked at myself in the mirror and took a break from applying my mascara.

“To be honest, no. I don't think he wants kids. It would surprise me.”

“Hm…” Demi sounded a bit disappointed. “So, do you remember you promised to show pictures of him in exchange for staying here?” She sounded teasing again and made me roll my eyes with a smirk. I was a bit nervous to show the pictures to her but also proud. He was so hot and so ripped. I had never been with a guy so fit, and I don’t believe my sister had either. It was the pictures from Lotti I had photographed, close, so it would look like it was the original pictures.

Demi looked up at me with a confused expression while she scrolled between the close-up of a smiling Eric and a shirtless Eric. She shifted between looking at the pictures and me, and I could feel she would say something bad.

‘You dated Dante, a sweet, trustworthy, tanned Italian, and left him because you thought he had asshole-y behaviors, so you instead started to date this? This?”

I didn't want to talk about Dante because he was an asshole, even if no one in my family could see it.

“Don't you see how hot he is?” I said instead and made Demi shrug her shoulders.

“Yes, he's hot, but do you see what's doodled over that hotness? That's 300 bad decisions."

I sounded out in frustration and continued to do my makeup.

“What's his story? Is he a criminal? An addict?”

I didn't answer and instead shut off when she continued to talk and made him sound like a stereotype. I threw down my deep pink lipstick in my handbag but stopped for a second to look inside it. The pack of condoms stared back at me and made me feel awful. I had never been so stressed about protection but felt different now. Even I had my prejudice about Eric.

#bill skarsgård #fan fiction #bill skarsgard #writing #story #bill skarsgård writing #bill skarsgård fanfiction #fiction #the crow #the crow fan fiction #2024 #Eric

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haee-elia · 1 year

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spence-tober: day 7 - baker

pairing: baker!spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: in which your husband keeps you nourished while you're pregnant

word count: 1304

warnings: pregnancy, baby talk, food descriptions, fluff

spence-tober masterlist

It was dark. The metal beneath your fingers was cold. Your bare feet touched the concrete floor and you were desperate.

Your fingertips were almost there, if you could just stretch a bit further, you would get exactly what you needed.

“What are you doing, honey?”

A voice rang out behind you. You don’t bother looking to see who it was, there was only one person it could be. Your husband.

The overhead lights of the bakery’s industrial kitchen turned on and illuminated the space around you. Now that you could see, it was indeed much easier to get the prize you coveted.

The rack of almond croissants sitting just nearly too high for you to reach it. Of course, there was a small step stool off to the side of the large double fridge just a few steps away from you, but now in your state, your husband didn’t even like you going off a foot and a half off the ground.

“I want an almond croissant.” You accounce, your face determined and your eyebrows furrowed in frustration and focus.

Spencer chuckles at you and you would to if you could see you now. In your pajamas with no footwear in the kitchen reaching for a baking sheet of pastries just so out of your reach.

You felt his presence right behind you, his arms reaching around your middle and caressing the bump of your stomach.

You and Spencer are currently 7 months pregnant. More you than him as you were currently growing your baby.

Your entire pregnancy you had craved the sweets from the bakery. So much so that Spencer would joke that he couldn’t even keep with with your demand of sweets and pastries and desserts. Although both of you knew that he secretly loved it. Being able to make and create something that satisfied your cravings and helping you grow your baby.

In your first trimester, his savory desserts were the only thing you could keep down without throwing up. Spencer got creative with making sure you were getting your greens, proteins, and fibers for the baby’s growth in what he made.

In your second trimester, you were finally able to eat normal food, but still enjoyed a sweet treat every now and then. And now, nearing into the end of your pregnancy in the third trimester, you were violently craving pastries.

Right now, the current craving was an almond croissant. A craving you were desperately in need and want for.

“Are you going to help me or not?” You ask, pouting slightly. With your belly being quite large now, it was hard to manouver and reach things up high or down low.

A grin grew on your face as you saw your husband’s long arm reach up for the baking sheet and bring it down for you.

“You really should be getting rest, honey.” Spencer says as you greedily grab a croissant, already biting into it as he talks.

“I’m hungry.” You say through a mouthful of pastry.

“You can eat in the morning.” He tells you. You look at him with betrayal in your eyes.

“Or not.” He takes back. Spencer plants a kiss at your temple and removes his arms around you, taking a few steps back and opening the fridge.

“What are you doing?” You ask as you watch him move around the kitchen. You’ve just finished your first croissant and debate not eating another before giving in and grabbing another.

Spencer smiles at you and grabs a clean bowl from beneath a metal table and then gestures to the clock on the wall, “I was coming down here to get started for the day.”

You looked at the clock. It was 5 a.m. and indeed usually when Spencer got up and started making his signatures desserts that are refreshed daily for the front window displays.

“Well we already have a bun in the oven!” You quip with a large smile on your face.

Ever since you found out you were pregnant, it was one of your favorite phrases to reiterate since Spencer, your husband, was a baker and owned his own bakery.

Spencer’s bakery was something he had always wanted, even as a child. When he was younger he would bake desserts with his mother, Diana, and when she entered into a care facility for her schizophrenia, Spencer would often visit with baked goods. It always put a smile on her face and Spencer often remarked that it helped with her memory.

When Spencer had finally saved enough money to open his dream bakery, you were selling an old family storefront that you had inherited from your grandparents. He was looking to buy the place and you insisted on meeting everyone interested in the space. That was how you first met and life had happened from there.

You had started dating and you helped renovate the space into the bakery.

Then you got engaged and celebrated with the grand opening of the bakery.

Spencer hired his first employee when you were about to get married and go off on your honeymoon.

And now, Spencer was baking for you who were carrying the next generation of Reids.

“And how many more times are you gonna say that?” Spencer jokes, as he preheats the large industrial ovens.

“Right until I pop.” You answer with some flaky pastry crumbs at the corners of your mouth.

Spencer sees as you go to reach for another croissant, “If you wait until morning, you can have some fresh ones.” He offers.

You narrow your eyes and debate the pros and cons in your head before retracting your hand. Content with waiting right now.

“What are you making?” You ask, moving to your designated chair in the kitchen, out of the way of everything.

You’ve had some trouble sleeping through the night with your pregnancy and had woken up quite a few times when Spencer was working in the morning. With how common the occurrence had gotten, Spencer had moved a comfy chair in the corner of the room for you to sit and watch and keep him company.

It was away from the deep freeze so you could say warm, but far enough from the ovens so you didn’t get hot. You weren’t in the way of anything that Spencer might need and were close enough to the swinging door where the main storefront was located in case you needed to help a customer.

“Some cookies. Key lime cupcakes, double chocolate chip muffins, madelines, and mini apple tarts.” Spencer listed as he moved gracefully, grabbing ingredients and adding them to various mixers. With his eidetic memory, Spencer could easily memorize all of his recipes despite making them only once. It certainly helped speed up the process.

The menu of the bakery changed often, keeping some signature desserts and pastries on the rotation constantly with some other fun creations. They’ve become more fun as you craved different foods throughout your pregnancy.

“Hmm,” You hum, sinking into your chair. The quiet sounds of the mixers, cracking eggs, the sifting of flour, all filled your ears as you kept your husband company, talking every now and then but mostly just watching as he worked.

You hadn’t realized that you had nodded off in the chair until Spencer gently put his hand on your knee, rubbing it to waken you again.

He’s crouched down right in front of you and lightly brushes some hair out from in front of your face.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed, sweetheart.” He says to you, gesturing his hands to get you up.

You groggily wipe your eyes and stand up, letting your husband lead you back to the door up to your apartment over the bakery.

“Croissant later?” You mumble. Your husband laughs and nods.

“Croissant later.”

a/n: this one i really like. i tried to keep the details of pregnancy vague enough medically and make it mostly about cravings and such, not as much as descriptors.

#criminal minds #criminalminds #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfic #dr. spencer reid #dr. spencer reid x reader #spencer reid au

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seattlefoundat · 1 month

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Top Foundation Challenges in Seattle, WA: Identifying and Solving Common Issues

Discover the essential insights into managing foundation issues with our comprehensive guide on the top foundation challenges in Seattle, WA. This resource provides homeowners with valuable information on identifying and addressing common foundation problems, such as ceiling cracks and basement cracks. Learn about the typical signs of foundation distress, including structural shifts and water infiltration, and understand the importance of timely Seattle foundation inspections.

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kkanabel · 16 days

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caffeine addiction ❃ affogato ❃ chapter 12

directory/m.list

⇦ previous chapter - next chapter ⇨

words: ~2.5k

The morning air was crisp and dewy, a subtle reminder that fall was just around the corner. You inhaled deeply, savoring the fleeting coolness before the sun’s sweltering afternoon heat would take over. The city still had a quiet hum to it, the kind that made you appreciate the earlier hours.

Bakugou had insisted that working at the café or shop today wasn’t safe given how the reporters and crowds were lurking. And while you weren’t thrilled about the attention, you weren’t complaining about the alternative. Today was going to be all about the two of you working on your fashion line, tucked away in his studio.

You found yourself at the door to Bakugou’s place after a short elevator ride, your hands slightly shaking from anticipation. The knock you gave was quick and confident, but when the door opened, your confidence wavered for a second. Bakugou stood there, freshly showered, his damp hair spiking in all directions– breath a tad heavier than usual. His black tank clung to him a little too well, the moisture accentuating the muscles underneath, and a pair of Kindeki sweatpants hung low on his hips, looking both casual and sinfully deliberate. Your eyes trailed down before you caught yourself, trying to play it off as casual.

He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his eyes, but he didn’t mention your very obvious once-over. Instead, he greeted you in that signature gruff voice, “Mornin’.”

Stepping into his apartment, you were hit with the warm, inviting scent of caramelized sugar, coffee beans, and vanilla—like a comforting hug in the form of a smell. It was his usual scent, one that had grown increasingly familiar with all the time you spent together, but here, in his space, it felt more intimate.

You set down your sewing machine and bag, filled with your sketches and reference photos, next to the desk. The place was well-kept, unsurprisingly so. His studio was functional but had that lived-in feel—designs scattered across a large wooden desk, fabric swatches pinned to the wall, and sketches strewn about in what could only be described as organized chaos.

The living room was an eclectic mix of industrial sharpness and cozy charm. Exposed brick walls ran along one side of the space, their rough texture highlighted by the shine of the early morning sun. Metal beams crisscrossed the ceiling, left raw and unpolished, giving the room an open, loft-like feel. However, the coolness of the steel and concrete was tempered by the plush, oversized furniture that invited you to sink into it.

A dark leather couch, worn and soft, sat against the wall, layered with knitted blankets and textured cushions in deep hues of charcoal, navy, and rust. The coffee table was made of reclaimed wood, its surface uneven and rich with character, resting on a patterned rug that added warmth to the tiled floor beneath. Potted plants dotted the room, their greenery adding a touch of life to the stark industrial palette, while soft throws draped over the armchairs brought a homely feel.

Steel-framed windows let in natural light, the large panes contrasting with the warmth of the space. Shelving units made of iron and wood lined the far wall, filled with books, framed photos, and magazine spreads of him and his family. It was the kind of space that felt lived-in yet refined, where you could sip coffee in the morning or work late into the night, all while feeling grounded by the balance between industrial edge and a cozy touch.

“Place looks good,” you remarked, trying to distract yourself from the way his presence filled the room.

“Tch, you talk like it’s some kind of miracle,” he scoffed, crossing the room to grab a binder filled with your joint designs. “I’m not a slob.��

You grinned, taking out your sketchpad and setting up your sewing machine and embroidery station. “Yeah, but you’ve got the reputation of a guy who only cleans when company’s coming over– with the way Mina always talks about you.”

You both knew that Bakugou was a neat guy– his café is set up with precision for optimized efficiency and he cleans like a madman at any free moment.

He shot you a look, the kind that usually ended in a witty comeback, but instead, he just shrugged, lips quirking up slightly. “Maybe you’re just good company.”

You paused, caught off guard by the subtle warmth behind his words, but before you could respond, he handed you a sketch he’d been working on—a sleek, defined blazer with sharp lines and lapels inspired by Gothic architecture. “You’re overthinking the shoulders,” he commented, gesturing to your design of the same blazer. “See how this one balances out better?”

Your eyes flicked from his sketch to yours. His was undeniably cleaner, the proportions perfect. You tried to ignore the slight pang of frustration at how effortlessly he could refine what you’d been obsessing over for hours.

“Of course, it’s perfect,” you muttered, a hint of exasperation slipping into your tone. You weren't really mad, just envious of his natural skill. “You could probably design in your sleep.”

“Who says I don’t?” he teased, his smirk deepening as he nudged your arm with his elbow. “Maybe you’ll catch up one day.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the playful jab. “It’s infuriating how easily you get this stuff, you know?” It’s not like you couldn’t do it– the only issue is that Bakugou would be able to solve something you’d toil over.

“Just means you’ve gotta work harder.” His voice dropped an octave, almost teasingly low, as he leaned closer. “But I like watching you try. It’s cute.”

There it was again, that casual flirtation that Bakugou slipped in so easily. The comment made your stomach flip, but you brushed it off with a scoff, pretending to focus on the embroidery sample you’d been working on. Your mind was reeling– It’s just his personality. Just his personality. Don’t take it personally.

“You’re hilarious,” you said dryly, although the way your heart felt at the word cute wasn’t something you could ignore. You swallowed it down. “Now focus. We’ve got a lot to do.”

“Bossy today, huh?” Bakugou muttered under his breath, but he was already moving to his desk, setting up his tablet to start working. The morning passed in a comfortable rhythm, the both of you occasionally bantering, occasionally lapsing into silence as you got lost in the design process.

You were designing another embroidery pattern inspired by the intricate framing of Gothic windows as you settled into Bakugou’s leather couch, the soft creak of the worn leather beneath you blending into the quiet hum of the room. The plush cushions sank slightly under your weight, molding to the shape of your body as you tucked your legs beneath you. Your brown flared leggings draped loosely around your legs, the fabric soft and easy against your skin. The way the material moved with you felt effortless, almost like a second skin—stretchy and smooth.

The white cardigan you wore was thin and light, slipping off one shoulder as you adjusted your position, revealing a glimpse of the delicate lace halter bralette underneath. The bralette’s intricate pattern contrasted softly against your skin, its gentle pressure keeping you comfortable, yet still adding a feminine touch. The lace peeked out in places as you leaned back, its texture subtle but eye-catching in its simplicity.

The warmth of the leather couch beneath you mingled with the cozy softness of your outfit, creating a sense of comfort and ease. Everything felt just right—your outfit, the couch, the quiet buzz of the day just beginning. It was a rare moment of calm before the work began, and you couldn’t help but sink deeper into the cushions with a relaxed sigh.

While Bakugou worked on refining the cuts of the other designs. You’d toss him a design and he’d give you a snarky critique, sometimes even fixing it right in front of you, much to your annoyance.

After a while of working on your embroidery, you leaned back on the couch with a sigh. Your fingers ached from the delicate, repetitive movements, and the sweet pull of sleep tugged at your heavy eyelids. Each blink felt longer than the last, your body begging for rest as you absentmindedly traced the soft texture of the fabric. Slowly, you began to doze off.

Bakugou stood up from his spot at the table, stretching with a hand on his hip. “Coffee?” he asked gruffly, though the slight quirk of his brow told you he already knew your answer. Without waiting for a reply, he was already making his way toward the kitchen.

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he opened the freezer, retrieving a small container before scooping its contents into a wide-rimmed glass mug. Curious, you sat up a little straighter, the enticing scent of freshly brewed espresso filling the air. Your mouth watered as he placed the mug beneath the coffee machine and the dark, rich liquid began to pour over the creamy white scoop nestled inside.

Bakugou brought the creation over, setting it down in front of you with a spoon. An affogato. Your eyes lit up with excitement at the sight. The velvety scoop of clearly homemade vanilla bean ice cream was already melting slightly around the edges, creating swirling patterns as it merged with the hot espresso. The contrast between the dark, rich coffee and the pale ice cream was mouthwatering.

You dipped your spoon in and took your first bite, the sensation immediately overwhelming your senses. The espresso was bold and slightly bitter, its warmth cutting through the cold sweetness of the ice cream, which had begun to soften into a creamy, marshmallow-like texture. The vanilla bean was fragrant and delicate, adding a floral note that lingered pleasantly on your tongue. The combination was pure bliss—the icy smoothness of the ice cream paired perfectly with the deep, roasted flavor of the coffee. Each bite was a harmony of hot and cold, sweet and bitter, airy and rich.

You let out an involuntary moan as you melted into the couch, savoring every spoonful. “Oh my God,” you breathed, barely managing to speak through your delight. The affogato was divine, like a dessert straight from heaven.

Bakugou leaned against the counter, watching you with a satisfied smirk. “Good?” he asked, though from the way you were nearly collapsing into the cushions, he didn’t need an answer.

Suddenly, inspiration hit you like a lightning bolt. With the last spoonful of affogato melting on your tongue, a lightbulb practically flickered on in your mind. You slapped your hand over your mouth, eyes wide with disbelief at how obvious it all seemed now. “We’re both idiots!” you exclaimed, your voice muffled behind your hand.

Bakugou looked up from his own work, brow furrowing. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” He dropped what he was doing and made his way over to you, plopping down next to you on the leather couch as you frantically pulled your laptop out of your bag.

Your fingers flew across the keys as you pulled up images of the Gothic architecture you’d been referencing for weeks—the ornate rib vaults, pointed arches, and intricate stained glass windows. “Gold and silver embroidery,” you said breathlessly, the excitement evident in your voice. You angled the screen toward Bakugou, showing him sketches of gowns and suits adorned with metallic threads. “Think about it—Gothic cathedrals were all about grandeur and detail. The way light hits stained glass, the way everything’s so meticulously crafted. Gold and silver embroidery would reflect that same kind of decadence and precision. It’s so thematic!”

You zoomed in on an image of a Gothic altar, the golden details catching the light in a way that felt almost divine. “It’s not just about looking elegant—it’s also about mimicking the craftsmanship– goldwork was big back in the day. The way the light catches the metal threads in the same way light pours through the stained glass windows. It’s perfect for our line. Decadent, but refined.”

Bakugou leaned in closer, red eyes narrowing as he studied the screen. For a second, he didn’t say anything, just absorbed the images and ideas you were presenting. But then, a slow, approving smirk spread across his face. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, leaning back and crossing his arms. “That’s actually genius.”

His approval only fueled your enthusiasm as you continued, gesturing with your hands as you spoke. “We could integrate the gold and silver threads into specific areas—lapels, cuffs, around the shoulders. Think about those sharp, dramatic silhouettes we’ve been working on, accented with embroidery that looks like it's straight from a cathedral. It’ll give that structured look a rich, almost regal feel, without being too over the top.” You instantly start typing up a few suppliers you know to place sample orders.

Bakugou’s eyes flickered with interest as he imagined it. “Yeah, like addin’ the metallics to the seams of those sharp-shouldered blazers or down the length of a pencil skirt. Keep it sleek, but add that intricate detail to pull everything together.”

You nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! We can use silver threads for cooler tones—like the deep plums and midnight blues—and gold for warmer ones—like reds and blacks. It’ll bring out the richness of the fabrics while still being subtle enough to keep it business formal.”

Bakugou’s smirk widened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he met your eyes. “You really thought this through, huh? Can’t believe we didn’t think of this sooner.”

You grinned, feeling the rush of creativity and caffeine flood your system. “I guess we just needed an affogato-induced epiphany.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Looks like I’m gonna need to make more of those if this is the kinda shit you come up with after.”

With renewed energy, you both dove back into your work, sketching and reworking your designs to incorporate the metallic threads. The idea of stitching precious metals into the seams of your garments felt like the missing piece. It was bold, dramatic—just like the Gothic architecture that had inspired your entire collection—and yet it still fit within the world of cloth.

“Gold embroidery on the dress shirt collars,” Bakugou suggested, pointing at one of his sketches. “Keep it simple, but let it catch the light when people move.”

You nodded, already envisioning how the threads would shimmer subtly, adding just the right amount of elegance. “And silver along the hems of the trousers. It’ll look like the light’s dancing along the fabric.”

Bakugou leaned back again, the satisfaction clear in his expression. “This is gonna be big. No one else is doin’ shit like this nowadays.”

You smiled, feeling the excitement bubble in your chest. “We’re about to turn this industry on its damn head.”

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