#clayton cardenas fic

[darklydeliciousdesires]

From Blood, Love and Courage - An Angel Reyes/Original Character Story.

So I almost never, ever do this, being as I’m only part way through writing the second chapter, but I just want to test the waters with my audience. I’m feeling unconfident with it, and being that it’s such a battle for A - visibility within tumblr and B - getting more than a handful of people to react with anything other than a like, I thought I’d see if this was worth me actually spending my time writing. So, if you do enjoy it, please do comment and reblog. If it only garners minimal interest, I shan’t continue with it. Sad, but it truly has come to that for a lot of us. Us authors are like plants, water us and we grow. Deny us, and we wither up. I really, really hope it’s a hit!

Words - 4,625

Tag list - In the comments, please message to be added/removed

Warnings - Mentions of rape and the associated trauma of such to come in future chapters. While I do not plan on detailing these overtly graphically, if the subject is a trigger for you, you’d be best not to begin reading this. 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

The sound of a lone berimbau opening, preceding the scream of guitars filled the air, a few whistles and shouts going up from various members of the crowd. Being a long-time fan of Sepultura, Angel knew exactly what song was currently filtering through the speakers of the venue. Attitude. A strong choice of entrance music for whomever the fighter was making his way to the octagon, although he had no clue over their identity.  

The first two participants in the MMA night he was currently spectating at had been kept a secret, although many in the audience whom were obviously aware of the fighter whose entrance music preceded them cheered their arrival, Angel surprised when behind two big fellas walking down the aisle, emerged a woman.  

“God damnit, Coco! You didn’t tell me this was gonna be some foxy boxing night, man?” he complained, eyes swivelling onto his cohort.  

Coco shrugged, sipping his beer. “Secret billing! I didn’t have a clue either, homes. Anyway, you can’t tell me that shit’s not hot, watching two girls' brawl.” Angel remained silent, his mouth down turning as he thought on that statement, eyebrows rising a little. “Come on! As if you need to contemplate it!”

“It’s hot when they’re brawling over me.”

His words were met with a snort of laughter, Coco bouncing on his heels with amusement, his eyes widening. “And when’s the last time that happened for you, huh? You ain’t exactly swimming in pussy over there, are you? Thinking you’re some Cassanova daddy, pfft.”

Angel narrowed his eyes, unamused as his friends’ observation into the vacancy of his bed. “Fuck you.”  

Coco laughed with mirth, both of them turning their attention to the octagon before them. The announcer had called out the name of the girl fighter, but in his haste to chastise Coco, Angel hadn’t been paying attention. What he did take notice of was the fact that she was hot. Tall, about five seven or thereabouts, a mix of soft curves and lithe muscles, a full sleeve of tattoos reaching her hand on one arm, long, braided black hair, blue eyes and a ridiculously voluminous pout.  

“Bro, she could suck a ping pong ball through a juice box straw with those lips. Am I right?”  

Angel choked on his beer, turning to bump fists with Coco. “Right, man. Although, I ain’t sure I’d want her to. Look at that shit, man. That girl is raging,” he began, watching her stalking around the ring, her jaw set, looking like she meant some serious business. “She prowls, like a tiger. She looks mean.”  

And she did. Because she was. She side stepped around the octagon at a steady jog while waiting for her opponent, the announcer lifting the microphone to his mouth. It was the usual fanfare, the guys talking between themselves, their ears really pricking up when the announcer called out the name Johhny Boswell.  

“What?”

That word was delivered by both Mayan’s at exactly the same time.  

“No way! She’s fighting a dude?” Angel cried, his head swivelling around to take a look at the guy walking out, his chest stiffening with the immediate discomfort of the idea. “Is that even legal?”

“Amateur circuit, man. The UFC don’t hold shit over ‘em, so they ain’t got no governing body to answer to,” Coco began, who was a wealth more of knowledge on the sport than Angel. “Likely why it was a secret billing though, bro, save any controversy ahead of the match.”  

“I mean, I don’t wanna sound like a raging chauvinist or nothing, but that’s not right, is it?”

Coco shrugged. “These bitches are tough as shit, man.” Gesturing with his beer bottle, he pointed right at the girl, hopping from one foot to the other in her corner, hyped and amped up. “I guess we’re about to find out, though.”

The ref took his place, the fighters touching mitts before the bell sounded, words of encouragement being called from their coaches as they began to circle one another. What happened swiftly afterwards, not one single person in the venue was prepared for, least of all Johnny Boswell. The girl ducked a punch, landing three in succession to his ribcage, her fists meeting bone like lightning. He landed a kick to her side, the only strike he’d make, trying his luck for another. She was too fast though, catching his leg and hauling him by his thigh, throwing him straight to the canvas, on him like a boa constrictor seizing its prey. The noise of his body hitting the deck was deafening from the power of her takedown, Angel and Coco wincing.

Her legs wrapped his chest, thighs squeezing, wrenching his arm under hers and driving her fist against his skull with multiple blows. She was, to put it simply, absolutely savage.

“Holy fucking shit!” Coco yelled, his jaw on the floor, Angel in much the same state, the ref intervening before making a motion with his hands, the bell being rung again. Johnny was out cold.  

“Our winner, ladies and gentleman. Lily Armstrong!” Her hand was held aloft, Lily looking as proud as one could through a mouthful of tooth guard, her coach offering her a hug before she exited the octagon, once again to the roar of Sepultura, the entire venue erupted into cheers, pretty much every single person in there in a state of shock.

She removed her mitts with her coaches assistance, taking out her guard from her mouth and sipping back some water, circling her neck a few times as she began to walk, the air of menace radiating from her, her eyes suddenly snapping onto Angel as he gaped at her in a mixture of disbelief and ‘shit, that chick’s so damned hot’ as she approached.  

“What the fuck do you think you’re looking at, bro?” she barked while passing, Angel and Coco’s heads spinning to each other, looks of surprised disbelief on their faces as they began to laugh.  

“Oh, she’s sparky, dude!”

“Yeah. Fuck, I thought she was gonna jump in and swing at me, man. Jesus!” Angel guffawed. “She’s a fucking lotta something else!”  

“Right? Damn, bitch be walking out to the right song. Attitude in shades.”  

Angel’s nod conveyed his agreement, finishing his beer and heading to the bar to fetch a couple more, sadly of the non-alcoholic variety as they were riding. All around him, people spoke with disbelief about Lily and her impeccable takedown, the savagery of her knockout, the fact that a girl had so easily given a man a whooping. It gave him pause for thought, though, suddenly feeling a little guilty for initially doubting her based on her gender when clearly, she was the better fighter of the two. She just so happened to have tits, which really should have neither been here nor there.  

He knew one thing clearly; he’d hate to get on the wrong side of her, and he was man enough to admit that, too.  

Getting on the right side of her, though? Well... if he happened to see her around after, hmm. She might have chewed him out for staring at her, but Angel Reyes was not one to concede easy defeat. Throughout the next few matches, another four in total, he kept his eye out for her, wondering if she’d come back out to spectate, his searching not going unnoticed.  

“You’re looking for the machine, aren’t you?”

The machine. How accurate a description of the girl fighter with a serious mean streak.

“And what of it?”  

Coco grinned, shaking his head. “Damnit, Angel. You thrive on danger pussy! Whether it’s a girl you know you shouldn’t be fucking, or in this case, one who’d probably snap your junk in two, you’re like a bug at a porch light with those chicks!” He made a flapping motion with his hands, cracking up before turning his attention back to the ring. “Come on, man! Slug him!”

“Well, I don’t see her, so I guess that particular porch light just got turned off.” With the last match coming to an end after two rounds, people didn’t waste time filing out of the small venue, Coco and Angel heading back over to their bikes, the latter doing a double take when he noticed exactly who he’d previously been searching for across the parking lot, leaning back against a street lamp.  

“Ahhh, porch light came back on,” Coco observed, nodding in her direction, his mouth upturning as Angel looked across at her. “Now, what I gotta do tomorrow? Laundry, go pick up a bag of weed, make a little splint for my buddy’s broken pecker, couple of toothpicks should do it.”

“I will fucking plant you into the goddamned asphalt, man!” Angel exclaimed quietly, shaking his head as Coco put his helmet on.  

“Godspeed, homes. If she breaks you, don’t say I didn’t warn you. See ya.”  

“Yeah, later.” As Coco rode out, Angel lit a cigarette and casually walked over to Lily, who was lost in reading something on her phone. The closer he neared, the more he really did see how stunning she was. Her hair had a gentle wave to it now she’d removed the two French braids holding it all back while she’d fought, her muscles shapely without being too bulky, her tattoos of incredible quality and her face. God, her face. She was so pretty.

“You,” he spoke, Lily turning to view him, looking a little puzzled.

“Excuse me?”

“When you asked me what the fuck I thought I was looking at. I was looking at you.”

She closed her eyes for a second, surprisingly looking a little embarrassed. “Yeah, my apologies. I tend to be a little amped up before and after a fight. I go to another place.”

Angel snorted softly. “Where? Seventh circle of hell?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, turning toward him. Oh, well then. What did she have here? He was certainly a lot more attractive than she’d noticed in her adrenaline spiked state. If she was a sucker for anything in a man, it was a tall guy with dark hair and well-built physique. The biker standing before her certainly ticked those boxes. “I think that’s fairly accurate. Lily, and you are?”

Taking the hand she offered forth, he shook it. “Angel.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Why do I get the sneaking suspicion you’re anything but?”  

He dropped his chin a little, laughing softly. “The kutte kinda gives it away.”

“Oh, you could be standing here butt naked and I’d still think you were trouble.”

“Trouble you could no doubt handle,” he offered, drawing on his cigarette. “Well done tonight, by the way. I don’t know much about MMA, but shit, you handed that guy’s ass to him.”

“Yeah, I did,” she spoke with pride, smiling triumphantly.  

“How’d you learn to fight like that?”

“A hell of a lot of building upon natural talent,” she began, slipping her phone back into her pocket, content to give the handsome biker her full attention. “I was a scrapper as a kid.”

Angel nodded knowingly. He’d been much the same in his youth. “I bet you gave your folks a hard time with that, huh?”

Her lips tightened, her head tilting a little to the right. “No folks to speak of. Growing up in the hell that was endless foster families and group homes is why I learned to fight well. You have to when trying to survive in an environment with other damaged kids, too.”  

He raised his eyebrows, flicking his finished cigarette away. “Shit, sorry to hear you had to go through that. What happened to your mom and dad, if that ain’t too personal a question?”  

Usually, Lily would have likely told someone she’d only just met to mind their business, but with Angel, she felt quite at ease with revealing it, for some reason, like he wouldn’t judge. “My dad, I have no idea about, and my mom died when I was four. Heroin.”

“Fuck,” he exclaimed softly, his brows rising. “Again, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’m not. She was a worthless junkie who used throughout her entire pregnancy and neglected me for the entirety of our short time together, until I found her dead on the lounge floor. She wasn’t a mother, merely a vessel who grew me, and she couldn’t even do that properly. At least something good came from it, though. My anger at her being such a lousy mother fuels me before I step foot into the octagon. I like to think of it as both motivation to win and therapy, too. Catharsis, if you will, albeit perhaps a little unhealthy.” She paused, her eyes taking him in a little better, Angel’s mouth twitching into a lopsided grin when he realised she was checking him out. “So, what do your parents think about you being an outlaw?”

“Mom was always a little worried about it, that’s how most moms are, though. My pop saw it coming, I think. He’s alright with it. I was never the golden child, like my brother,” he shrugged. “Hey, do you wanna go get a drink or something?” he then offered, gesturing to the bar just down the street on the opposite side.  

She turned to view where he’d pointed, looking back at him with a smile. “Depends on what the ‘or something’ is.”  

He chuckled, liking her playfulness. “The ‘or something’ can come after the drink, if you want?”

Licking her lip, she sent a spark of fire through him, Angel remembering Coco’s lascivious comment about the juice box straw and ping pong ball. It did nothing to quell that burn when he once again noticed the way she stared at him so appreciatively. “Alright, Angel. Let’s go.” Lily usually had a good measure of people upon meeting them, and from Angel, she liked what she sensed, even if he only ended up as a one-night stand. It was very clear, the signals that they were sending to one another, that they definitely intended a bed to become involved at some point during the course of the evening.  

Pleasingly, she also noted that just before they were about to cross the street, he placed his hand in a soft touch against her lower back. It was gentlemanly. It was nice. People often forgot that beneath the powerhouse fighter, she was still a woman, one who liked to be treated with a little courtesy. He showed that even more by quickening his step to open the bar door for her with a smile. God, he was hot.  

“What are you drinking?”

“Vodka rocks, please?”

“Any particular brand?”

“Anything is fine with me. If there’s a difference between the twenty dollar a bottle stuff and Grey Goose, it takes a much more refined palette than mine to notice,” she smiled, Angel nodding at the bartender to attract his attention.  

“Large vodka rocks and a Coke, please.”

Lily looked on at him curiously. “Not drinking?”

“Nah, I’ve reached my alcohol limit. Besides, I’m by nature much more responsible when I know I’ll have someone else on the back of my bike.”  

She liked that, how confident he was without being too cocky. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

He snorted softly, paying for the drinks and sliding hers toward her. “And you ain’t exactly discreet with checking out my junk.”

Oh, so he had noticed her eyes flitting downwards a few times, Lily blushing a little. “Well, you do fill out those Levi’s well.”  

“Easy, girl.”

She was in soft fits at that. “What? I like to appreciate what I intend to put in my mouth at some point in the near future.”  

For the second time that night, he choked on a drink due to a reference about her lips and his dick. Damn, that brazenness. “Oh, you need to calm it down, or imma drag you off into a darkened corner and have my way with you. I’d like to actually get to know you a little before that happens.”

Her laugh was loud, pulling a chair back and sitting down, shaking her head a little. “Okay, I’ll be good.”

He winked, sending her stomach into a perpetual flip. “Not too good.”  

They calmed down their playfulness enough to sit there and talk, learning of each other’s lives, their interests – of which they had a few in common – and their dislikes, some of which were not met well by the other.

“What in the hell is your issue with Judas Priest?”

“Rob Halford sounds like he’s having his nuts trodden on by an elephant!”

Angel was aghast. “You,” he began, waving a finger at her from across the table. “You’ll take that back, missy.”  

“I shan’t! I’m perpetually tortured by it all fucking evening long! That and REO Speedwagon. My neighbour likes everyone else on the block to listen to his awful music, too.”

“Okay, the Speedwagon part I get, because they’re fucking dire, but damn, how anyone can hate Judas Priest is beyond me. They’re classic!”  

“Showing your age,” she teased.

“Hey, fuck you, Lily! I’m thirty-two!”

Her giggle. Oh, it was the sweetest music. “And you?”

“Just turned thirty a month ago.”  

“Wow, I thought you were like, twenty-three or something,” he exclaimed, Lily certain he was just being charming, although she was confident that she looked good for her age. “So, Lily, aged thirty, originally from San Diego, whose five favourite bands are Sepultura, Linkin Park, Meshuggah, Wu Tang Clan and Cypress Hill – great choices, by the way – and doesn’t appreciate the classics, how long have you been doing the MMA thing for?”

“About five years now,” she began, sipping her drink. “Before then, I was into Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, started with a friend of mine just as a form of exercise, because I’m by nature quite lazy other than loving to walk almost everywhere I need to go, which is handy with my piece of shit car. But yeah, so Angie and I began doing that, she didn’t like it so quit, I stayed on and then started kickboxing too, which is how Larry, my coach discovered me.”

“I take it he was one of the big fellas who walked you out tonight?”

“Right,” she confirmed. “He was the white guy. The Latino dude is Ernesto, Angie’s husband, who also coaches me from time to time when Larry isn’t available.”

“And do you wanna go pro with it, or is it just a hobby?” he then asked.

“Ideally pro, but it’s really fucking tough to crack the pro-circuit. The last time my gym had a scout out, they overlooked me in favour of another girl, which I can take on the chin, you know, she was better than me. My fight tonight, though, well, Larry said it’d get tongues wagging, get people talking about me, the girl who took on a guy, even though in the same weight category, and knocked him out thirty-three seconds into the first round.  

“Sure, some might think it a little unorthodox when you take gender into consideration, as it’s still quite taboo, the whole dynamic of men vs women competing against one another, but he’s of the opinion any publicity is good. I guess he was right, too, since I did a little networking after my fight, and I got approached by Bulldog Gear, who make martial arts apparel. They offered me the best thing going, sponsorship!”  

He smiled widely all the way through hearing her speak of her sport, Angel loving her passion, her excitement for it. After such a rough start in life, she deserved it, he thought, something to excel at, a world to be embraced by, people to tell her she was good, that she was worthy.  

“No shit, that’s great!” he enthused, pointing to the bar. “You want another?”  

“Let me get the next round?” she offered, Angel shaking his head.  

“Nah, it’s on me. You deserve it, you won your fight and you got a sponsor. Time to celebrate.” He squeezed her shoulder as he passed her, Lily smiling, fizzing inside a little. He was, by the definition of her mental checklist, everything she looked for in a guy. He seemed really nice, articulate, he was very good looking, well-built, tall, tattooed, and he rode a big motorcycle. It was a little worrying that he was an outlaw, but she could decide later if she could handle that or not.  

‘Girl, cool your jets. You know he’s only being nice to you to get in your underwear.’ It was a toxic trait of hers, and she acknowledged it, to have issues with seeing herself as more than temporary in the lives of any new people who she met. A defence mechanism typical of an abandoned child, one might say.  

One might be very correct.

While he was at the bar, Angel received a text from Coco, opening it up to see a picture of a few toothpicks crudely strapped together with masking tape.  

‘Did she break you yet? It’s here if you need it, homie!’

“Fuck you, Johnny.” he snorted, sending a middle finger emoji and putting his cell away, turning back to glance at Lily. God, she was so cute, and what a fucking nice girl, too. The lovely young woman he was enjoying the company of was a million miles away from the utter tiger he’d watched stalk the octagon before taking her contender down with such staggering, albeit brutal, finesse. He enjoyed that kind of duality in a woman, having so seldom found it before.

“So - and I know you can’t tell me in any kind of detail – what was it about the MC that attracted you?” she asked when he arrived back at the table, thanking him for the drink.  

“Outlaw is all I’ve ever done well,” he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. The action made his bicep flex, Lily’s eyes nearly falling out of her skull and into her drink. “I think I’d pretty much suck at a nine to five set up. So, what do you do other than the MMA? I take it you have a regular job as well?”

“Yeah, I’ve had all kinds over the years, but I work at Rebel Coffee across the street from my gym at present. It’s handy, since I spend up to three hours a day training, longer if I have a fight coming up. I’ll usually put in a couple of hours prior to work too then as well. Luckily for me, the gym is open all hours, so I can grab a quick session whenever, even if I don’t have someone there to do pad work with me. I wish my apartment was big enough to fit a punch bag, I’d love that,” she spoke, smiling a little wistfully. Most of her lounge space was taken up by the huge cage her beloved Cockatoo, Charlie lived in.  

“You live and breathe it, don’t you?” he noted, sipping his drink, catching an ice cube between his back teeth and chomping on it.  

“Quod me nutrit me destruit,” she spoke, Angel raising an eyebrow.

“Which is Latin for?”

“That which nourishes me, destroys me. I expect I have a tidy bruise forming, I dunno. You’ll be able to see better than me.” Lifting the side of her white top up, she glanced around, Angel craning to take a look.  

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed, her skin already turning an aggressive shade of purple. “Yeah, you got a big assed bruise coming up there, babe.”  

Her tummy flipped again at hearing him call her babe. “I expected as much. I should buy shares in a company that makes arnica cream, the amount I go through!”

“What does that do?”

“Expedites healing, brings the bruising out more,” she confirmed, adjusting her top again. “Why are you grinning like that?”

Shit. Busted. “No reason.”

“No, go on,” she urged, Angel wiping a hand down his face as he leaned back in his seat. “You’re wearing a red bra, and I got a real thing for chicks in red underwear. Ignore me, I’ll calm down. Eventually.”

He winked again, Lily having to plant her feet in order to stop herself from surging across the table at him in sexual longing. “What if I don’t want you to?”  

“Then the dark corner is looking more appealing by the second,” he began, rising from his seat. “I’m going for a smoke, try and calm myself down a little. Damn you. And your red undies. You ain’t fair on my male hormones.”  

She could have done with a smoke herself, although she was currently trying to quit and had already smoked her daily ration of four, so waited instead, sipping her drink, feeling like she was effervescing inside. Once he’d returned, they continued their conversation, neither noticing that by the time the bar closed, they were the only two people left within it, save for a drunk guy asleep at the bar whom the owner of the establishment had to rouse via a repeated poking in the thigh with a broom.  

The street was relatively quiet outside, the tinkling of glass bottles rolling along the ground in the distance, a cat meowing, a car crossing over the junction to their right, a woman shouting her vexation at someone within her residence for not turning the bathroom light off. Not another soul was around as they crossed the road and headed down the small embankment back into the venue parking lot, Angel suddenly taking her hand and halting her.  

“So, call it cliched, whatever, but...” he paused, taking her face in his hands and leaning to kiss her. God, her lips. He almost couldn’t pull away to continue. “My place or yours, tough girl?”  

“I’m over in Holtville, how about you?”

Holtville was over thirty minutes away from their current location. Nope.  

“Santo Padre. So my place, yeah?”  

Fifteen minutes. That was much preferable. Her nod confirmed it.

She reached for him, guiding his face to her level, kissing him again, a kiss that deepened in an instant, their tongues softly swirling, Lily draping her arms around his neck, Angel’s winding around her waist, caging her body to his with a soft squeeze. God damnit, how the girl could kiss, Angel feeling that alluring tug deep in his loins, his hands slipping to her butt and grasping the well-rounded cheeks. One kiss, and he was hooked. She had him.  

As for Lily, well, if she’d have taken off her undies and thrown them at a wall in that moment, they’d have stuck to it. Very, very few men had made her ache with arousal just from a kiss, but Angel? One kiss, and she was wet for him. Oh, mother Mary. If he could make her feel like that just from kissing her, what the hell was he capable of conjuring with the rest of himself?  

The way he kissed her had her blazing, the feel of him, the smell of him, the sheer size of the man wrapping her in an embrace of pure muscle, Lily imagining that weight atop her. The thought almost made her knees buckle.  

“How the fuck am I meant to ride a motorcycle in a straight fucking line after that? Damn, girl,” he exclaimed, once they finally broke for air.  

She smiled, a sultry tilt of her sumptuous lips, reaching forward, letting her fingernails trail over the bulge in his jeans that she’d had trouble keeping her eyes away from. “Just you wait until I kiss you there.”  

Angel Reyes had never cum in his pants before, but in that moment, he was dangerously close to doing so.  

[flightlessangelwings]

Kinktober Day 14- Love Bites

Angel Reyes x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count- 1k

Warnings- smut (18+ only), unprotected sex, established relationship, teasing

Notes- The idea instantly popped into my head with this one and it made me laugh so I ran with it, and it’s a little unexpected from what you may think with this prompt! Enjoy! List provided by the lovely @the-purity-pen​!

To say up to date on when I post, follow my update blog too and turn on post notifications @flightlessangelwings-updates​​. Reblogs highly appreciated!

~

“Oh fuck… Angel… Yes!”

You threw your head back as Angel’s strong grip held onto your hips. You clung to his bare shoulders and dug your nails into his skin as you bounced on his cock hard. Moans filled the room as he filled you over and over again as you rode him in the chair he sat in. 

“Fuck baby,” he grunted as he bucked his hips up and met yours. 

The room was hot and both of you were sweaty from how hard you grinded against each other. Skin slapped against skin as you impaled yourself on Angel over and over again, his cock hitting deeper inside you than you ever thought possible. 

You looked at him with a glazed over expression, and Angel looked back at you with a burning passion. You slowed yourself down as you raked your hands over his shoulders and down his chest. He groaned and his cock twitched inside you when you reached his nipples and gave them a playful flick. A smirk lit up your face as you squeezed his pecs hard and clenched your inner muscles around him at the same time.

Angel hissed your name as he tightened his grip on your hips, “Fuuuuuck.”

He rolled his head back as you worked him subtly but effectively. You rocked your hips against his as you took complete control, something Angel only allowed in certain circumstances. But when he did let go and let you take over, he never regretted it. You let out a short laugh as you squeezed his pecs hard again and savored the utterly erotic sound that escaped his lips.

It was your little secret how much Angel moaned whenever you touched him like that, and you cherished it like it was your most prized possession. 

As more of his neck became exposed the more he rolled back, you eyed the skin there hungrily. You licked your lips as a rush of need went right to your cunt. Before you could stop yourself, you reeled forward and attached your lips to the skin on Angel’s neck and sucked hard. 

He let out a loud groan as you nibbled and licked and sucked right along the taught muscle on the side of his neck. You rocked your hips against his once more as you continued to work at that same spot. Angel let out a string of curses as you bounced on his cock once more. 

“Shit baby… Fuck!” Angel cried out as you rode him harder and harder.

“You like that, Angel?” you purred, “You like it when I ride you hard like this?”

Angel’s breath caught in his throat; he didn’t expect such dirty talk from you, but it turned him on so much, “Fuck yes,” he slid his hands down your hips to grab your ass, “Now let me fuck you now, querida.”

“Ay… Fuck… Angel…” you moaned as you clung to his broad shoulders and leaned against the top of his shoulder.

You held onto him as he pounded into you from below. Every thrust hit that sweet spot inside you, and you knew if he kept this up, you wouldn’t last much longer. You bit down on his shoulder and sucked another mark there as he grunted and groaned.

“Come on, baby,” Angel purred in your ear, “Cum for me.”

You broke away from his shoulder and leaned back as your orgasm crashed into you without much warning. You clung to him as you trembled in his lap and gushed between your bodies. Angel braced himself and kept his thrusts up for as long as he could until he came deep inside you with a low groan of your name.

When you were both spent, you collapsed forward and you rested your head against Angel’s neck one more. His arms wrapped around you as he held you tight against him while you pepped soft kisses all over his skin. With a grin, you couldn’t help but suck another mark into his neck while he held you tight, which caused him to shiver.

As much as he wanted to stay like that all day, he knew he couldn’t, “Baby,” he patted your hips, “I gotta get to the club, we got a meeting tonight.”

You groaned as you squeezed his body tight, “You’re just gonna fuck me like that and then leave?” you teased as you lifted your head up, “Alright, hang on,” you slowly pushed yourself up and Angel’s cock slid out of you.

Both of you hisses, but Angel cupped your face to keep you close, “I’ll be back as soon as I can, baby,” he promised, “And then I’ll fuck you on every surface in my house. Deal?”

You smiled at him as you closed the gap between your faces for a heated kiss, “Deal.”

With a grunt, Angel pushed himself up and went to his bathroom to get dressed as you grabbed your clothes from the floor. As you fixed yourself up, you heard Angel yell your name from the bathroom, “Angel?”

“What the fuck?!” he emerged from the bathroom in just his jeans as he gestured to his neck and shoulder, “What did you do?”

You let out a burst of laughter when you saw the deep red and purple marks all along his skin, and you both knew that he couldn't hide all of him under his clothes, “What’s wrong, Angel?” you plate innocent, “I thought you liked those marks.”

“On you, baby,” he felt a rush of embarrassment, “Shit, I can’t go to the club like this… Those assholes will never let me hear the end of it.”

You bit your lip to hide the smirk on your face, but failed, “Well, they’ll know who you belong to then,” you felt bold with your words.

Angel’s jaw dropped, but he quickly regained his composure and crossed the room to grab hold of your hips. He pulled you flush against this body and hovered his lips against yours, “I’m gonna get you back for this, baby,” his voice was low and sent a rush through your body.

You matched his low tone as you purred in his ear, “Looking forward to it… Baby.”

[rae-gar-targaryen]

loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]

A/N: So, this is NOT the Angel fic I previewed the other day. That one (and the EZ fic) is STILL COMING, I PROMISE! This just jumped into my head and wouldn’t leave. And I wrote it with a speed I am heretofore unfamiliar with (heretofore? Did I use that right?) I invented a tattoo and an ex-girlfriend for Angel, and I fudged the timeline a bit. So, apologies in advance for that. 

As always, if you want a tag in anything I write for Angel, EZ, the Mayans fandom (or anything else), please feel free to send me a message or an ask, or add yourself to the taglist (link in profile). 

Pairing: Angel Reyes x fem!tattoo artist!reader (as always, the appearance is ambiguous, but the reader is described as having female pronouns/parts. Also, the reader here speaks a bit of Spanish. I’m half Mexican, so I do imagine a latinx reader, but I hope I’ve written this so you can imagine yourself with no restriction.)

Word Count: 15.3K (HAHAHA WHAT THE FUCK all for a TWO AND A HALF MINUTE SONG, ARE YOU KIDDING ME????) of ANGST! (SERIOUSLY THIS IS SO ANGSTY) lyrical nonsense and the remnants of sticky, cotton-candy sadness … fluff that makes you feel empty. 

Warnings: ANGST, non-explicit references to infidelity, sexual references and sexual content, oral (male receiving), fingering and other nastiness -- so 18+ ONLY, please! Canon-typical douchebaggery, references to a past relationship, song references and poetry. (It is me, so yeah, poetry.)

Summary: You and Angel may as well be strangers now. But why? After all, you loved him once. And he loved you, right? Based on the song “Loved you Once” by Clara Mae. Listen here. 

--

We don't need to be best friends, we don't need to hang again. But tell me why we have to be strangers because I loved you once?

What were you doing here? You haven’t been back to the clubhouse in months. Not since -- well, you know. You hadn’t talked to him since then, either. But that wasn’t your own doing. 

No, Angel had erected a veritable wall of silence, and you respected him enough not to breach it. 

That was what relationships were all about, anyway, right? Mutual respect of the other’s needs? So when Angel had told you in no uncertain terms that your relationship was over, you were … upset. Understandably. You wanted to sit with him, talk about where this sudden insistence that you depart his life had come from, but he was resolute. With the absolute air of authority that comes with either a great deal of thought, or borne of virtually sudden external influence, with nothing in between. He clearly didn’t want to sit and talk about it. 

And so you didn’t. 

Ever mindful of his wellbeing, and when he was and was not receptive to communication. 

"It ain't working," he had said. You had settled for merely imagining the faraway look in his large, oilslick eyes, since he was much more interested in staring at his boots and the grooves in his floor, his forearms laid over spread thighs, unmoving and resolute from his spot at the end of the bed. Refusing to meet your eyes. 

From your seat next to him, you made to brush the arm closest to you with your fingers. When you touched, he gave no indication that you were even there. That he even felt you. Which you knew was bullshit. He always felt you. 

"Angel, what --" you hated the way your voice cracked as you tried to ask him what the hell was going on. You hated how you had sounded so small and quavering to your own ears. That wasn't who you were. You were clear, outspoken. It was always one of the things Angel said he loved about you. Loved.

You didn't know this, of course, but Angel hated it, too. How you’d sounded in that moment. Hated that his words had taken the fire out of yours, your voice unfamiliar in its timidity. 

"It ain't working," he repeated. "I can see it. Not my fault you can't." 

That was it. 

No "I'm sorry, querida." 

No "I hope we can stay friends." 

Not that you would expect an apology, or anything as cliché as a "let's be friends," from a steadfast man like Angel. Predictable in his volatility. 

You should have pushed back. Demanded an answer. You hated that you didn’t, the shock and sudden sadness morphing you into a silent, crystalline girl you didn’t recognize. Your eyes welled with tears, turning your head away from where Angel sat -- at least you wouldn’t let him see you cry. Even if you knew he knew the tears had spilled over your lashes and down your cheeks were of his own doing. 

You had arrived back at his place a day after your tense "conversation" to discover that your items you had come to reclaim were tossed into a box and left outside of the door. 

You had knocked once, in the hope that if Angel was home, he’d at least come to the door to shout through it, or, heaven forbid, would open it so you could look him in the eyes just once more while he shattered you. Your knock was met with silence, though you could have sworn you felt Angel on the other side of the door. 

In the months since then, you had cried (obviously), you had questioned (it was sudden, it wasn't just you; your friends were surprised, too), but most importantly, you had persevered. 

You had taken a bunch of new clients and inked some pieces you were incredibly proud of. You had gone out with your friends a few times, always with a wary eye on the door of the local dive, ya know… you never knew who would walk in.

Santo Padre is a small town, after all. And the cracks in your soul were nowhere close to healed. No molten gold to spill in and repair the fissures of your heart, rendering metamorphosis of something broken to something flawed, but beautiful. You sat, alone, still just… flawed. You had never felt less beautiful. Even after all this time. 

And your friend Aneesa, ever the supporter, would stop at nothing if it meant hyping you up enough to leave your cave of blankets, sheet masks, and comfort movies. Your only rule? All nights out with Aneesa were strictly girls’ nights. She was gracious and understanding of this rule, of course. She and Gilly had been together a touch longer than you and Angel. 

And if Angel had ever asked Gilly to ask Aneesa about you? Well… you never heard about it.

Not that Angel would do any of that. Shit like that was so middle-school. 

So, here you were. Back at the clubhouse after months of self-imposed exile for the sake of self-preservation. 

Coco had texted you -- the first you’d directly heard from anyone within Angel’s circle, inviting you to a patch party for some nameless, faceless newbie. The invitation had a string attached to it, of course -- the tattoo artist’s chair in the corner of the clubhouse needed a resident for any partygoers jonesing for new ink. Certainly, the new patch would need something decidedly “Mayan” to show off his new status. 

You had hesitantly agreed -- Aneesa would be in attendance of course, and offered herself as a human-sized buffer to separate you from people you were otherwise hoping to avoid. 

--

Now, perched near the tattoo chair, you busied yourself with setting out your portfolio of completed pieces, sketches and most-requested designs. You wiped down the chair a few more times than strictly necessary, but you wanted to be ready for anyone who might plop themselves down for a new piece of art. 

The main room of the clubhouse was sweltering -- a familiar blend of desert heat, cigarette smoke, citronella, and the smell of citrusy, foamy beer. The dim lighting and thundering bass giving everything a slightly blurry edge in your party-periphery. You glanced across the room at where Aneesa and Gilly sat together on a corner couch, thighs pressed together. Aneesa tossed her head back in a full-bodied laugh at something Gilly had whispered into her ear, swatting his arm -- Gilly’s reciprocal smile demonstrating his pleasure at having garnered such a reaction from his girl. 

A wave of cheers and noise accompanied the thwack of the clubhouse door swinging open -- more Mayans pouring in, jostling one another's shoulders, slapping each other on the arms, and good-naturedly cajoling. 

There was Coco, mid-pull of the cigarette between his lips, quicksilver eyes flashing around the room, taking stock of who was where. EZ followed, million-watt smile on full display as he gently guided a pretty girl with long, inky hair through the bottleneck at the entryway. 

If EZ was ambling his way in, then, surely, not far behind ...

With an arm around a tall, broad guy you hadn’t seen before, was Angel. Midway through a joke with the guy you assumed was the new patch, you took the opportunity to study the man you had once considered the moonlit orbit of your entire world. 

You hated to admit it to yourself, but he looked good… His arms still replete with thick, corded muscle. His hair was a tad longer on top than you remembered, slicked back and belied with cleanly-cropped sides. His smile as warm and blinding as the cruel light at the end of your better dreams, only for you to awake each day alone. 

As you continued your silent study, you were surprised to see -- still adorning his left arm … the tattoo you had given him on the day you had first met. You had thought he would have blacked it out by now … a cover-up on top of a cover-up. 

But there it was --- the soft, leafy greens creeping down his forearm on sharp vines, abutted with bursting blooms -- small, ornate gladiolus buds and a sprig of purpling rosemary. Such a flowery piece on the arm of someone like Angel might have been laughable. But if anyone dared, he would simply stare, stone-faced, with burning eyes and a set jaw, ready to ask just what they thought was so fucking funny. 

To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance. 

‘Cause I loved you, once… 

---

You had moved to Santo Padre from Oakland. Hardly an axis-tilting move, but significant enough to you. 

Your friend Oliver had offered you a seat at his tattoo shop. And you? You were positively itching to get out of the city. A few too many bad nights with a few people you could no longer in good conscience consider friends. 

So, here you sat, resident of one of two chairs in this corner parlour off the so-called “main” drag in sweltering, dusty Santo Padre. 

Your books were pretty clear … Not that you attributed much logic to the ebb and flow in any conceivable pattern of the tide that was tattoo shop patrons, but January seemed an agonizingly slow month. You filled the idle time with keeping the shop neat, disinfecting and re-disinfecting every surface, and organizing Oliver’s books. 

And if you weren’t dreaming up new sketches and designs for the more adventurous prospective client, you were jotting idle lines of lyrical poetry in the margins of your sketchbook. 

If the month dragged on like this, you were sure you could publish an entire book of moody, mid-winter prose that would make Charles Bukowski want to drown himself in stiff Cabernet. 

The dinging of the bell above the parlour door yanked you from your doodling stupor. You looked up to see who had come in, your gaze met with a towering, golden-skinned man donned in a leather vest, his boots squeaking on the shop’s linoleum floor as he made his way to the front desk. He leaned over it and rapped his silver-ringed hand against the top with the ease and comfort of someone who had been in many times before. If the ink trailing his arms was any indication, he may as well be a regular, though you hadn’t seen him in before. There was no way you could forget that jawline, and those shoulders. 

“Yo,” he called in greeting, eyes flashing to where you stood, walking to meet him at the counter. You swore you saw his gaze dart over your form, giving you the old up-down. An easy smile graced his full lips as he made himself comfortable leaning against the counter.  

“Oliver here?” 

You shook your head, the action serving to answer his question and --hopefully-- clear your head of the foggy spell this man was casting over you with his presence alone.

“Nah, sorry. He’s guest-chairing at his buddy’s shop in L.A. Did you have an appointment?” 

“I look like the kind of guy with a datebook?” He chuckled at his own joke. “No appointment, corazón.” 

“Walk-in? Always a risky strategy,” you lilted. 

“What can I say? I’m a risk-taker,” he replied with the practiced ease of breezy flirtation. 

You smiled softly, grabbing Oliver’s calendar from the desk, flipping to the following week. “He’ll be back in next week, if you want to wait?” 

“That’s no good for me, babe, I’ll be out of town.”

“Ah.” You huffed a bit through your nose “Bike rally?” You asked, gesturing at his worn leather kutte, cringing internally a little at the teasing edge your voice had taken on. Were you always this bad of a flirt? 

The man looked at you shrewdly for a beat -- seemingly trying to discern just how much fun you were making of him before taking mercy on you and peeling back the slight layer of awkwardness the conversation had taken.  He scrubbed the back of his neck before confirming,

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he rumbled a chuckle. “Why? You wanna go?” He raised a full brow at you in a mild challenge. 

Your eyes widened at his seemingly-serious invitation. You took in the quirk of his lips, causing the slightest crinkle at the corner of his warm eyes -- the look of a man borne of good humor and who smiled often. It was endearing, and if you were honest, made you melt a little. Even if you now realized he was teasing you. 

“Sorry, guapo,” you cracked a smile of your own, gesturing at the empty shop. “As you can see, I’m a very busy girl. Highest of demand.” 

“Claro,” he replied. “So, I better get in while the getting’s good, huh? Your chair open now?” 

“Uhm,” you chewed your lower lip, now slightly nervous at the prospect of spending more time with this man. “¿Quieres esperar para Olí? I won’t be offended. You haven’t even seen any of my pieces.” 

A beat of silence passed between you both, the man seemingly weighing his options. 

"I mean," You broke the silence and leaned forward, lightly tapping a fingernail against his bicep. “What if my art style doesn’t suit the king of the bikers?” 

"Something tells me you'll suit me just fine." His smirk was full-bore now. He didn't miss a beat, did he?

You were silent, probably for a few moments too long. Was he actually flirting with you? You blinked. He probably flirts with everyone ... get over yourself, you internally chided.

"Angel," the man said, recovering the moment and holding out a large, ringed hand for you to shake. You gave him your name, shaking his hand firmly. 

You nodded your head over your shoulder, toward your chair. 

"Well, come on back, Angel, you can tell me about what we're doing today."

Angel followed you back to your station, and you could swear you felt his dark eyes on your form as you walked, the thought that this man was looking at you with any kind of discerning attention made your cheeks warm a little. He folded his long body into the chair you gestured toward, and you took the rolling seat next to him. He proffered his left arm to you, tracing down a spot on his forearm.

"Just wanna cover this up," he paused, letting you observe the offending ink. "It's about time." 

"'Clara Forever,' huh?" You took in the faded, loopy lettering down his forearm. "Who's Clara?" Your tone was gently teasing by nature, but he seemed to clam up a bit at the question, regarding your sharp tongue with sharper eyes.

"Well, it wasn't forever," he finally bit out, shoulders now a little more tense than before.

"Aw, cariño," you sighed in good-natured taunting. "Didn't anyone ever tell you the number one rule of tattoo? 'Forever' is a certain jinx. And a name is almost never a good idea… unless it's your dog's."

You made a sweeping hand gesture over the rest of his person, your eyes noticeably cataloguing the ink adorning most of the real estate on his arms and what little you could see of the top of his chest. 

"How did anyone let you get this far without telling you the rules?"

He relaxed at the humor in your soft voice, comfortable now that he had confirmation that you were teasing him rather than seriously ridiculing. His posture relaxed once more, he waggled his eyebrows at you, also teasing,

"Le sorprendería saber que nunca fui uno para seguir las reglas?” He asked. Would it surprise you to learn that I was never one for rules? 

"¿Tú?" Your eyes widened in mock surprise. “Para nada.” Not at all.  

"Hey," he swatted your arm gently. "Cuidaté, niña. Insulting your customers? I can see why your chair is empty." He chuckled at his own little jab as you busied yourself gathering your supplies.

You turned and reached for him, holding his arm in one hand and running your now-gloved thumb over "Clara Forever." 

"So?" You queried, "What are we doing with this? How do you want to cover it?" 

Angel shrugged, the leather adorning his shoulders creaking ever-so-slightly with the movement. 

"Figured I would just black it out. I've been putting it off long enough. To hell with her anyway, yaknow?"

"Hmm…" you considered his proposal. "I could do that, if that's what you really want. Easy enough. But…" you trailed.

He shifted in the chair, arching an eyebrow at you.

"But?" He pressed.

Now it was your turn to shrug. You released his arm from your grip and gestured to the booklet containing photos of your most prized work. 

"Why waste the opportunity to give yourself something you really want?" You handed him the book. "Besides… from the looks of things, you have limited real estate left on this arm. May as well fill it with something… more you?” You made to hand him the scrapbook. “You can see what else I've done. See if anything sparks an idea." 

Angel regarded you for a moment. Leaning forward in the chair and slightly more into your space, eyes never leaving yours. He took the edge of the book, deliberately brushing his fingers over yours as he did so, making you hold your breath a little. If Angel noticed, he had the decency not to say anything. 

“Why not?”

You exhaled softly as he leaned away again, flipping his way through your book. 

As he scrutinized the photographic renderings of your pieces, you took the chance to really take him in. His strong jaw and full lips were objectively pleasant, abutted by deliberately-shaped facial hair. He had a prominent brow, something that would surely give away his feelings, even if he decided not to verbalize them. There was no hiding a frown or a smile on that face.  You fiddled with your fingers as he flipped through the pages. 

“This is some seriously top-notch shit, querida,” he voiced his approval, followed by a warm smile. He flipped his way through your minimalist renderings, floral pieces, lines of script, and one particularly involved piece with a burgundy phoenix and lifelike flames...

“Yeah?” You couldn’t hide the pleasure in your voice that he might think of you in a positive light. “Which one do you like?” 

He flipped the book to you, gesturing at a geometric planetary canvas piece you had etched down a prior client’s thigh. 

“Did you think of that one?” 

“The client had their ideas, I just execute, I guess… That was a fun one.” You shrugged, glancing at your shoes scuffing at the linoleum, suddenly feeling very shy under his scrutiny.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he leaned forward once more, his fingers gently brushing along your chin to bring your eyeline to his. “Don’t downplay your talent. You’re a badass. Own that shit.” He gave you a soft wink, releasing your chin from his grip.

Um, wow.

Was it always this hot in the back of the shop? Or were you just spontaneously combusting? Did that seriously just happen?

All you could do was nod. 

“Aight,” he crossed his legs at the ankles, making himself comfortable in the chair. “I’ve decided.” 

“Yeah?” You breathed, “What’ll it be?” 

As if he was doing nothing more complicated than ordering fries, Angel pointed at your book. “Dealer’s choice.” 

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t believe he was just going to trust you to cover up his ex’s name etched into his arm. “¡Oye! Did you hear nothing I said earlier about walk-ins being risky? Nothing about the rules?”

Angel scoffed. “About as well as you heard that I don’t give a shit about rules, babe,” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You like rules, huh?” 

Oh. The rumbling tone his voice had taken on with his last question did not go unnoticed by you. If there was any heat to spare in this shithole desert-town, it was now one hundred percent flooding through your body. 

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d had that effect on you… (although, let’s be real, he probably, definitely, already knew).

“Fine, Angelito,” the mocking tone had returned to your voice. “But unlike Clara, this one’s gonna be forever. If I find out you cover up my art, I’m gonna blacklist you at every shop in Southern California.” You raised an eyebrow at him in a challenge. “Can you live with that?”

Angel nodded. 

“Do your worst, Vince.” 

You wrinkled your nose at the moniker. “Vince?” 

“Yeah,” he seemed so assured in his own cleverness. “Like Van Gogh?” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Van Gogh!?” You feigned offense, hand-over-heart, lashes batting. “Not even Frida? Come oooon, Angelito.” 

He chuckled. Shifting in the chair and offering his arm to you so you could get him ready. 

“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.” 

“Everyone’s a critic,” you sigh, shifting your focus and taking stock of the space on Angel’s arm and what you had learned of him so far.

Someone who was seemingly confident and breezy, whose rough exterior belied something softer that was just out of reach. Someone who clearly cherished things and people he adored, if the tribute you were now covering was anything to go by. And, by the same token, more than a little impulsive. He wore his heart on his sleeve, apparently literally. 

You gathered your inks and began to work, your playlist and the buzzing of the tattoo gun filling the silence. 

It’s not like you had any reason to know it, but Angel considered you as you were working, admiring your focus and the intensity with which you afforded your art. Was he a little nervous about the fact that you were free-handing a design for him off the top of your head? Maybe... But what was life without a little risk? And he certainly wouldn’t mind a little risk with you. You were, it was obvious to him, very pretty. It was more than a little off-putting how easily you traded quips with him, seemingly unaffected by his presence and everything that came with it. If it wasn’t for the little hitches in your breath when he gently flirted with you, he wouldn’t have anything to go off of in terms of your interest. Something that was both respectable and maddening to him. 

He reached his other arm over to the side-table, grabbing your sketchbook and idly flipping through the etchings. 

Not only was the book filled with little designs, splashes of watercolor mixing with pen and charcoal, but he noticed the cramped words in the margins, perusing at his leisure and ignoring the itching buzz of the needle on the skin of his other arm.

“So, not only a Vince, but a Frost,” he broke the silence. 

You paused your work, wiping your brow with the back of your hand and looking at him with a question in your eyes.

He tapped his finger along the lines of prose in your book. “A poet,” he said. 

“Ah,” you said. “Uhm, more like a bad poet,” you chuckled, embarrassed. You made to begin again, when Angel gently gripped the wrist of your free hand. 

“The fuck did I just say?” He lightly tugged, forcing you to look into his maddeningly honey-dark eyes. “Don’t brush off your shit. Would Frida do that?” 

You regarded his eyes for a moment longer, darting your gaze to his pouty lips, resolutely set in their mission of imparting some of his confidence onto you. 

“Point taken, Angel,” you pulled your hand from his grip, which he released, trailing his fingertips over your hand as he did so. “I’m the greatest poet who ever lived, you’ve convinced me. Fuck William Shakespeare.” 

“Yeah,” Angel boisterously agreed, pleased to be bolstering you but surprising you with the little barking shout, “Fuck that dude!” 

You chuckled, shaking your head and silently returning to your work, the silence filled once more with the pleasant buzzing as you drew away. 

When you were finished, you released Angel’s arm, allowing him to inspect the clean lines of the greenery that you had drawn out of his former-love tribute. What were once loopy, cursive letters were now vines creeping steadily along his forearm, soft, yellow and red gladiolus buds emerging from where Clara’s name had once sat, neatly finished with the clean lines of the purpling sprig of rosemary along the edge of the piece. 

Angel was speechless, leaving you to marinate in your nerves. 

“It’s …” he started, “... flowery,” he supplied, lamely. 

“No shit it’s flowers,” you shot back, feeling a little defensive now, but wanting to make a quick recovery. “And they’re for you, Angel.” 

He seemed puzzled. 

“Gotta say, Vince, this is the first time a chick’s gotten me flowers,” he chuckled, “Guess they won’t die?” 

“They won’t,” you assured. “They really are for you, you know? Look at you, the rest of your ink. What it covered. You’re clearly a man formed by your experiences. It only seemed right, si? Gladiolus? They’re for remembrance. Rosemary? Symbolizes thoughtfulness and memory.” 

You continued as you began wipe the piece clean before wrapping it in new saran-wrap, “Your memories and choices make you who you are, sure. But you never know… something good could bloom from them, through the cracks."

His silence at the end of your little soliloquy was deafening. He hated it, you were sure of it. Fuck. Why did you have to get so fucking clever with him? You should’ve just done some black ink in something tribal, something masculine. What the fuck was wrong with you??

You dared to sneak a glance at his face, only to find that he was already staring at you, lips softly upturned in the hinting bloom of a smile, tarpit eyes twinkling with a good-natured mirth he would come to reserve just for you. 

“Fuck Shakespeare. That was damn beautiful, Frida.” 

The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly. 

You stripped off your gloves, and made to turn your way to the counter, gathering the aftercare sheet and balm for Angel to take with him. 

You spun back toward him before he could get up.

“Oh! Can I take a picture?” You held up your phone, shaking it lightly. “For the ‘gram?” 

“Sure thing,” Angel dutifully held his arm under the lamp you had used to work, letting the fresh ink and colors pop against the golden dunn of his skin. 

You took a few photos, deciding to scroll through your camera roll later on and post your favorite. You made quick work of wrapping his arm in a sheet of clean plastic wrap before relinquishing your hold on his arm, turning to walk back to the counter. 

“Uhm,” you trailed … the telltale squeak of Angel’s boots on the linoleum indicating he was following you back to the front of the shop. You assembled everything into a bag for Angel to take with him, grabbing one of your cards from the front card-holder, and quickly jotting your number on the back next to your where the instagram handle for your art page was neatly printed, hoping he didn’t notice your sneaky little move. 

Angel resumed his comfortable lean against the counter, turning and tilting his forearm, scrutinizing your work. 

“It’s gonna be a clean one-fifty, Angel.”

He looked slightly surprised at the figure, a light frown dusting his features. 

“You sure about that? For the size, and the color, and time and everything? It’s been, like, hours.”

You shrugged. 

“We’ll call it the friends-and-family rate.” 

He gave you a long look, very clearly looking you up and down now, a prolonged edition of the greeting he had graced you with when he had entered your shop mere hours before. 

“And is that what we are now, querida? Friends?” 

How was it even possible for his voice to reach such a low register when he said these things to you?

While your insides flip-flopped at the flirtation, you hoped your face was the impassive mask you were trying to school it into. You subtly brushed your slightly-sweating palms against the frayed hem of your shorts before bringing an elbow up to the counter, resting your chin in your palm, lightly batting your lashes at him before responding...

“Sure,” you replied. There! Easy, breezy, cool-as-you-please. How does it feel, Angel?

“One day with you and friends already?” He rapped his ringed hand gently against the counter. “Can’t wait to see where we’re at tomorrow.” 

He swiped the bag off of the counter, tossing a few crisp bills onto the countertop and a wink over his shoulder before exiting the shop. 

You counted the bills on the counter, watching as Angel left the building.

Holy shit.

Three hundred bucks. He had tipped you 100 percent of what you charged him.

Cheeky.

Maybe Santo Padre wasn’t so bad, after all… 

---

Now, staring at him from across the room made you feel like you were drowning in the sickly-sweet cotton candy of sugared dreams, now lost to time. The saccharine balm melted to acrid wax, leaving you with only the tinge of bitterness. 

You were jostled out of your reverie by the sudden appearance of EZ’s blocky frame, ambling toward you with the same girl from before on his arm. 

He greeted you with a slow wave and a soft smile. 

“Hey, girl,” he greeted, clearly unsure of how much friendlier and closer he should approach you. 

You took mercy on Angel’s sweet, (big) little brother, opening your arms slightly for a hug. EZ took to the gesture like an over-excited golden retriever, scooping you up and spinning you once, before putting you back where he found you, slightly dizzier than you were before. 

He offered your name to the girl by his side, who looked pleasantly amused at the spectacle before her, her amusement melting to recognition at the name EZ had imparted to her. 

Ah. So she knew who you were. 

You tried not to let that realization sour your encounter, easing a practiced smile onto your features and offering your hand to the girl to shake. 

“Oh!” EZ chuckled. “This is Gaby -- er, Gabriela.” 

“Encantada,” you eased, gently shaking her hand before having a realization of your own. “Gaby, as in Leti’s friend?” 

She nodded, a warm smile illuminating her already sunshiney features. You could see why EZ obviously liked her. She had the practiced social grace of a debutante, but the friendly aura of someone you had known for your entire life. 

“I hope you’re keeping Ezekiel out of trouble,” you teased gently. 

“Only as well as I can,” she replied. EZ rubbed the back of his neck as you two gossiped about him like he wasn’t standing right there. 

“Listen, hermanita,” EZ began, swirling the dregs of his beer around the bottle clutched in his hand as the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence, “About Angel --” 

That was a hard no. 

“Coco!” You called as you spotted the lithe man prowling through the crowd after obtaining a drink from the bar, effectively shutting EZ up. 

Coco sidled over, slinging an arm over your shoulder and nodding in greeting to EZ and Gaby. 

“Wassup, chiquita? Over here with all the cool kids?” 

“You know damn well I was never cool enough for the cool kids,” you knocked your shoulder into Coco’s good-naturedly. 

“Dunno about that, pequeña,” Coco took a drag of his cigarette, sighing as he exhaled. “I’ve got some pretty cool body armour thanks to you.” 

“All in a day's work,” you mock-saluted. You were doing great. Keep it light, keep it friendly. You may be able to make it out of this unscathed, after all. 

Gaby and EZ were speaking softly to one another just to your side, as you and Coco continued your conversation. 

“So, who’s the new guy?” You asked, nodding over to where Angel and the still-unnamed newbie were tossing back shots. You tried to ignore that each one had girls placed on each of their laps. Well, mostly you were trying to ignore one girl placed on one lap; tried to ignore as ringed fingers trailed up and down her thigh hypnotically as he howled in laughter at something the new guy had said. 

The longer you stared at the way he was touching her, the more You thought you could feel it on your own skin. And you knew all too well how that touch felt. Memories, make you, right? 

You blinked harshly, turning your face back to Coco’s, only to find his hawkish eyes trained on you as he continued to smoke. Now you were certain he had seen everything you had, and more. And you cursed yourself for slipping. Because nothing slipped past Coco. 

He took mercy on you nevertheless. 

“Andres. He’s aight. You may not remember him from before, when he was just a prospect.” 

“Guess not,” you agreed, shrugging amiably, suddenly very interested in toying with the hem of your flowy little summertime skirt. 

“Mierda,” you heard Coco hiss, glancing up to see none other than the new guy -- Andres -- walk over, his arm around the waist of the girl from his lap, accompanied by none other than Angel Reyes, furnished with his own lap-turned-arm candy. She was giggling in his ear, popping her gum and bumping her hips against Angel’s as she walked by his side. 

You felt EZ stiffen from your other side. 

Great. 

The easy smile you’d had when conversing with Coco now felt positively screwed into place, settling unnaturally, a stranger's face made up of your own features. 

Andres smirked at you in greeting, eyes trailing over you -- the most unwelcome iteration of that gesture in this context to-date. 

“I hear you’re the girl to see about some ink.” 

You bit back the snarky response that rose to your tongue. You see anyone else here, tonto?

“Sure am,” you replied, cool as you pleeeeaseeee. Maybe a little too cool. The ice in your voice was obvious to everyone except the strangers before you. 

You really were doing great, weren’t you? 

“Great,” the new meat brushed the girl off from his side, plopping unceremoniously into your chair. “You did that right?” He pointed behind you to where Angel was standing, gesturing at his arm and your miniscule mural of memorial greenery. 

“Cierto.” You nodded, sparing Angel’s arm the barest of glances.

“Aight, well, none of that girly shit, alright, sweetheart? Angel may have had the good grace not to say anything, but flowers ain’t really my style, yeah?” 

What the fuck.  

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Coco visibly tense next to you, obviously displeased at the uncalled-for critique of your work. Of a piece he himself had often admired. He would never admit it, but he thought the story behind it was even better. It’s like you had walked out of some shitty romcom Leti watched with her tittering friends and into Angel’s dreams, sinking yourself beneath Angel's skin like a dream he would recount to all of his friends. Coco knew the most about you by nature of Angel's second-hand stories when you were together. Although Coco thought, once he had met you, Angel's stories didn't do you justice. How wonderful and talented you were. How warm and welcoming.

Angel watched the exchange silently, clearly none too keen to defend the piece you had designed for him. That had come to mean so much to you. 

That stung.

You winced, almost imperceptibly. But you were certain Coco saw it, not much escaping his sniper’s eyes. EZ, with his owlish perception and photographic memory, certainly would have seen it, too. If Angel saw it, it’s not like he was going to say anything now. 

Where the fuck was Aneesa? Wasn’t she supposed to be heading this kind of shit off? You glanced over at the couches in the corner where your friend had previously been sitting with GIlly, and was now nowhere to be seen. Fuckin’ typical. 

“Aight, no más flores." No more flowers. “What were you thinking, then?” 

That was you, ever the professional. 

Andres showed you his phone, a rendering of an old-style beastly cat, like a panther from an old folktale, pulled up in his image search. 

“Something for a warrior,” he puffed his chest slightly. “I was thinking here,” he shrugged out of one side of his new kutte, tugging the button-up to expose one side of his chest. 

“You got it.” 

You set to work, cleaning the area to be inked and getting your tools ready. The rest of the group drifted as the project progressed, clearly not feeling the need to stand there for the entire duration of a tattoo. 

You were acutely aware that Angel hadn’t stepped as far away as the others, circumventing the periphery of yours and Andres’ space, not close, but not far. And he still had yet to even look in your direction. Or acknowledge your existence. 

You tried your best to ignore the icy shard of Angel’s indifference that was currently wedging its way between your ribs and lodging itself firmly once more into your heart. At this point, you guessed it would never heal. 

“Sooooo,” Andres lolled his head to the side of his chair to face you, slinging back the beer from the bottle dangling in his free hand. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You were around a little bit when I was prospecting.” 

You opted not to respond, aware that Angel was likely listening, and you would need to choose any words carefully. Andres had no such reservation, clearly uncaring about who might be listening. He pressed on, each word more infuriating than the last. 

“You were Angel’s little sidepiece for a while, right?”   

You tried to keep your despairing sigh to a quiet little nothing. 

“Sure.” You offered lamely. “Sorry, man, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really work better when I’m not talking.” 

“S’alright, jaina. I can talk enough for the both of us.” 

You hmm’d nonchalantly at that, lip imperceptibly curling over your teeth in distaste at the moniker. You chose instead to focus on the piece. You wouldn’t give a shitty tattoo, even if this guy was a douchebag. And the pleasant buzz of the tattoo gun. Maybe you were etching the lines a little sharper than strictly necessary. If he noticed, Andres gave no indication, continuing on with his diatribe: 

“So, what happened? I mean, Angel knocked that other chick up? Ouch, right?” 

You were now seeing red, the edges of your vision blurring slightly with angry, pinpricking tears. Thank fuck you were just about done with this. 

“But that’s the life right? I mean, we’re not exactly known for being steady with just one chick. You know how it goes ...” He eyed you up and down again, lingering a little too long on your legs before finishing his thought with a smirk “... Clearly.” 

You hated his use of “we,” like he was in any way, shape, or form worthy to be in the class of man EZ, Coco, Bishop, or, hell, even Angel, was. None of them would talk to you like this. No matter what Angel had done. 

You shut off the gun, pushing back from the space with Andres, spinning in your chair, and grabbing the clean wipes for Andres’ fresh ink. As you dabbed the area and made to bandage it, the oblivious biker grabbed your wrist. None of the teasing fun or gentleness in the same gesture that Angel had imparted when you had first met. No, Andres’ grip hurt. It was all bruising possession and entitlement. 

“I think we would have fun, you and I.” He leaned forward and far too into your space, the stale stink of warm beer heavy on his breath. 

You wrenched your grip from his, standing quickly and offering him a tight smile, cheeks flaming with your anger and embarrassment. How dare he speak so trivially of your relationship with Angel. How dare he think you were so easily won with his kutte and shitty attitude. 

“Uhm,” you tugged your fingers agitatedly through the ends of your hair, chewing your lip. “You’re all set, Andres. Aftercare sheet is on the table next to you. It’s on the house. Happy patch party!” Your voice sounded so shrill and fake in your own head, but you just didn’t have it in you to care at the moment. 

With that, you quickly whirled on your heel, in a distressed flurry past the Angel-shaped blur who had been watching the entire encounter, and out of the clubhouse door into the cooler late-night air. 

Getting heavy to breathe in this room together. It’s so awkward, we can’t seem to do it better. Can’t we just fake a smile and put our shit to the side? 

---

Angel had waited a whopping 18 hours to text you after your clandestine tattooed meet-cute. 

You were in the middle of exchanging consultation e-mails with a prospective client when your phone had buzzed. 

“Vince?” The text read. 

You bit back a smirk before responding,

“Vince? No Vince here. This is Frida’s phone.”

You watched as the little bubbles appeared in the corner, disappeared for a second, and then reappeared. You were grateful for the little manifestation of Angel’s hesitance. It made him seem more human. And it made you appreciative that he was clearly trying to choose his words with you, when words had seemed to come so easily to him when you had met. 

“My bad. Oh, beautiful, talented Frida.” 

You couldn’t hold back the smile on your features now. Grateful it was still you and only you in the shop so that no one could see your “obviously-texting-a-cute-guy” face. 

“It’s nice to hear from you, Angel. Good thing you didn’t throw away the card.” 

“That card was clearly a gift, querida. Much like the pretty flowers on my arm.” He snapped you a picture of his tattoo, the healing process underway. 

“Looks great!” You sent, cringing at your lack of ability to effectively flirt via text. It was something that your friends had teased you relentlessly about back in the Town -- your notorious lack of game. No! New home, new you! Be cute. Be cute. 

“So, if I’ve given you all the gifts, what do I get?” You sent with a “thinking” emoji. 

Angel at least had the decency to wait a minute or two before replying, either thinking about his response or keeping you in suspense… you weren’t sure. But you were grateful for the little opportunity to catch your breath. How did he make you so speechless when he wasn’t even in the room with you? Some things just weren’t fair. 

“Niña, I paid you for this ink. What more could you possibly want from me?” 

Tricky Angel. Zorro. Like a little fox, he had effectively maneuvered the conversation back to you -- the ball was in your court. Would you tell him what you wanted?

You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding. 

“You texted me, boy. Are you sure it isn’t you who wants something?”

If only your friends could see you now. That was damn smooth. 

“Boy?” 

You snorted to yourself. Trust a guy like Angel to get hung up on something small like that. The bubbles reappeared. 

“I was thinking about this pretty girl I met the other day. Hell of an artist. But a shit poet. Thought I would see if she was free sometime?” 

Angel was merciful. You could kiss him. Had he seriously just taken all the weight out of this conversation? Your heart felt a million pounds lighter in your chest, knowing he was asking you. The wave of relief that he wanted to see you again crashed through you, replaced in the tide with the backdraft of a feeling of mischievousness. You wouldn’t let him off so easily.

So you waited before responding. Let him sweat a little, right?

Only… you weren’t sure Angel was sweating as much as you were, fingers itching with the desire to text him back and accept immediately. 

When what had felt like an eternity (but in reality had only been about seven minutes) had passed, you picked up your phone, opening the conversation with Angel. 

“She’s free next Thursday … After your bike week, el rey de los bandoleros.” 

You put your phone back down on the counter, grinning like an idiot, feeling like you had just swallowed a bunch of bubbles. You entertained the notion that if your combat boots weren’t keeping your feet weighted to the floor, you would have floated away. 

Your phone dinged once more.

“See you then, mi reina.” 

Time passes slowly the more you want it to go quickly. And whenever you have a deadline you’re dreading, it gallops ahead. Time really is that bitch, and she does not give a fuck about your feelings. 

The following Thursday felt like it took a year to arrive. But it found you closing up the shop, your stomach fluttering with butterflies and pop rocks, adorned in your favorite pair of jeans and boots, a clean, flattering tank top that showed off your own ink. You hoped it was fine for whatever Angel had in mind. 

Honestly, he hadn’t said anything about your date. A few flirtatious texts here and there? Obviously. You sent him photos of the pieces you had done for new clients. He sent you ridiculous selfies and a couple of group pics of him and his friends at the biker event. One guy who kept popping up in the photos, Angel had told you, was his “little” brother. But there was nothing “little” about that dude. 

You loved seeing all of Angel’s goofy, smiling faces. Treasuring the photos in your small moments of quiet downtime. 

The rumbling of a bike engine greeted your ears, like the seductive purr of a large cat. You glanced up, a full Cheshire grin alighting your features at the sight of Angel’s gorgeous, deep forest green bike, and the man of the hour looking very at home on the seat. 

He rolled to a stop in front of you, unclipping his helmet and dismounting with his winning trademark smirk, ambling over to greet you. 

“Frida,” he scooped you into a hug, his tall frame causing you to lift, your toes now barely brushing the ground as he brought you to his height. He pressed a soft kiss to your check, setting you down gently and letting you get your bearings, chuckling pleasantly at the obvious, dizzying effect his greeting had had on you.

“Angelito,” you returned. “Back in one piece?”

“Hail to the king, baby,” he countered. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you teased, scuffing the toe of your boot into the gravel of the lot. “So, where are you taking me, o benevolent one?”

“Just gonna hafta find out.” He handed his helmet to you, helping you clip and tighten it beneath your chin. “Ever ridden before?”

“Uhm, well, sure” you replied too assuredly, quickly realizing your slip. “I mean, no. Not like that. I mean, yes, like that. But not on one of these.” Fuck. Could you be more embarrassing? 

Angel released a full-bellied laugh at your response, his head tossing back a little. 

“You’ll have to tell me more about alla that later, cielo.” You put your head in your palm willing the embarrassment to go away. Angel quickly pried your hands away, cupping your cheeks with his own warm hands, long fingers brushing your cheekbones reverently. “In the meantime, just hang on, okay?” 

You nodded, still cursing your idiot-brain that had partnered with the dirtiest corners of your mind to take over your mouth. Shut the fuck up, dumb-dumb. 

You clung to Angel as he drove, your hands roaming his firm torso probably a little too-familiarly. You enjoyed the way the wind whipped around you, tugging at yours and Angel’s clothes as you made your way up the canyon overlooking the desert that was Santo Padre. 

Angel parked his bike on the ridge overlooking the town, the sun beginning its descent in the desert sky in swirling hues of pastels and cotton candy pink-purple-blue overtaking the orange hue. 

You had never been up here before, and you told Angel as much. He looked pleased at that, pleased that he was the one to show you the best view of the Santo Padre sunset. 

Angel busied himself unpacking the bags on the side of his bike while you enjoyed the scenery. Pulling out a couple of wrapped sandwiches and bottles of water, he handed yours to you, coming to stand next to you on the ridge. 

"Thanks," you acknowledged, looking at the offerings. "What, no beer?"

Angel chuckled a little at that.

"I ain't tryna liquor you up, niña. Besides, you want warm beer that's been rattling around on my bike all afternoon?"

You crinkled your nose a little at that. "No," you decided. "Never mind. Besides, I'm more of a whiskey girl."

Angel glanced at you, sipping on his own water idly.

"Really?"

"Really," you confirmed. "Don't tell me you're one of those guys who thinks it's impressive when a girl drinks whiskey because it's such a 'man thing.' "

Angel held up one hand, defensively. 

"Nunca. Just took you for more of a… dunno? Maybe a rum kinda girl?"

"Don't think so. For now, though? Water and sandwiches do me just fine. Whiskey can come later." You took a bite of the now-unwrapped sandwich. "This is good," you confirmed around a slightly-full mouth. "Did you make this?"

"Of course. Pop owns the butcher shop down the street from your parlour. Sliced the meat myself, an' all," he said, a little proudly now that he knew you approved of his sandwich-making skills.

"Bueno," you giggled. "Thank you for this, Angel. Really. This is one of the nicest nights I've had since moving here." You shuffled a little closer to where he was standing, looking in his eyes as you thanked him.

"Bah," he waved away your compliments, "it ain't alla that. This can't be the most exciting thing you've done since getting here."

"Maybe it is," you pressed. "I dunno. Maybe I'm too boring for the king of the bikers?"

"I doubt that very seriously, querida," he turned his body so he was facing you now, sandwich long gone, fiddling with the water bottle in his hands. "You play your cards right, I'll introduce you to the rest of the club. Then things'll get really exciting."

You blinked. One date and he already was thinking about introducing you to his friends? Your inner shy romantic (okay, not so "inner," right? You're pretty clear about who you are) was doing little somersaults in your chest. 

You must've been silent a beat too long because Angel was quick to supplement, "Only if you want."

"I'd like that," you confirmed, nodding and smiling gently. 

"So, are you gonna tell me what brings an East Bay girl here?" 

You raised a brow. You didn't remember telling him where you moved from. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck nervously, realizing you'd caught his slip. 

"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"

You finished your sandwich, thinking about how much you wanted to tell him.

"Just time for a change of scenery. Olí is an old friend, and he offered me a job. I think he wants to travel more." You shrugged, "It just felt like it was time. Plus, I dunno… I like it here. Much quieter."

Angel nodded at that, not having the heart to tell you that his club was not at all quiet and was the source of the disruption in the otherwise-quaint town. 

You kept talking, telling him about the friends you'd left behind, your old shop, weekends spent in the park surrounding Lake Merritt, and going to Raiders games. Angel took in your features as you spoke, the golden light of the sunset making you glow like something out of a dream he'd had once. Your eyes sparkled as you talked about things you loved, the books and art that inspired your poetry. How you'd gone to art school. You were something.

"-- Sorry, I'm rambling," you breathed in a rush, flush with the amount of talking you'd been doing in a record amount of time. "What? Do I have something in my teeth?"

Angel realized he'd been staring as long as you'd been talking.

"No, querida. Nothing in your teeth." He gave you a dazzlingly white smile.

"Oh thank God," you returned his smile with a small one of your own, shying a little under his gaze, and wondering how long he had been looking at you like that as you'd talked.

He leaned over you now, his height giving him the definite advantage as he'd -- not unwelcomely-- invaded your space. He brought one hand up to cup your chin, his dark eyes revealing flecks of sparkling gold in the pastel wash of the sunset as his gaze once again met yours.

You saw his quick glance down at your lips, you unconsciously giving a small nod before his warm lips met yours.

Oh.

You had obviously been kissed before, been the recipient of past romantic attention. All of that paled in comparison, melting away as Angel's full lips maneuvered over yours, both of his large, calloused hands gently brushing your cheeks as he cupped your face, sliding one hand down to rest on the side of your neck.

You sighed lightly, one of your own hands twined into his shirt, the other resting on the side of his firm torso. 

Angel took the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips, your own brushing against his as the kiss deepened.

 You were in no hurry for the kiss to end, enjoying the way everything about Angel was so warm, something that was surprisingly welcome, despite the ever-present desert heat of Santo Padre. You could get used to this. 

You had only known Angel a short time, realistically. Your one meeting spawning a series of flirtatious texts and snaps, and now this date that, while low-key, felt almost too perfect to be real. He made you feel safe, desired.

You could already feel him slipping beneath your skin to rest in a special place in your heart. And while you as a person were generally reticent to share that part of yourself with anyone, you had a feeling Angel could take up permanent residence there. If he wanted. 

You dropped from your tip-toes, effectively breaking the kiss.

Angel blinked, looking down at you and noting the pleasant glow on your skin, lips now slightly swollen from his kiss. He could get used to this.

The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur, trading quips and stories as the sun went down. Angel told you about his club, his brothers. About his pop and Ezekiel, and how at one time, he enjoyed being the bigger brother, teasing, pranking and lording over EZ until EZ had hit his growth spurt and could (and would) definitely hit back. 

As he drove you home, you snuggled a little bit against him, pressing yourself into his back and enjoying the way you swore you could feel his heart pounding through the kutte and over the rumble of the bike and the road.

He'd dropped you off with a parting kiss and the promise of another date.

Another date turned into several. Time you weren't at the shop was now spent with Angel, showing him what you were working on, inviting him over for dinners and to watch mindless television while he told you what he could about his day. 

The both of you were slowly peeling back the layers around your respectively guarded hearts, revealing more of yourselves only to be met with pure acceptance by the other. Even blindados had to take off their armour at some point. 

You cherished your time with Angel, and he quickly found himself stumbling, head over his own biker-booted heels for you.

After a few months had passed, he had brought you to meet the club. You had manifested nothing but general acceptance of his lifestyle and were eager to meet the people Angel had so obviously cared for. Who had helped shape him into the brash but conscientious person he was with you. 

And one sunny afternoon had found you bringing lunch you had made for the entire club over to the scrapyard, Angel agreeing with your plan. You never were one to show up empty-handed. 

As you walked across the yard, past the gate, and into the clubhouse, your eyes adjusting to the dim interior from the blinding sun outdoors, Angel bounded over to greet you. Taking the bag full of homemade goodies from your arms, he pressed quick kisses to your cheeks, and one to your forehead. 

He turned, met with the pleasantly-surprised stares of his brothers. He announced your name to the room before turning to you, pointing at each man and supplying a name. You nodded, smiling and offering a warm wave to each. 

The man you knew to be EZ from all of Angel's initial texts and photos quickly strode over to you, shaking your hand in his impressively firm grip before bending down to press a quick kiss to your cheek with a,

"Bienvenido, hermanita. Angel's told me a lot about you. Won't shut up, really," giving you a sly wink as Angel swatted EZ's arm in annoyance at his brother's revelation.

Boys.

The smaller man with the sharp eyes and full curls you knew to be Coco made his way over to where you were now seated as Angel went to get you both drinks, the other men digging into your offerings as you made yourself comfortable.

He sat next to you, tossing you a, "You mind?" Lighting his cigarette after you’d shaken your head.

He studied you through his own plumes of smoke before leaning across the table and speaking to you, lowly and with an almost conspiratorial rasp to his voice,

"You did that cover-up for Angel?" He asked on a smooth exhale.

"Mhmm," you nodded. "He gave me free reign. I was nervous he'd hate it."

Coco seemed to chew over your words for a dragging moment. You shifted in your seat. He was definitely sizing you up.

"Bold move, pequeña, giving the secretario of a biker club a sleeve of flowers." 

"I suppose it was," you sighed, more than a little uncertain now. "But it felt meaningful, right, I guess. I just sort of… started drawing. I… think it worked out, though?" You trailed off.

Coco nodded. "It's a fuckin' good piece, mami. Angel told me what you'd said about memories making you who you are." He snorted lightly through his nose. "It's funny. We've never even met before, and you're already sounding like me." 

A small smile played across his lips, returning it with one of your own.

"I'm glad you approve," you nodded. "Angel's opinion obviously matters, and don't tell him I told you this, but it means alot coming from one of his family." 

And that's what they were. His family. You could see it. The obvious camaraderie and care underlying each of their actions with the other. You admired the system of support, cushioned by good humor, despite being flung regularly into harsh reality. It was clear -- they were there for one another.

Coco's voice broke your train of thought,

"Maybe you got space for me in your books one-a these days?"

Your small smile was a full-blown, sunny grin now.

"Of course. Anytime you want to drop by, you're more than welcome." 

"Gracias, chica." Coco leaned across the table and patted your shoulder before getting up and taking his leave.

And so it went. The boys would filter through your shop. Olí teasing you about his offense that all of his most lucrative, inked clients were now going to you. 

You enjoyed the time working on pieces for them afforded you -- offering you a glimpse into their inner workings, what they felt was important enough to take up permanent residence along their skin. Making idle chit-chat with you while you worked. And always, always sharing embarrassing little anecdotes about Angel. 

The months passed with you and Angel, finding comfort in your unpredictable, but welcome, respective routines. 

One night in particular found Angel wrapped up in your embrace, the physical embodiment of your gradual and growing trust in one another.

He had arrived home more than a little rattled, his eyes wildly darting to the corners of the room before settling in you, exhaling a shaky breath before striding the length of the room and crushing you to him, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips. 

You understood he probably couldn't tell you what had happened, but you asked anyway, needing him to know you would hear him.

"Angelito, everything okay?" 

He shook his head softly in the negative, but didn't elaborate. 

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

"Okay. We don't have to talk about it," you wound your arms up and around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. "But it's going to be okay. I've got you. I won't let go."

He gripped your wrists, pulling your hands from his neck and sliding your arms down, bringing them to rest around his waist. Once he had positioned you where he wanted, he brought his hands to cup your cheeks, eyes heavy and dark with the weight of his stormy thoughts. 

He nodded at what you had said before bringing his lips back to yours. 

You brought one hand up to meet his, where it rested along your cheek. You twined your fingers through, joining your hands while breaking the kiss. You lead him through the apartment, bringing him to the bedroom. You had music softly playing from your speaker in the corner, candles lit to bathe the room in ambient glow and a warm, honey smell, all in anticipation of Angel's eventual arrival home.

You silently gestured for him to sit on the edge of the bed, where you took your seat next to him. 

You tugged the leather kutte from his shoulders, folding it reverently and placing it on the chair near the bed. He exhaled in relief, shoulders sagging once the leather manifestation of his obligation to a darker world had been removed. The weight of the world a little less on the mantle of his shoulders. 

You turned your attention to his feet next, unlacing and tugging off his boots. Then, his belt. 

Once he was just in his jeans and his t-shirt, you resumed your seat at his side, bringing him back into your embrace and carding your hands through his hair, as his head rested on your shoulder. 

Angel spoke, voice cracking as he broke the seal of silence in the room. 

"It was… it was awful, Frida." He sighed. "I do everything they ask. It's my job … Fuck. Sometimes I wonder how much more my heart can take. But then, I get to come home to you." 

His breath was shuddering now.

And while you didn't always know what to say -- it was a rare sight to see Angel so rattled. But you were a caregiver by nature, ready to give him the pieces of yourself that would make him feel whole.

You guided him down so that he could recline, you came to rest at his side, winding your arms around his torso, your face turned into his neck, cuddling him as he came down from the mania of his emotional high.

The moments passed, Angel's breathing leveling again as you stroked his hair in time to the soft music.

He turned his head to look at you, admiring the flutter of your lashes as you blinked at him, your gaze warm and adoring, full of twinkling fairy light and starshine. 

"Te amo, querida," Angel breathed. This was not the first time he had said it to you during your months together. But each time felt as momentous as the first, each declaration of love felt like the slip of something sweet, and you were determined to store it in your heart and mind forever.

"I love you too, Angel. More than anything," you murmured. "I love your smile, your sense of humor, your strength." You pressed kisses to his face and neck with each admission. "Mostly, I love your strength. And that you trust me enough to tell me when you don't always feel it."

He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,

"I love your mind. How creative you are. How you see everything so beautiful, just like you," he hmm’d. "Mostly I love your trust. And that you choose to give it to me." 

You kissed him again, leaning over him with your entire body, pressing your palms gently into his shoulders. 

As your kiss deepened, you each began to tug at the other. His hands carded through your hair, tugging gently, but firmly. You lifted his shirt from his torso, the kiss breaking so you could peel it away.

You divested one another of each layer, baring yourselves to the other, body and soul. Again, this wasn't the first time you had done this. But this felt momentous nonetheless. 

Angel skimmed his hands over your form, running his hands softly down and over your breasts, loving your soft sigh at his touch. 

You leaned over him once more, reluctantly removing his hands from you, and placing them gently down at his sides. 

"Your heart is mine, mine to protect," You hummed softly, invading his senses and placing kisses down Angel's neck and to his chest, trailing your lips lovingly over Angel's heart, and pressing one last deliberate kiss there. "And I take my job very seriously." 

As you kissed him, you lightly trailed your fingers down his torso, coming to rest at his hip.

Your declaration was met with silence; you glanced up at Angel through your lashes only to find him already looking down through heavy-lidded eyes at you, his now swirling with some unnamed, weighted emotion.

You trailed your hand across his hip, not breaking eye contact as you took his hardening length into your hand. He inhaled sharply at the sensation of your grip, but refused to look away as you began to pump him slowly, still pressing kisses to his hips, torso and thighs. 

"Please, querida," Angel gasped.

"Please, what?" You murmured back, your voice taking a throaty register you reserved strictly for private moments with your beloved.

"Please… use your pretty mouth?" 

You nodded. 

"Relájate, baby, I've got you," you assured. Sweeping your hair back, the action washing Angel with the sweeping comfort of your scent as you made your way lower down his body. 

Angel slumped back against the bedspread, glittering galaxy eyes still trained on you as you lavished him with attention. 

You took the opportunity to flatten your tongue, licking a broad stripe up the length of him, one hand braced against his firm thigh, the other holding him gently at the base of his cock as you worked.

You swirled your tongue around the tip of him, delighted at his throaty moans, feeling the effect they had on you, making you feel like you were burning from the inside, feeling the slickness from your own center as your thighs rubbed together. 

Taking Angel wholly into your mouth now, you bobbed over him, relishing in the heavy feel of him in your mouth and the throaty groans you received from Angel in response. 

Before you could spend too long lavishing him with attention, Angel tugged on your hair at the base of your neck. Following his grip, you lifted your head and released him from, watching (a little greedily) as his thick length bobbed against him when you relinquished him from the confines of your mouth. 

He guided you up his body, hand still knotted in your hair, pushing his mouth onto yours, uncaring of the saliva on your lips and chin, and the taste of himself on your tongue. 

You straddled his hips, surging the rest of the way up his body and effectively deepening the kiss. The hand that was once in your hair now made its way to loosely grip at your throat, the other skimming his way down your breasts, across your ribs and toward your center.

As his fingers traced through your folds, you involuntarily rolled your hips into his hand, alight at his touch, and desperately seeking more. 

Angel touching you was like the shock of a live wire. Every time felt just as electric as the last, goosebumps erupting across your flesh as his fingers traced across your skin. 

He chuckled through your fused mouths, drawing back at your reaction and the wetness he found between your legs.

"Eager, amor?" Every word fell that fell from his lips sounded like a dangerous purr.

You nodded, drunk on the way Angel's hand gently squeezed your throat, while the other was teasingly making its way to-and-fro across your wet folds, occasionally making his way up to lightly circle and press his thumb over your clit, making your eyelids flutter. Your hips continued to rock against his hand, silently begging for more, his teasing touch making you more than a little crazy.

"Yeah?" Angel asked, his voice thick and syrupy, the timbre like dark clouds. "That shit turn you on? Sucking my cock?"

His words combined with his touch made another rush of heat flood through you. You were certain you would pass out, that your knees would buckle. And you were doing so well, holding your place up and over his hips while he played with you.

The hand on your throat gripped a little tighter, causing your eyes to flutter shut.

"Nuh-uh, baby," he shook you lightly, all mirth gone from his eyes, no more pleasant, smiling crinkles at the corners. His full lips pressed firmly together. "I asked you a question. You answer that shit"

He pressed two fingers teasingly against your entrance, refusing to insert them, despite the little roll of your hips.

"Y-yeaahh," you sighed, head tossed back, "I-I fucking love it -- love you, Angel."

He rewarded you by sliding a long finger into you, allowing you to ride his hand. The hand still around your throat guiding you forward, over him, allowing him to press hot, open-mouthed kisses, first to your lips, dirty and raw, like an exposed nerve in his unabashed want for you. 

He relinquished his hold on your neck, allowing him to trail his lips and his tongue there, kissing you softly behind your ear, down and around your neck to your collarbones, all while his fingers continued their earnest treatment inside of you, his thumb now pressing to your clit, your warming crescendo building.

Using his height and the fact that you were straddling him, Angel encouraged you to lean forward, allowing him to capture one of your breasts in his grip, his mouth following. His warm tongue swirled around your nipple before he sucked the bud into his mouth, grazing his teeth ever so gently over your sensitive flesh.

Angel's attention was rewarded with your gasping sighs and breathy moans. How anyone could make you feel this good was beyond you. Angel had an uncanny ability to elicit responses and feelings like no other person before him.

You felt the thrumming hum and warm, sticky wave of your orgasm building as Angel worked his fingers inside of you, stroking that particular spot from within that he knew would be your undoing.

"O-oh," you whined, keening noises caught in your throat. "Please, baby, I n-need you. Need you inside." 

The room was sweltering. Or was it just you? Angel withdrew his fingers smoothly, not sparing you the chance to be disappointed at the loss of feeling as he smoothly flipped the two of you, guiding you down to the mattress and hovering over your trembling form. 

"Yeah?" Angel asked. "You ready for that, querida?"

You gazed up at him through your lashes, longingly. He would give everything, anything, that he had in the world if you only looked at him like that forever, gaze full of warmth, heat, and unfiltered, starry adoration. 

"Mmm," you nodded, "Please? Angel?"

He was only a man, after all. Who was he to refuse when you asked so prettily for him?

He gently turned you over so that your back was to him, running his hands down the slope of your back and guiding you to your knees, propping your hips up.

Positioning himself behind you, Angel resumed his grip on your throat, using it to guide your head around so that he could kiss you again while he guided himself inside of you. You moaned into the kiss at the sensation, never tired of feeling every ridge of his thick cock sliding into you like he belonged there.

Angel groaned, breaking the kiss and shaking his head, chuckling darkly, his eyes flashing as he swore, 

"Never fuckin' get tired of that shit," he began to move his hips, using his other hand that was gripping your hip to guide you along his lengthy, meeting his thrusts. "Never tired of your pussy … You're so … good."

Angel's words coupled with his thrusts were driving you crazy, causing you to eagerly meet him with the momentum of your own hips, the heat in the room spliced with the distinctive noise of his skin meeting yours. 

Angel, leaning over your back, crowded your every sense, the taste of him, of his kisses still lingering on your tongue. Your ears met with the harmony of your two bodies and the filthy words and sounds coming from Angel's mouth. The sight of him was as intoxicating as ever, as you looked over your shoulder at him, the shadows of the room playing across his tawny skin, glimmering in the low light with the sheen of sweat you knew was also present on yours.

“Say my name,” Angel pants into the slick skin on your back, kissing a line down your spine, his body covering yours possessively.

You were too caught up in everything Angel, failing to respond quickly enough for his liking as you gasped at every thrust.

A crack of heat flashed across your ass, Angel swatting you there once. You should be annoyed, but you couldn't lie -- you fucking loved it when he was like this. Only for you. 

"A-angel," you sighed, the crescendo of your orgasm climbing, threatening to burst any second, you tightening around Angel.

"Bueno," he purred. "You close? Yeah, you fucking are," Angel snarled, taking in the way you threw your hips back desperately to meet him, squirming one hand beneath you to touch yourself. "You can have it, baby, I'll make it good. You just gotta ask pretty for me." 

You deepened the arch in your back, flexing your hips back toward Angel, and gripping the bedspread before you in your fingers, face pressed flush with the sheets, your other hand still pressed to your clit.

Angel tilted your head, leaning over further and gripping your jaw, squeezing to pucker your cheeks. He kissed you, sucking your lower lip between his. He kissed you gently, a deceptive contrast to the hand gripping your face, his hips snapping into yours at a now-brutish pace. He pecked another light kiss to your lips, followed by another, gently biting your lip and dragging it lightly as he drew his face from yours.

He released your lips as you whispered another plea into his mouth.

"Come on then, baby." 

Your orgasm washed over you, pinpricks of striking matches splintering across your skin, followed by a euphoric wave of white-heat, blissfully soothing every nerve it had just lit.

Angel followed, emptying himself into you with a few final thrusts, groaning at the way you tightened just so around him. 

He withdrew gently, collapsing next to you as you both caught your breath. 

Your lashes fanned your cheeks as you blinked hazily at the form of your love through the soft glow of the room.

"I do love you, Angel," you told him, leaning across the sheets to rub your nose back and forth against his, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, grazing your soft fingers against the lines of his forehead, easing them away into an expression of soft serenity. "Always."

---

Now, you walked out of the clubhouse, around to the side of the porch, a quiet corner away from the noise. Willing yourself to calm down as small, hot tears trickled their way, uninvited, down your cheeks. 

Your thoughts were moving a million miles a second, the battle of luck you were waging with the universe saw you quickly losing. 

The year you spent with Angel replaying itself in your mind. Every word, every touch, that goddamn tattoo. Remembrance, my ass. How you would hold him when he came home too high-strung and strung-out emotionally for words. How you would save the best leftovers for him when you knew he had been away and would be craving the Chinese food from the place down the block when he got back. How he felt inside of you on the coldest nights and in the most tender mornings. How he would whisper enchanting endearments into the shell of your ear as he rolled his hips into yours, your mind and body completely his. How you would wear his shirts and overly-large socks around his apartment, leaving doodles and scribbled poems on sticky notes for him to find in his moments alone. How he kissed you warmly, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like syrupy possession that you never wanted to end. 

How it did end. How he had thrown out your world, crumpled it into a crushed paper ball and tossing it away with the carelessness of a child. Ending things with seemingly no spare thought for your feelings. How EZ had let slip when he saw you in town that Angel was expecting a kid, the timing of everything suddenly making a little more sense. How it made you feel, now that you knew you were wholly his, but he was never entirely yours. How you had kept to yourself in the months that followed, the cracks in your heart widening until you felt like you would drown in them. 

The pulse of your feelings for him, always strong; they warm you. But it was still you they all left behind. 

Your thoughts were still swirling when, off to the side, you heard the porch door open and close again, and you prayed that whomever was coming outside was going to have a smoke out front, or that they were on their way out. That they wouldn’t find you. 

But of course, these things never worked out how you wanted them. You cursed any god you could think of for just how un-fucking-lucky you were sometimes. 

Because, really, who other than Angel was making his way around the porch to you? Taking in your hunched form as you leaned over the railing, looking anywhere but at him. 

Of fucking course.

You kept your eyes down, focused in your clasped hands as you leaned over the railing, refusing to look at him. 

And now? Now he was looking at you, and it's the one time you wished he wouldn't. 

One thing you wouldn't do, now that he was here, was break the silence first. He didn't want to hear what you'd had to say, so why would you grace him with your thoughts now? Petty? Sure. But you weren't the one in there with your hands on some ass while a so-called friend harassed your ex. 

A few uncomfortable beats dragged on before Angel broke the silence, shattering it like glass with a verbal hammer.

"What'd he say to you?"

You remained silent.

"What the fuck did he say, Frida?" His voice angry now, demanding. The same tone he used to break your heart. 

"It ain't working. Not my fuckin’ fault you can't see it."

You rolled your eyes, another shard of icy glass painfully wedging into your heart at his use of the name. Still refusing to look in his direction when you replied, softly but sharply, 

"You know exactly what he said. What I'm trying to figure out is why, exactly, you care."

"I care, Frida," was all he offered.

You snorted in response. Undignified, sure. But couldn't he see this was killing you? Where was his mercy?

"I do," he insisted, the thud of his boots across the wood of the porch indicating that he was crossing to you, coming to stand a ways behind you.

"I'm not going to do this with you. He said some shit. It's over. We move on. What more could you have to say about that?"  

Keep it simple, keep yourself safe. You gave him nothing to say back. And then… 

"And if I told you I wanted you? I wanted you back?"

You whipped your head around to -- finally -- meet Angel's eyes, which you did for a fleeting moment before zeroing in once more on your shoes, staring resolutely at the ground. You were not going to let him see you cry again, godfuckingdamnit.

The fleeting glimpse of his face, of his eyes meeting yours once more after all this time, was enough. He looked more tired up close than he had before. Still unfair in his striking beauty, his midnight eyes still enough to pull you in, drown you in their oceanic depths. You hated it. Hated that he still had that power over you. But try as you might, you couldn't hate him. 

Your silence was killing Angel with the precision of a thousand miniscule cuts. Each deeper than the last. Until he couldn’t take it any longer. He reached through the space between, for where your hand rested on the railing. You saw the gesture coming, and whipped your hand away at the last moment, cradling it to your chest like he had burned you. You faced him fully now.

You chuckled softly, wryly, and devoid of any humor before you muttered, "You don't want me, baby. Please don't lie."

“And how do you know that’s a lie?” Angel mumbled thickly, working his tongue around the words, through his own emotion. 

You scuffed your toe into the hewn wood of the deck, shrugging before you responded, simply, 

“If I was what you wanted, you wouldn’t have gone looking elsewhere. And you certainly wouldn't have found someone else. You wouldn’t have said what you said, ended it like you did, with everything on just your terms.” You sighed deeply, with the rattle of tears lodged into your chest before you spoke again, “You made up your mind and never even let me say a word. If you wanted anything to do with me, you could have at least given me a word.” 

Angel blinked, hard. The familiar pressure of real tears building behind his eyes. You were right of course. And fuck, weren't you always? You'd always told him like it was, harsh truths that only you could cushion in your gentle, empathetic way. 

"Please, querida, just let me explain what happened--" 

You held up your hand, shaking your head firmly, effectively silencing Angel.

"No!" Much softer now, "No. I- I'm sorry, Angel, I don't mean to be rude. But, no." Your voice small, but clear, as you'd finally gotten your opportunity to say something back to him. "I, uh, I don't want to hear any explanation, and you really don't have to?"

You lilted the last part like it was a question, but continued on. 

"You, um, you've had a lot of time to tell me something, anything, about what the fuck happened. And you didn't. You left me with nothing. Just confusion and hurt, and I've made peace with that. It's taken a while, but … I just… I don't need that from you. I gave you space, always respected your decisions and opinions, and now you won't do the same. You're still trying to take from me. Offering me an explanation now?" You scoffed. "That isn't for me, and don't fuckin’ act like it is -- it's for you. And I understand that, that's fine. I'm not angry at you for that, but I'm also not going to humor it." 

You exhaled shakily, you couldn't believe you'd said all of that, that you had made it through.

Angel was speechless. It made your heart feel even sicker -- all of this silence from him for so long, and he'd offered to explain himself and you'd (gracefully) told him to fuck off. Why had you done that??

It was about time you'd stood up for yourself, that's why. 

An explanation would be nice, sure. But where Angel's words, whispered affirmations and heady declarations of love, had once made your soul swell and sing… now, you knew, anything he'd had to say to you would only serve to do the opposite. 

And your heart, perpetually bruised by nature of you being a hopeless romantic, just couldn't take it. 

You hopped off the porch, spinning around to face Angel, finding his eyes on you still. Hadn't you wished for him to look at you? To really see you once more? 

"I'm out," you tossed a thumb over your shoulder toward where you'd parked your car. "Sorry, I don't mean to abandon the old post, but uh, I'm sure you guys have someone to fill in. I'll text Aneesa to grab my stuff, don't worry about it." 

Like he would, you thought.

You were mostly rambling to yourself, and not really to Angel, as you backed away, fleeing to your car. 

Angel watched you go, the resonant ache in his chest that had been ever-present since tossing your stuff out, amplified when Luisa had left him, and now sure to be permanent, buried in cement beneath the weight of his every decision, and every word.

You looked good, he thought. Your hair was longer than when he'd seen you last. Your little skirt flouncing as you strode away. Your skin still glowed, full lips still twisted into that wry smile of yours that he had seen from across the room. All of that was true, but your eyes were also tired, and your smile never quite reached them. 

The thought that he was responsible for dimming that sparkle made him feel sicker than he already had. The way you had brushed off Andres, despite his obnoxious insistence, and the things the cocky  new patch had said to you -- may as well add those to the ever-growing pile of things stained and tainted by Angel's guilt.

And he was left alone with that guilt as you left the lot. He turned back to the party. His cool facade slipping back into place. Not ready to face the wrath of EZ and Coco, surely waiting inside to proverbially beat his ass.

What would you say if I come over? And we stand face to face now that we're older?

---

Angel shuffled into his apartment, the late hour catching up to his weary form as he ambled over to his bedside, flicking on the lamp. 

Rubbing a large hand down his face, he sat on his bed in a huff of exhaustion. Your first encounter in months since he'd all-but tossed you from this very room was pricking him with a kind of nauseating nervous  energy. But all he wanted to feel in that moment was you, whether he deserved it or not.

He'd still had it, didn't he? Where was it?

He pulled open the drawer of his nightstand, fishing through its contents for what he hoped was still in there.

His fingers curled over his prize -- a slip of paper adorned with your handwriting. Scrawled lines of poetry on a neon pink Post-It note, curled with age and disuse, something you had left for him while he slept in one morning. 

“I was thinking of you,” you had said when he had asked you about it later, shrugging as if it were the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. 

Your love for him was clean in its simplicity and forwardness, whenever he could wade his way through the mire of your shy demeanor. You had stuck the Post-It to his nightstand while he was sleeping and you made your way to work. Your words were cramped and crunched into the small paper square, but ready to greet him with the shining light of a sunny new day. 

“I see your ardor through a pearlescent lense, and all is pleasantly pink and blurry with you-- Resplendent in your love's solar hope. You are so warm beneath the brush of my fingertips, and I burn. So in love with you, as I am and as I do."

Now, his eyes scanned the words for the millionth time since you had written them. He had committed it to memory by now, wishing he could hold you instead of this crumpled piece of paper, mocking him with its annoyingly bright pink hue.

But how could he? Angel was the kind of man who simmered in his emotion -- burning slowly, lowly, only to reach a pitch. He kept to himself until he couldn’t any longer -- and then it was all bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve. 

He had done what he had thought was right. Cutting you out with all of the brutality and finesse of a battleaxe, to focus on Luisa and his unborn son. He thought she was what he wanted. But now, he didn’t even have them. He had nothing to show for his decisions but the lonely, sick feeling ever-present in his chest. 

The you at the beginning of your relationship would have kissed each bruise in his soul, one by one, until they were better. Would have gifted him with the warmth of your time and attention until he was made whole again with the molten heat of your gracious heart. But the you now? 

Angel could never, would never, cover the tattoo on his arm, though he had thought about it. Blacking it out once and for all, so the piece of you he wore on his sleeve would finally match the  pitch, and emptiness inside. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was, as he’d said all that time ago, your gift to him. And he’d made you a promise that he wouldn’t. 

All he wanted was to look you in the eyes so he could remember that he loved you once.

And not that he had any reason to know it, but across town, you had made it home. Your phone shoved to the bottom of your bag, lighting up with texts from Aneesa, EZ, and Coco. But the only person on your mind was Angel. 

How much of what he had said was true? You weren't sure. But you were sure that you knew where you stood, still painfully alone and in love as ever, the cracks in your heart only fillable by the very person you had brushed off earlier.

And, while Angel readied himself for bed, snapping the lights off and attempting to cut through the oppressive darkness by staring at the ceiling with his own penetrative gaze, the empty side of the bed had never felt more cavernous, but more weighted. Mocking. 

If Angel was being honest with himself -- something he was never too keen on being in his more sobering moments -- he didn't love you once. He still loved you.

Thinking after all this time, I just wanna meet your eyes so I can remember why... Why I loved you once.

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[mayans-sauce]

Golden Girl (2/2)

Gif Credit: @angelreyess

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Female Reader

Word Count: 580

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, cursing, unprotected sex, some light chocking, mention of bodily fluids

Request by @pipsqueakkitten Well it’s kinda like a mini drabble to Golden Girl lol umm it’s where Angel decides because the reader said that his sex is her favorite that they need to have some right then so he picks her up and runs to EZ’s trailer to get it on 😂 and smut then ensues after some giggling and right before Angel is about to finish EZ walks in not thinking anything of it and freaks out and Angel gives him shit for walking in right before he finishes lol and then when EZ leaves they begin where they left off 🙈

A/N: this fic can be paired with the first part of Golden Girl but can also be read as a standalone fic! Hope you enjoy <3

Part. 1

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“So sex with me is pretty great?” Angel asked you.

“Really, Angel? After that whole speech, that is the one thing you take from it.”

He looked at you for a second, his head tilted before he picked you up and put you over his shoulder. The speed at which he did it made you emit a loud squeal.

“Angel, oh my god, what are you doing.” “Let’s go have some right now.” “Wait, what? Now?” “Yes now,” his hand left a smack on your ass. “And where the fuck do you want to do it? Out in the open?” “I know a place.”

You almost forgot where you were as Angel’s length penetrated you again and again on the bed in EZ’s trailer. The movement of his hips made you see stars as your nails raked down his tattooed back from pleasure.

Faint moans and whimpers from both of you filled the small space as you both rushed to reach your climax.

“Don’t stop Angel… please,” you pleaded in the faintest of whispers.

“I won’t. I promise.”

You wrapped your legs around him to push him deeper inside, making you climb that more closer to the end.

He circled his hand around your throat, depriving you of some oxygen which made your head spin and gave you that extra nudge to make you come faster.

“Are you close, baby?” His voice deep in your ear.

“Yes... please, Angel, fill me up. I need to feel you.”

He concentrated on your pleading words as his hips never lost their rhythm fucking you.

Just as you were about to reach the end together, the door of the trailer flew open with EZ walking in.

“Dude, what the fuck!” EZ screamed as he witnessed what was happening. Angel’s ass on full display, and he knew he would be scarred for life. He put his hand over his eyes, trying mentally to burn out the image that was imprinted in his brain.

“Bro, why the fuck did you walk in?” Angel yelled in the same tone EZ did as he tried to cover you and him with a blanket.

“Angel, I fucking live here! The question is, why the fuck are you two fucking in MY trailer?”

This was so embarrassing for you. You had just meet EZ, and now you were fucking in his trailer.

“We just nee-“ “You know what, I don’t even care. I’m going to pops for the night.” The trailer door was slammed shut, and you hear him say “gross” as he walked away.

You were just lying there, shocked about the situation, but also it was no surprise. You were, after all, fucking in HIS trailer. So the chances of EZ walking in was big, but right at the moment, while Angel was making you feel so good, you forgot where you even were.

“You aren’t so much of a golden girl anymore, huh? Letting me fuck you in my brother's trailer.”

You punched him in his arm, which made him fake out an “ouch.” “Asshole, this was your idea. EZ hates me now. I just got to know him, and now he hates me.”

“Nah, he’ll come around.”

Both of you laid in silence for a while as you looked up at the ceiling.

Angel was the first to break it. “Do you want to continue, or is the mood gone?”

“Since we are already here, I don’t see why not.”

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Thank you for reading❤️ a quick reblog and feedback would be so appreciated❤️

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[minimel-fics]

Nowhere to Go

Angel Reyes X Reader

He had hurt you before so what was causing you a little more pain now to avoid future hurt?

I’ve hit day 5 of 10 straight work days and the back pain is lethal!! I don’t know how I managed to work an 8 hour shift yesterday and write 5 fics... Creeper, Taza, Coco and Ez will be coming this week.

Part 2, Part 3

Masterlist

Warning: Slight season 3 spoilers

---

This wasn’t exactly how you had pictured this night going, sitting on the bed you shared with Angel unable to stop the stray stream of tears flowing from your eyes no matter how hard you tried. Stuff had been... Rough? Or maybe that was just a nice way to put it because life had been utter shit lately but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually do anything to change that.

Your day had started off well, your class of kindergarten students had blown you away with their meaningful art projects for their parents so when you arrived home with a full heart you had decided to take the chance of going to the clubhouse to spend a little time with Angel, most nights the guys were just sitting around drinking anyway.

There were plenty of people milling around the clubhouse when you had arrived meaning that tonight was a party night, maybe Angel’s mood would be looser than usual with all the drinks that had been flowing. You couldn’t spot Angel anywhere in the crowd but you had seen his bike outside so you knew that he was around somewhere, you had spotted his younger brother though. EZ was sitting by the bar, the last time you had been to a party he had still been a prospect but now as a full-patched member of the club, it was nice to see him able to enjoy himself. The smile slowly slipped off his face as he spotted you approaching him and the bar, he offered you his unopened beer and you thanked him with a smile.

“It’s been a while since you’ve come around.”

“I’ve had a lot going on,” You were quick to deflect the ache in your chest as the fact that Angel never invited you to parties anymore weighed heavy on your mind.

“I’ve got an announcement to make!” The booming voice of your boyfriend pulled everyone’s attention onto him, “We’re having a baby!”

The announcement was news to you, the even bigger news was the woman standing at his side that was not you. At first, you thought that maybe your brain was glitching, that this was all just a dream while you were most definitely awake but the gleam of a familiar ring on the woman’s finger caught your eye and the breath was knocked out of your lungs. The ring had once belonged to his mother and for so many years it was being promised to end up on your finger once the time was right.

“Y/N?” EZ’s voice sounded muffled in your ears as he gently squeezed your shoulder.

You were quick to shove off his touch, how long had he known that this had been going on? Did he not have the decency to tell you that your boyfriend was once again being unfaithful? “Don’t touch me.”

It was the shattering of the beer bottle hitting the ground after you accidentally knocked it off the bar top that captured everyone’s attention next. Angel’s eyes were locked on you as pure sadness swam through his eyes, the woman beside him looked genuinely confused as whispers began to overwhelm the clubhouse. All of the hushed voices rushed to your ears, the clicking of your heeled boots as you rushed through the door cutting through their words like knives.

You and Angel had met in your freshmen year of high school, becoming best friends and eventually dating in your senior year. You had stuck by him in Santo Padre through the death of his mother, the incarceration of his baby brother and his prospecting days. Things had been great until one day a little less than a year ago, a federal agent named Lincoln Potter had spilled the beans about Angel’s love child to you during an interrogation in hopes that it would help get you to flip on the Reyes brothers and the M.C, you did not of course. You could remember arriving home that night like it was yesterday, confronting the love of your life about his loyalty before he came clean about his entire relationship with Adelita. It had torn you apart but you kept telling yourself that you loved Angel and together you could get through this.

You entered your shared apartment, digging your suitcase out of the back of your closet and throwing all of your belongings into it. The dizziness hitting you like a ton of bricks as your emotions took control, you sat on the edge of the bed with your head resting in your hands as you tried to collect your bearings when it had dawned on you… the reason you had stayed with Angel the first time he had broken your heart and why you were hesitating now- you had nowhere else to go.

Your fresh sobs drowned out the sound of the front door slamming open, Angel desperate to find you in the now torn apart apartment. Even though he had failed you as a boyfriend the two of you had always been friends first, and if he was being honest he had no idea why you stayed by his side after everything that happened with Adelita- you didn’t deserve that and if you were not going to leave him yourself then he had just given you a reason to cut your losses and move on before he had the chance to cause you an entire lifetime of pain. He halted in the bedroom doorway, the last time he had seen you cry like that was when your grandfather, the man that had raised you passed away three years ago. You glanced up, attempting to wipe away your tears and the streams of mascara from your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater.

“I have no place to go.”

Angel slowly stepped into the room, gently seating himself on the bed next to you as you cried. He threw his arm over your shoulder, tugging your head to rest on his shoulder as his own heart broke in his chest, he gone through with his plan to save you from future hurt but he had not anticipated all the other fall out you’d feel in the meantime.

[nocturnal-milk-dud]

@withmyteeth tumblr ate your request, but Cricket, I laughed so hard when I read it, and my biggest question was how in the hell do I work a werewolf into this. This was a lot of fun, I hope you like it

There's No Way He Has A License

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Reader

Warnings/notes: violence; slight gore; excessive use of the f-word; this is my first time writing for Angel

Word count: 1181

A crash startles you awake. Angel is sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and you crawl to the end of the bed. Your bedroom window is splintered, and your dented mailbox sits on the floor in a sea of shattered glass. Chittering laughter echoes in the darkness outside. Angel tugs on his boots and gets to his feet, peeking around the curtain. 

“What the fuck is that?” he whispers. You join him, careful to avoid glittering shards and squint hard at the impossible sight outside your window. 

A horde of green creatures, roughly two feet tall, is engaging in all kinds of havoc up and down the street. You hear distant screams and sirens. There’s a rumble, and the plume of fire and smoke that erupts against the night sky tells you it’s not thunder. Angel brushes past you and grabs his tank top off the floor. You hear the snap of a clip and turn to see him checking the chamber of his gun. 

“You’re not going out there,” you say, and he looks at you like there’s nothing else to do. 

“They’re tearing shit apart!” he says, tucking the gun in the waistband of his jeans. 

“I don’t care! I do not care, we can replace it.” 

“Oh yeah, you gonna feel the same way when they get in here? Start tearing into all your nice furniture and knock over your plants? Or better yet, light this place up like a pack of matches?”

“And what are you gonna do with your little gun, Angel? There’s hundreds of them out there, no way!” Your argument is cut off by sounds of destruction coming from the side of the house. Your ears prick to the scraping of metal. 

“What the fuck are they doing?” you breathe, carefully looking around the side of the curtain. You feel like your grandmother, nosily watching the neighbors. An engine rumbles to life and Angel is at your side, practically ripping the curtain off the rod. 

“Oh I know they’re fucking not!” he shouts before tearing off down the hallway.

“Angel!” you call. Something else soars through the window, sending more shards flying, and you flinch away, hands coming up to protect your face. You’re not wearing any shoes, so you climb over the bed and tiptoe your way to the door. Out in the hallway is a torn-off side mirror. When you make it to the living room, the front door is open and you see Angel just standing there. The maniacal little monsters tear through the neighborhood. They’ve gotten into homes and cars. You see several toddling around in an old lady’s clothes. Two yards down a trio has commandeered a riding lawn mower. Standing on the railing of your porch is a goblin in a trenchcoat with dark sunglasses and a cigarette dangling from its mouth. It flashes you. But what has Angel’s attention, and what quickly grabs yours, is the group zigzagging and figure-eighting his motorcycle, tearing through lawns, bumping over curbs, narrowly avoiding parked cars. One creature with a mohawk that starts at the top of its head and runs down its back is at the handlebars, and the rest cling wherever they can, so that there’s more imp than motorcycle. The air is filled with squealing, snarling, and chaotic laughter. One of them falls off the motorcycle and gets caught under the rear wheel, the bike lurching forward with a crunch, green slime coating the tire. 

Angel has his gun in hand, but he’s not going to fire, not when there’s the possibility of missing and hitting his bike. A metal baseball bat sits inside the front door and he reaches for it. He swings his way off the front porch, knocking creatures off left and right. There’s too many, like you tried to tell him before, and one latches onto his right leg, like a toddler, except with scaly olive skin and razor sharp claws. He tries to shake it off when another leaps off the roof and onto his back. Worried he’s going to be swallowed by the lilliputians, you grab an empty planter from the porch and smash it over the head of the one on his shoulder. Angel swings the bat, knocking the other off his leg. He has three long gashes in the skin of his shoulder from where the monster tried to hold on.

“I told you we should have stayed inside,” you snap. 

“Fuck this,” Angel says. He points his gun in the air and fires. The shot brings the creatures to a grinding halt. The bike skids to a stop, leaving a black streak in the center of the street. Everything is quiet, but they’re all staring at you, and they’re angry. “Get your slimy ass off my fuckin’ bike!” he shouts. The furred goblin gripping the handlebars tilts its head to the side, seeming to understand. Your hand grips the back of Angel’s tank top as you eye the swarm surrounding you, ready to haul his dumb ass back inside the moment they look like they’re about to strike. The creature stands up on the seat of the motorcycle and snarls. Its snarl turns into a growl and the two of you watch unblinking as it grows. Its shoulders and legs crack and expand, and fur sprouts in gray patches across its body. The impossibly long claws grow longer, and the needle sharp teeth turn into fangs, curved and dripping with saliva. What you don’t notice is it’s not the only one. Smaller pockets among the mob are transforming too. The one on the bike howls when the effort is through, and the others respond. 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you whisper. A charge has been called and the throng pulses forward. You haul Angel back, although he’s not as resistant as you thought he would be. The roar of an engine catches everyone’s attention. The creatures stop mid-onslaught and you and Angel slow to look in the direction of the sound. A pick-up truck with a plow strapped to the front bulldozes through the horde, sending a creature screaming through the air, inches from Angel's face. Creeper hangs out the driver’s side window and Coco stands up in the bed. 

“Come on!” Creeper calls. The two of you don’t hesitate, barreling your way through the gaggle of disoriented monsters and climbing into the bed, where you’re also met with EZ and Gilly. The right side of Gilly’s face is spattered with the same green slime as Angel’s tire, and EZ’s shirt has been torn to ribbons, but if they’re distressed they’re not showing it. 

“Let’s get the fuck outta here!” Coco shouts, slamming the roof of the truck. Creeper rips through the grass and tumbles back out onto the street, passing the crazed four foot tall nightmare still standing on Angel’s motorcycle.

“Wait, my bike!” Angel says. Before he can move, you hook both arms around him. 

“No, absolutely not,” you say. The two of you settle back into the bed, Angel unhappily resigned. 

"Was that a fuckin' werewolf gremlin?" Coco asks.

[itsnenaxoxo]

Angel Reyes- Just Three Words

Angel Reyes x Latina!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of the Word Papi but is not in a sexual way. Term of Endearment., fluff and more fluff

Corazon- Heart

Te Amo- I love you.

*graphics not mine*

Thank You @angelreyesgirl & @starrynite7114 for the guidance.

Coming home from runs was always the same routine for Angel. He’d hang around the club house or just go home, shower and sleep. But since he’s been dating you he’s had someone to come home to.

He’d call you to spend the night so you’d be there by the time he got home. Your only been dating for a couple months but you made the exception to spend the night the days he was coming home. He loved coming home to sex you up and just be held. This time around he was anxious to get home because he was eager to take his next big boy step.

Ez noticed big brother was very pensive and didn’t know why. He knew you’d be there to welcome him home so the look on Angels face had him worried

“ why the ugly face?”

Angel laughed. “ nothing man, just thinkin”

Ez looked at his brother for further response. As far as he knew things between you ans Angel were going great. Angel was the happiest he’s ever been. Ez was greatly for you because you were what kept him level headed.

“ I wanna tell Y/N that I love her but I don’t know how. Every time I try the words won’t come out. It’s like I don’t know what if she doesn’t say it back”

“Look Angel, I know she loves you. Even if she hasn’t said it”

“How the fuck you gonna know Boy Scout, golden boy turn into Psychic boy all of a sudden?”

“No dumbass, I see it in her smile and in her eyes when she looks at you. You’re the Apple to her eye.”

Angel smiled.

“Alright man stop with that psychic boy shit I’m going home to my girl”

Angel was driving home and felt like he needed to throw up. He’s never told anyone I love you before. He never knew how he deserved you. You did small things for him that no one ever bothered to do. The way you took care of him(emotionally and physically), how you had the shower running for him when he came home and how he could feel like himself around you.

He made his way inside and his heart skipped a beat as he found you lounging in his bed watching a movie. Anytime he came home he found you in your favorite lounging pajamas. Ones he secretly liked because every time he would lay on you the softness of it would make it so much more cozy when you held him.

“ hi Corazon, the shower is running. Also I picked up some body wash for you. I saw you were running out”

The small details.

Angel could never wrap his head around someone remembering little details about him.

“ thank you mi dulce” he leaned in and gave you a tender kiss. He worked his way to your jaw followed by your neck. You let out a soft moan. You felt him smile into your neck and he followed with another kiss.

“Lemme go shower and I’ll come back and we can watch another movie yeah”

He was in the shower trying to prepare himself as to how he was gonna say it.

Come on Angel. It’s just 3 words.

He came out in nothing but boxer briefs and made his way under the covers. Most times he’d have you bent over the nearest surface or his head immediately between your thighs. Nights like this all he wanted was the intimacy he craved when he was away. He laid on you while you stroked his hair. Anytime he was with you he felt a sense of security. Something he had not felt since his mom passed away. Your slightest touch had this way of putting him at ease. You were scratching the back of his head when he propped himself up on his elbows and looked up at you. You felt his eyes on you and you looked away from the movie down at him. Giving him a smile. Angel's eyes always gave away what he was feeling. This time you couldn’t put a word to it so you were caressing his cheek tracing your fingers over his beard. He loved being caressed by you. He gave you this look that made you get butterflies in your stomach. It wasn’t lustful. It was pure.

You gave him a kiss on his forehead when you looked back at the movie playing when you heard the three words you’ve been wanting to tell him.

“I love you”

You looked down at him. You proceeded to say something when he said “ please querida let me finish”

“I’ve been wanting to say this for a while but Y/N you know I’m not good with words. I love you. I love having you here. There’s an emptiness I’ve always felt since mom died that I no longer feel when I’m with you. Growing up I always felt like the plant that people forgot to water and ever since I been with you I feel like you give me life. I feel like you see me. You don’t make me feel like some big dummy.”

Your eyes were tearing up that you didn’t realize you hadn’t said anything

“ I love you too Angel Ignacio”

Angel let out a big sigh. “ you had me scared for a minute. “

You started to pepper kisses on his lips.

“te amo, te amo, te amo”

“ Really?” Angel said looking at you with tears in his eyes.

“Yes, papi. I love you with all my heart. You're my everything.I’ve been wanting to say it too but i never found the perfect chance.”

Angel was relieved to hear that you were just as nervous and that you felt the same way. He thought back to the day he met you when you were talking to EZ about a book recommendation. He thought for sure he wouldn’t have a chance because everyone always chose EZ over him. Not you, you wanted your Angel. You were in between kisses but of course Angel always had to be his goofy self.

“You sure you don’t want Golden Boy, Ezekiel Reyes”

“Angel, you’re my golden boy. ”

[darklydeliciousdesires]

From Blood, Love and Courage - Chapter Four.

So posting another chapter a few days ago seemed to garner a bit more interest, that’s what your author likes to see! I love that you guys love Angel and Lily, I’m having fun writing them :) Looking forward to your thoughts over the next part! 

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three

Words - 5,177

Tag list - In the comments, please message to be added/removed

Warnings - Mentions of rape and the associated trauma of such to come in future chapters. While I do not plan on detailing these overtly graphically, there will be detailing of such and conversations surrounding the subject, so if this is a trigger for you, you’d be best not to begin reading the story. 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

“So, when you told me earlier that you had a habit of being really stupid when something good comes along...” Lily began, taking the cigarette he offered her. Balls to four a day. “In the spirit of being honest, is this something I’m gonna have to be on my guard over with you? I’d rather know now, Angel, if you’re gonna mess me around.”

He admired that, how straight she’d asked him, although he couldn’t deny, it made him feel uncomfortable. It did because of the way he viewed himself. Something hit him there as he sipped his beer, something quite profound; the way they both viewed themselves was almost exactly the same, as someone not good enough, someone who wasn’t worth choosing, so as a result of such, both acted in ways to sabotage it before they could end up as the one being rejected. Lily did it by running away. He usually did it by blowing up the relationship he was in, because he couldn’t handle when something went right and didn’t trust that it would continue to do so.  

It was very unhealthy self-preservation.  

He took a breath, scratching his beard. “I don’t want you to be, I really don’t, because like I said don’t wanna be that guy any longer. I’m thirty-two now, so old enough to know better and start sorting my shit out, you know?” She cocked her head, a soft incline that confirmed she did. “I guess I have my own issues that aren’t entirely dissimilar to yours.”  

“Care to discuss them? I mean, you know mine, so I think it’s only fair, really.” He visibly closed up a little at that, dropping his head, his shoulders hunching up a tad. It was obvious that it was something that didn’t come easily to him. Despite his body sending such a message, though, Angel knew that if anyone was to get it and not judge him over it either, it would be her.  

“I kinda always felt second best to my brother when I was growing up,” he began, her face softening at hearing such. On the little he’d touched upon regarding his brother, she’d sensed there was something there that prickled at him. “I mean, we get on great now, but I always resented him a little, my folks too. He was smarter than me, a better son, had this whole glowing trajectory ahead of him and I think the more it pissed me off, the worse I became, the more paranoid I got. I mean, I’m dealing with it more now, seeing it for what it was, which was me being an angry, jealous kid, but it’s still baggage I carry. I know mom and dad loved me just as much, they just weren’t as proud, and I didn’t give ‘em much to be proud about, so yeah, when someone makes me their first choice, I have trouble believing it’s real and thus act like an asshole.”

He shifted and fiddled the entire way through his explanation, only being able to meet her eyes a couple of times. He might have come out with it, but boy, it hadn’t been easy. For this, Lily really appreciated him. It was deep territory to venture into on a first date, but for two people with rejection issues as significant as theirs, tackling it head on was likely going to be the most conducive route in ensuring their own insecurities didn’t ruin something they knew could be good, if they let it be. After all, neither could deny how well they’d connected, that first night.

“Because you always feel like there’s someone better out there, right?”

He widened his eyes a little at her assumption. “Right, exactly that.” He just wasn’t used to this level of honest discourse with a woman, especially not this soon, either.  

“Yeah, I get it. In my... I want to say it was my fourth, but I can’t remember exactly, foster home, there were two kids in care there, me and another little girl. The family decided to adopt her, but not me. It broke my heart, I was only six, but I was so happy there. They were good people, nice people, had a gorgeous home, golden retriever dogs, apple tree in the backyard, all that. And what it boiled down to, I now see through adult eyes, wasn’t me as all. It was just that they couldn’t feasibly afford to take both me and Brooke in, so chose her. I mean, she was the better behaved out of the two of us, so I can’t fault them there either.”

“I guess my mom choosing heroin over me what just the start of me being overlooked in favour of something else, and that’s what spurred my own anger, meant I ran away from foster homes before they could get chance to overlook me, ending up in group homes which were a thousand times worse. Maybe, though, in meeting each other, knowing where we’re both coming from, it’ll be different, because we have that same similarity,” she explained, Angel snorting softly.

“What, two emotional fuck ups together?”

She laughed, grasping his hand. “Yeah, exactly that.” It was daunting, quite scary in what they’d sat and confessed to one another, the deep dark that they knew they hadn’t ever dealt with healthily in the past. Both couldn’t deny, they felt somewhat lighter for discussing it, though. “Anyway, this isn’t exactly first date conversation. Let’s move it along so something lighter.”

His face brightened in an instant. “Yeah, let’s do that!”  

She sat and asked him questions, anything she could think of which she hadn’t upon their first meet, learning of how he first began to pursue a passion for motorcycles, fixing up old, broken wrecks in his parents' backyard, moving from job to job but always having that one constant, until he and his old friend Johnny, who’d served time in the military, found themselves gravitating towards life in the MC and starting out as prospects at the same time.  

“You had to do all of that?” Lily cried at hearing some of the duties prospects were tasked with, her mouth handing open. She knew there’d always be a limit to what she knew, or more aptly, what he was prepared to reveal, the club of course existing as a mere motorcycle enthusiasts organisation to most people outside it, but others of course, such as her, not so naïve over their dealings upon the other side of the law.  

“Oh yeah, prospects get the shit work to prove their loyalty, and it ranges from demeaning to all out gross, and everything in between. Tests your mettle, though, to see if you want the patch badly enough,” he cringed, remembering some of the things he’d been tasked with. Jesus. Grim. “So, how was training today? You looked great from where I was standing.”  

“It went really well, despite the fact I learned I’m being put into a fight against my nemesis in nine weeks from now, which I’m not happy about, but I see Larry’s reasoning over it entirely,” she replied, stubbing out her cigarette and taking a sip of her vodka and soda.  

Angel nodded toward her, raising an eyebrow. “A nemesis, huh? Bitch gonna lose half her damn face then, right?”

“Well,” she began through a ripple of laughter. “She fractured my eyebrow the last time we fought, really put me on my ass with a knockout head kick.” He could see by the way she rolled the two small straws in her drink around through the ice cubes that the idea perturbed her. Even fighters as accomplished as Lily had people whom they feared, which just made her even more endearing to him.  

“Then I agree with Larry. You need to go finish her, mamacita, show her that first time was just a fluke!” Mamacita, her beloved Carlos’ favourite pet name for her, Lily telling him as much. “Carlos, was that the guy checking me out as soon as I walked into the coffee shop earlier, or the tall guy with the shaved head?”

“Yeah, that’s him, the one who was looking at you like you were his lunch.”  

Angel snorted hard with laughter. “I felt like he was gonna vault the counter and dive on me.”  

“Had you not been there to see me, he likely would have!” she assured him, Angel laughing. “Oh, he was going crazy for you, said you made him feel like he was getting the menopause.”  

It was an unfortunate moment for Angel to have taken a sip of beer, spraying it back out over the chair beside him, completely cracking up. “He sounds like he’s fun.”

“He makes having to be around El Chupacabra more bearable,” Lily confirmed, Angel liking how she used his name for her somewhat cantankerous boss.

“Yeah, what’s her deal? She always that mean?”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “I guess she has a job to do, but she’s always been moody, not very personable.”

He shrugged. “Maybe she don’t get laid much.”  

“It wouldn’t surprise me. It’d mean she had to crack her face for longer than six seconds.” He snorted laughing at that. “She’s probably got cobwebs in her undies. Like the mom from Drop Dead Fred.”

“That movie is so damned funny!” Angel shouted with excitement. “Ain’t hardly anyone I know who’s heard of it, though. The guy, the British dude, what’s his name?”

“Rik Mayal.” Lily offered, Angel ceasing snapping his fingers as he attempted to jog his memory, pointing right at her.

“Yeah, that’s him. See, this is something else I really like about you, you just know shit. Like, I dunno, I bet you could probably name the sixteenth US president off the top of your head or something,” he mused, sipping his beer.

“Well, that isn’t difficult. It was Abraham Lincoln,” she shrugged.  

As if she knew, just like that, no mental straining to attain the answer. “See, that’s what happens when you pay attention at school. I barely even turned up for history class. I was usually too busy smoking weed or getting laid.”  

“So not much of a historical wealth of info then, no?”

He snorted. “No, but I’m damned good at rolling joints and eating pussy.”

Her eyebrows twitched, Lily watching her drink straws between her teeth as she laughed softly. “I’ll drink to that.” Just thinking about him doing it sent a little pleasant shiver through her, grinning as she drained her drink.  

“Stop thinking about my tongue,” he chided with a wink. “I feel violated, just from a look.”  

“Funny, since you’re the one who's proficient in violation,” she clapped back, Angel smirking.

“You want another drink?”  

She licked her lip, just the touch of her tongue against that bee stung pout making something inside him feel as though it had snapped. “Among other things.” He adored that duality in her, how she could suddenly go from quite demure, to unashamedly flirtatious in a nanosecond. He laughed, a low rumble of amusement, winking as he got up, heading inside to the bar. While inside, he heard a slight commotion going on out front, arriving back to see the other part of duality regarding Lily he also enjoyed. Threatened Lily was quite the thing to behold.  

“We got a problem here?” he questioned, placing the drinks down, remaining on his feet for that moment.  

“Yeah, that stupid drunken fuck just crashed right into me and then gave me a mouthful of abuse when I told him to apologise,” Lily spoke, affronted by such behaviour.  

Angel immediately turned to the two guys still present. “Oh, I’d apologise if I were you.”

“Why? What are you gonna do if I don’t?” the irked drunk replied, he and his friend puffing their chests, holding their arms out wide and expressively to give them the appearance of much larger men than the two skinny fellas they actually were.  

“I don’t gotta do nothing, but her? Yikes,” Angel began, jerking his head towards Lily as he sat down casually. “I got a good five inches in height and thirty pounds of muscle on you, bro, and not even I’d fuck with her.”

“I want my apology,” Lily gritted, eyeing him sharply.  

“Yeah?” the guy sneered, leaning in close to her. He was about to suggest that maybe she suck his dick first, except he only managed to get the first few words of his tirade out. Lily calmly standing and snap kicking him straight under the chin. An accurate assessment of the situation would be that he flew. At least eight feet back, landing on the sidewalk with a slap.  

Lily sat, picking up her drink and taking a sip. “He warned you, dude.” Winking at Angel, she noted how proud he looked of her ability to handle herself.

“Hey yo, fuck that shit, nah! You can’t go around kicking people in the face!” his friend cried, storming toward Lily.  

“One more step, homie,” Angel warned, about to fly across the table, bracing himself. 

“And what? I’ll get my boys down here, man!”

“Oh, you gon’ get your boys here?” He revealed his forearm, tapping the Mayans ink. “Then I’ll get mine. Get the fuck out of here, homeboy. Before I change my mind about not smacking you the fuck down for daring to rush my girl.”

“Yeah, I’ll sit this one out and let him handle it. Trust me, you don’t want him to handle it,” Lily advised, reaching for Angel’s hand across the table, waving with her other. “Bye, bye, asshole.” They had the sense to stagger away after that, muttering, a few other people whom were sitting outside looking at Lily approvingly, one man even getting up to jog over and offer his hand.  

“Very nicely done, ma’am,” he chuckled, Lily giggling as she shook his hand. “You got yourself a good girl here, bro.”

Angel smiled. “Don’t I just?” Lily sat there, quietly effervescing on the inside at Angel referring to her as his girl, and acknowledging her to be that to the man who’d referred to her as such. She knew she wasn’t strictly such yet, it was very early days between them, but it made her glimmer all the same. They stayed for a couple more before heading back to Lily’s place, Angel immediately fascinated with Charlie as soon as Lily walked in and let him jump from his cage onto her shoulder.  

“Be careful, he’s bitey with new people,” she warned, Angel leaning back a little.  

“’Sup, Charlie? How you doing?” he asked, Charlie surprising her greatly by lifting his wing.  

“He wants you to pet him.”  

Angel reached slowly, just in case the large, black beak made a beeline for his fingers, stroking the bird where long feathers met short, soft down.

“Who?” Charlie croaked, looking back at Lily.  

“This is Angel.” The bird clicked his beak a few times and then grasped onto Angel’s hand with his feet and began to patter down his arm.  

“Hi, hi, hi.” he chirped, Angel moving his other hand to continue the petting beneath his wing... and swiftly regretting it.  

“God damnit!” he hissed, Charlie snapping onto his little finger knuckle, Lily trying not to laugh.  

“Charlie, that’s bad! Don’t bite Angel, we like him. Angel is your buddy,” she corrected, Charlie scratching his head nonchalantly while Angel examined his finger. It was bleeding, but he could cope, sucking it as he side eyed the bird still sitting on his arm.  

“Grapes!”

“Oh, you ain’t getting shit from me now, bro!” Angel exclaimed, eyes widening.

Charlie rolled his eyes around, shaking his head, his comb fluttering. “Fuck you.” He couldn’t help but crack up at that, Lily snickering behind her hand.  

“Think you’re a real G, huh, Charlie?” The bird just scampered further up his arm, perching on his shoulder and whistling a few times, looking contented enough. Angel was on his guard for further attack, though, following Lily through to the kitchen.  

“Would you like a drink? I have coffee, loads of herbal teas, juice, vodka and tequila,” Lily offered, smiling when she felt his fingers trail her hip, Angel kissing her shoulder. Suddenly, he yelled, right into her ear.  

“Damnit, Charlie!”  

Lily turned, seeing him holding a hand to his ear, Charlie, in all his audacity, dancing on his shoulder with mirth, comb up, bobbing and squawking. “Okay, come here, jealous boy!” Tapping her shoulder, Charlie jumped over, Lily moving Angel’s hand to examine the damage. “Nah, you’re good. He got Carlos so badly one time, he needed a stitch! He can be jealous sometimes when people show me affection.”

“Yeah, you ain’t kidding! And I’ll take a tequila, please.” He viewed the bird suspiciously, taking his drink with thanks, Lily pouring herself a vodka and going to the fridge to fetch Charlie his snacks. She sensed he needed appeasing. Once he was pacified, she popped him back in his cage, pulling the blanket down so he’d settle, heading to her bathroom to douse a couple of pieces of cotton wool in antiseptic.  

“Come here,” she gestured, sticking one piece on his ear and the other against his finger, Angel grumbling immediately.  

“What is that shit, acid?” he complained, Lily tutting.

“For someone with what is very obviously a scar on his leg from being shot, you complain like a child over two teeny cuts.”

“It stings!” His exclamation was met with an eyeroll, although beneath, she was entertained at how dramatic he could be over something quite minor. She noticed that if an opportunity presented itself for Angel to get worked up about something, he usually took it.  

“Want me to take your mind off it?” Ahh, the grin. She knew that’d have the desired effect.  

“Do you even need to ask?”  

Placing the pieces of slightly bled upon cotton onto the counter, she leaned to kiss his neck, unbuttoning the dark blue plaid shirt he was wearing, kissing his chest as it was revealed to her, tackling his belt next as she crouched. “I’ll just be down here, then.” He finished his drink, setting the glass down, hands combing through the long, dark silk of her hair, inhaling sharply through his nose when she took him into her mouth and sucked. He was fully hard in mere seconds.  

She eyed him prettily through her fluttery, long lashes, running her tongue in a sumptuous glide up the underside of his shaft, watching his pupils begin to dilate, his lips parting upon a deep moan. Her thumbs toured the ridges of muscle creasing his hips, soft, explorative glides in time with her lips sliding along his cock, his eyes closing as his head tipped back. God, how could one woman be so good? If his cock could have spoken to him telepathically in that moment, it would have told him that if he messed this up, it’d never, ever forgive him.  

Her nails glided up his chest, pinching his nipples as her mouth quickened, tongue pressing, lips firming around him, sucking from base to tip with a soft moan, her huge, blue eyes staring up at him. His hands tightened in her hair, teeth gritted through low moans, his hips swaying forward against her mouth as he felt himself starting to flourish, his chest heaving as he panted hard. As if she could get him there that quickly. Fuck.  

“Yeah, cum for me, Angel. Fucking make me choke on it.” Those words sent him straight to nirvana, taking him deep and sucking hard until he spilled into her throat with an almost helpless groan, his thighs trembling as he came so hard, he had to let go of her hair and reach back to brace himself against the counter.  

“Jesus Christ,” he panted. “You’re way too good at that.”  

Lily grinned, pleased with herself, picking up her drink and sinking it before sauntering from the kitchen, undressing and letting her clothes fall upon the path he took to follow her. The gradual strip prompted the same of his own, both naked by the time they got to her bedroom, Angel taking a little glance around. Deep grey and white, tranquil, relaxing, although he didn’t plan on doing much of that for the rest of the night.  

He stroked her arms, leaning down to kiss the side of her neck. “Get on the bed.”

Something pleasant ran through her in a shiver. “Oh, so he’s forceful tonight.”

“He is.” The confirmation was sealed by the glide of his tongue along the outer rim of her ear, his fingertips stroking swirls over her tits. “Now, get on the bed.”  

She did as he instructed, climbing on, Angel shaking his head. “Turn over, ass up.” Immediately, she corrected, her insides glowing with arousal. “There you go, much better. Exactly how I’ve wanted you all fucking night.” He lay on his front behind her, lifting himself up on his forearms, laying a lick up the back of her thigh, watching the pale flesh become flecked with goosepimples, the smell of her sex intoxicating to him, kissing the pert round of her butt cheek, licking his thumb and then dragging it through her slit, circling at her clit.  

Her mouth dropped open, a soft moan of pure beauty fluttering from between her parted lips, his teeth laying a soft bite against the hard muscle of her rump before she felt his tongue swirl her opening. He pushed it within, a low groan rattling his throat when he felt her yield and flutter, taking a mouthful of her in a hungry suck before tongue fucking her again.

Moving his thumb, his tongue skimmed a soft lick over her clit, just once, watching her pretty little hole twitch, pressing the flat of his tongue against her and dragging slowly, her mewl an utter delight to his ears. He could feel his cock beginning to stiffen again, sucking at her, a hand slapping hard off her ass cheek, remembering how much she’d loved it before, Lily feeling like she was becoming slowly gilded in erotic divinity. How was he this good?

She paid no mind to furtherly questioning his prowess, rather enjoying it instead. The ceaseless licks of wet heat against her clit had her softly wailing, his hand spanking hard, Lily attempting to keep her thighs held firm, but suffered trembles as a result of the adroitness of his mouth. He moved to lie beneath her, pushing against her knees with his elbows, tongue rubbing a flat lick from side to side over her clit, two fingers sliding into the wet clutch of her cunt, his other hand spanking her a few more times before it switched places with the left, Angel using his well-soaked fingers to push into her ass.  

“Oh my fucking god!” she whimpered, little jolts streaking through her, his moan rumbling a soft vibration against her bud as he sucked it, fingers gliding from both holes in the sweetest of tandem.  

“Lily?”

“Yeah?” she breathed, her voice tremoring a little.  

“Can I bang you up the butt?” Oh, Angel. Sexual talent in shades? Yes, he had that. Eloquence with words? Not so much. She couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “What?”

“You! ‘Can I bang you up the butt’, oh my god!” she cried, somewhere between laughing and moaning as he continued.  

He snorted softly, snickering a little too. “It’s a perfectly reasonable question!”  

“It’s the way you said it!”

“Oh, pardon the fuck out of my wording, mamacita,” he began, shifting beneath her until he was level with her face. “Lily, baby, please may I slip my cock straight up your pretty little asshole? Is that any better for you?” The way he eyed her, one eyebrow tilted up significantly higher than the other had her in utter hysterics, taking a moment to collapse against his chest in a fit of giggles.  

“You may, yes,” she eventually replied, shifting off of him. “Hold on, I have lube in the naughty box.”

Angel’s ears pricked up immediately at the mention of a naughty box. “Oh? And what else do you have in this so-called naughty box?” he watched as she pulled a large, heavy box from beneath the bed, flicking the clasps and throwing it open to reveal an array of toys. “Yeah, you got everything. I’m helping myself to this, though, and gimmie that lube.” Grasping the butt plug he saw in there, nothing that the jewel at the end of it matched her eyes perfectly, he grinned, sliding back beneath her again, taking the bottle of lube with him too.

“Not intimidated by my naughty box, well, there’s a first,” she commented, Angel laughing a little.

“Why the fuck would I be? It’s moulded silicone and things that buzz. Ain’t no replacement for a flesh and blood man, but damn, I spied a few other things in there I have absolutely no problem with using on you as well.”  

“Some guys aren’t so cool with the idea,” she noted, exclaiming softly when she felt the slippery point of the plug pushed against her.  

“I ain’t some guys. Your little gizmos aren't my competition, they’re my occasional co-pilots.” Anything she might have liked to reply with was knocked from her throat by the moan that bubbled up, feeling herself breeched as he pushed the plug fully inside her, his tongue connecting with a sweeping lick through her folds, hand spanking her frivolously. It felt too good, her tight passage flexed around the plug, his fingers slipping back within the hug of her wetness, tongue circling her clit firmly.  

She didn’t think it could get better, until he grasped onto the end of the plug and began moving it from side to side, her slick muscles locking around his fingers, her cries amping up, Angel experiencing the usual thrill from hearing just how mindless he was driving the woman he was with. It was even better now it was with someone he genuinely liked a lot. Every moment with Lily, and he felt himself pulled in closer.  

And it was only a little scary, rather than the usual overwhelming feeling of doom.  

In fact, the only thing he felt right then was the consuming desire to be inside of her, moving out from under her gently shuddering body to kneel behind her, gripping her hips as he slid into her fully, hand coming down to spank her hard. Oh, how she hollered in response. He felt like he was about to cum on the spot, just from that. Feeling the pressure of the plug against his cock through the thin membrane separating was almost too good, his fingertips flexing against her skin as he fucked her with long, even strokes, continuing to spank her, hard slaps leaving big, red hand prints behind, just how she liked it.  

He had her shuddering pleasantly, her breath hitching, the anticipation of each spank rolling though her like a ball of warm sparkles, her pulse flipping madly as her hands grasped at the bed covers beneath her. Excitement electrified her like a live current, the drag of his cock through her fluttering wetness absolutely exquisite, Angel slowing, giving her all-in, all-out thrusts, knowing he was driving pure heat to dance as a blaze of embers across her nerve endings, stroking her clit with the tip of his cock before fluidly sliding back in again, pounding her voraciously, before once again, it all became slow.  

He continued this until he had pure ecstasy fizzing through her, his own arousal beginning to spiral, retreating from her and grasping the plug, gently pulling it from her. Turning her over, he hauled her up to rest on his thighs, leaning forward to kiss her.  

“Damn, you’re too fine.” His compliment preceded another kiss, Lily stroking his neck with her nails, panting against his tongue, her breath hitching when he straightened up, beginning to push slowly into her, her narrow passage opened from the plug, but not so much that her eyebrows didn’t knit together at the extra widening needed to take him anally. He kept slow as he gradually inched his way in, reading her bodily reactions and facial expressions, stopping if she looked or sounded pained, waiting for her to adjust.

“Oh fuck… oh my god, that’s amazing!” she exclaimed, the sensation absolutely incredible to her as he continued to keep on slipping in. “Okay, I don’t think I can take much more now.” She then hissed, feeling a little uncomfortably full, but still, the pleasure, the tingles. She was in rapture.

“Well, mamacita, you’ve got most of me. Fuck, you take a cock so well in your ass, you dirty girl.” He growled, leaning forward to kiss her hungrily, excitement washing over him as he began to slide out slowly once more, gripping her hips as he groaned gutturally.

It was all encompassing pleasure, entrenched in erotic heat, his thumb moving to her clit to rub a slow, firm circle, making her mewl softly, a precursor to the most animalistic cry he’d ever heard come from her mouth as he began to speed up the motions of his cock.

He only thrilled her further by pushing two fingers into her sumptuous heat, her cunt gripping them strongly as he raked her pulsing walls, Lily not able to remember anything feeling better than what her gorgeous new lover was bestowing upon her in that moment. Everything became torridly uncontained, both chasing their release until the point of fiery consumption, the ultimate feelings of nirvana rushing through them both, Angel pulling his cock from within her and finishing all over her tits, collapsing at her side, unable to breathe.

“Damn... where the hell have you been for the last ten years of my life?” he panted, Lily turning to him, unable to speak for a moment.  

“Give me a minute,” she whispered, chest still heaving. “I’m so dick drunk right now.” He burst into immediate hysterics, watching her flounder a little more. “I’m here now. I’m also in need of a shower. And food. You hungry?”

“I could eat,” he confessed, resting up on his elbows as he reached to stroke her hair.  

“Good. I’m gonna order a pizza, take a shower, and then come back here and eat it in bed. I feel like watching something, too. Ahhh, yeah! There it is!” Hoping up off the bed, she went to her shelves and pulled out a DVD, revealing it to Angel. The Five Deadly Venoms.  

“No shit, you like kung fu movies?” he exclaimed, pleasantly surprised.  

“Like ‘em? They’re my cinematic passion!”  

Twenty-five minutes later, and he was eating a slice of hot pizza with everything on it, Lily lying between his legs, her head rested on his chest, the opening sequence of the film playing out. Yes. Where the hell had this woman been for the last ten years? He could have done with finding someone like her a lot sooner than he had.  

[flightlessangelwings]

Kinktober Day 4: Spanking

Spanking || Role reversal || Knife play

Angel Reyes x fem!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: smut, spanking (pussy, ass, softly on face), unprotected sex, slightly rough sex, no plot just porn, no use of y/n

Notes: I wanted to do knife play for today but I already did that before and this idea popped into my head so I ran with it! Kinktober list provided by @the-purity-pen! If you wanna stay up to date on my fics, feel free to also follow my update blog and turn on post notifs @flightlessangelwings-updates​

~

Rides with Angel were always a thrill. Whether you were perched behind him on his bike with the wind in your face, or if you rode him while you were both naked in bed, you always knew you were in for a good time. Right now, you enjoyed the latter.

It was a hot summer night, and the heat rose in Angel’s bedroom as your sweaty bodies writhed together in the sensual dance you both did so often and so well. Angel laid out on his back while you bounced on his cock with your back to him. Normally, he liked it when you faced him while you rode him, but the view of your ass was unmatched.

Angel bent his leg up so that you grinded on his thigh while you rode him, and your moans got even louder with the added friction. You slumped forward slightly as you grinded your body against his. His big, strong hands stayed firmly on your hips as he guided you on his cock, and he couldn’t help but growl and groan at how good you felt around him. The heat that surrounded Angel was nothing compared to the heat from you that surrounded his cock, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

“Fuck… Angel…” you moaned as you impaled yourself over and over on his length while your clit rubbed against the tense muscles of his leg. Your mind swam with emotions and feelings of pleasure, and it was a bliss unlike anything else in the world.

“I know querida,” he cooed as he rubbed at your ass. You clenched tighter around him, and Angel let out a low groan in repose as he squeezed your ass harder. And that was when he got an idea.

With your ass right in the palm of his hand, Angel couldn’t help but give it a little smack. It was soft at first to test the waters, but when you let out a moan, Angel felt more encouraged. He reeled back and slapped your ass again, only harder this time. And the cry you let out was positively sinful.

“You like that, baby?” Angel purred as he smacked you again, and the sound that reverberated in the room almost drowned out the cry you let out. “Answer me, baby,” he growled as he slapped you again.

You threw your head back and cried out into the room, “Yes,” you moaned, “Angel… Yes…”

Angel growled again as he slapped you once more and this time he grabbed onto the flesh of your ass and used his strength to hold you still on his cock. You whined loudly as you trembled in his grip, the mix of absolute pleasure mixed with the hint of pain was almost too much for you to bear, but yet you still craved more.

Angel pushed himself up to sit, and you cried out when you felt him move within you. The entire time, his hands never left your ass, and you knew you were safe and secure in his grip. As he lifted himself up, Angel kissed up along your spine wherever he could reach, and he grinned against your skin when he felt you shiver at his touch. It was a brief moment of softness as Angel kissed and caressed you while you sat in his lap, his dick still buried deep inside you.

But the moment was gone before you could fully savor it, and without warning, Angel flipped you over so that you landed face down onto the bed. You squealed at the sudden rush of movement, and he was so swift that you didn’t even register that he pulled out in the process. You grabbed onto the sheet and whimpered at the loss when you felt his hands on your body as Angel stood behind you.

“Shit querida,” Angel groaned as his hands ran down your back and landed on your ass once more.

You whimpered as you braced for him to slap your ass again and your heart pounded as you anticipated that blissful mix of pain and pleasure. But, he surprised you. Instead, Angel slapped you right on your dripping pussy. You let out a loud scream and almost fell forward, but Angel held onto your hip and kept your ass in the air for him.

“Fuck!” you cried out as he slapped your pussy again and you swore you saw stars for a second.

“You like that, baby?” Angel asked in a teasing tone. He knew how much you liked it, since he saw how wet you were and you had never cried out louder than when he smacked your pussy. But, the straining pain between his own legs soon called his attention, and the need to fill you again was almost overwhelming.

Angel used his strength and flipped you over so that you were on your back with your legs in the air. You looked up at him with wide eyes and a surprised expression; he had never manhandled you like this before, but you absolutely loved it. With your name in his lips in a low tone, Angel lined himself up at your entrance and thrusted into you in one swift movement. Both of you cried out in pleasure as he wasted no time in rocking in and out of you at a hard and fast pace.

You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and clung to him as he fucked into you. Angel propped himself up to look into your eyes, and with his free hand, he trailed up the front of your body to cup your face. You whimpered when you were forced to look into his eyes, your emotions almost overtaking you. You clenched around him as you felt your climax fast approach, but Angel wasn’t finished with you yet. 

He wasn’t sure what possessed him, but Angel let go of your face and slapped your cheek softly. He was worried for a moment that he crossed a line, but when your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth dropped open to let out a loud moan, he knew you were ok with it. Not to mention, he felt the way you gripped him with your inner muscles, and if you were to tell him to stop, he would without question. But, as long as you enjoyed his roughness, Angel kept going and he fucked into you even harder and slapped your cheek again.

That was all it took for you to completely come undone and your body trembled as you came hard with a loud scream, “Angel!”

“Fuck querida,” he growled as he came right after you and spilled himself deep in your body before he collapsed down on top of you.

Heavy breaths filled the room as you and Angel laid still and took a few moments to recover your strengths. He was the first to move after some time, and carefully Angel pulled out and laid down next to you to check you over for any marks. You whimpered softly, but you made no attempt to move.

“You alright?” Angel asked in a soft tone as he gently caressed you.

“Fuck, Angel,” you breathed as you opened your eyes to look into his, “That was so fucking hot,” you added with a laugh.

“Fuck yeah it was,” he agreed and joined in your laughter.

“We gotta do that again,” you sounded more enthusiastic as your strength slowly returned.

Angel beamed at you, “Hell yes,” he leaned in and kissed your forehead, “But I need a snack break first.”

“That sounds perfect.”

~

Mayans tags

@bucketheadredacted​ @rae-gar-targaryen​ @just1bri​ @blessedboo​ @recklessworry​ @Pedrohoe04

[calif0rnia-lovers]

Lover of Mine. || Masterlist

When I take a look at my life, and all of my crimes, you're the only thing that I think I got right.

Summary: When your marriage to Angel fell through you weren’t surprised. High school sweethearts never make it. The loss of his mother broke Angel in a way even you couldn’t fix. It left him in a state where he couldn’t balance coping and keeping his family together. You never believed you were meant for the lifestyle that came with the club, and you hated Angel for believing it was all he was destined for. As he threw himself into the MC, you focused on raising your son with Angel at a safe distance. But as your son grows older you realize that, although strong, a mother’s love can never replace a father.

Sign up for the series taglist. | Series Mixtape

"How come you and daddy aren’t married?”

The question raised cuts through and halts the room’s conversation. 

Your son's eyes pass over the quiet room before dropping down to watch you finish tightening his tie. The silence makes the eight-year-old wonder if he hadn’t spoken loud enough. 

“It’s just...Adam’s mom said it’s bad for people to have babies when they’re not married...”

Jeyson’s voice quickly dies out at the sound of the front door opening. It was a conversation he wasn’t meant to hear, but he’d heard it nonetheless. There was much more to the late-night conversation, shared between Adam’s mother and father, that your son doesn’t share. Words that Jeyson was shocked to hear coming from the parents of his best friend. Words about his father that cause Jeyson’s eyes to drop to his lap as Angel rounds the corner.

01. Every Time You Catch the First Date Blues.

02. If We Lose Our Love (I Pray It’s In Slow Fade).

03. I Would Live a Thousand Lifetimes If It’s You I’m Sent to Find

04. You And I Can’t Even Mess It Up

05. A Heavy Heart to Carry

05.5. For Better, For Worse.

06. Will We Last the Night?

07. Jeyson Iván Reyes.

08. Was It Worth Her Life?

09. Doves and Ravens Fly the Same

10.

Extra Chapters:

Junior Year in Highschool

[samcrobae]

Two of Hearts, Part III

Part 2 can be found here: https://samcrobae.tumblr.com/post/637870420669939713/two-of-hearts-part-ii

A/N: credit to original gif creator . It’s a long one. But our reward is at the end. Stay with me ❤️

4 loud knocks to your front door startle you off the couch as you were sat watching The Vampire Diaries. You look through the peephole and see EZ on the other side of your door, hands gripping the sides of his kutte.

“Ezekiel...” you defensively cross your arms across your chest, unsure how to feel now that you’re face to face with him again.

“Y/N... please, can we talk?”

You look at your feet and slowly nod your head, opening the door further, allowing him to step inside.

You sat on the couch, and he sat on the ottoman in front of you.

“Y/N... I don’t really know where to start here... but-" he began.

“Where were you?” You blankly blurt out.

“Stockton. Look, baby...let me just start from the beginning-" EZ reaches over to you and takes your hand in his, but you pull away.

“Why?”

Putting his head down in defeat, he fumbled with his fingers. He sucked in a breath before letting it go and explaining. “I was following a lead... I had been doing research on the guy that killed my mom... I found Him. I needed answers. I needed to know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You felt the tears beginning to sting your eyes, but fought to hard to keep them at bay. “Why did you go alone?”

“If I had told you, would you have let me go alone?” EZ’s jaw clenched.

“Why didn’t you tell Angel? He would have wanted to be there..”

“I needed to go alone. Angel has too much going on with the MC, I mean I’m pretty much dead to them now I’m sure, but this was personal. Club would have made him pick. I needed to go alone.”

“EZ, Angel is your brother! Marisol was his mom too! You made a decision that he should have had a say in too. That’s not fair!” You voice was now raised and you were angry. You were angry he didn’t tell you, angry he went alone, but you were even more angry that he didn’t include Angel.

“Listen Y/N I’m trying here alright? Since when do you care about Angel’s feelings so much? I’m here. I’m back now. I want you to understand why I did what I did. I want this. Us.”

There go his stupid hands again reaching for yours. You pull them away and stand up, frustratingly running your hands through your hair.

“Ezekiel....There’s no US.” Dammit the tears. They were free flowing and there was nothing you could do to stop them.

EZ stood up and walked toward you, his arms reaching for your waist, but your hands moved his away before he found it. “Y/N... what? I love you, you love me. Can’t we just make this work?”

“I love you Ezekiel... but it’s not enough, is it?”

“Wh—" it was his turn to fight back the tears, “what do you mean?”

“My love wasn’t enough. I loved you. And you left. And I get it EZ, you had to do this for you. But what about me? I spent 4 months drinking away my sorrow, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t sleep, I was afraid to be left alone with my thoughts because it all came back to you. There’s no us.”

You walked toward the front door and held it open, EZ slowly approaching.

“You said loved. Past tense.” He grimaces as he repeats your words.

“Bye Ezekiel.”

————————————————————-

EZ sped into the clubhouse parking lot, knowing full well the rest of the Mayan men would be there. This was the first time he was showing his face there in 8 long months. He didn’t care, he was seeing red.

He put his bike in park and swung the clubhouse doors open. Silence fell over the clubhouse at his reappearance, but didn’t last long as he made a run straight to Angel, shoving him hard against the wall.

“What the fuck did you do Angel?!!! What the fuck did you say to her?!”

Angel caught himself and quickly wound up, shoving EZ to the ground. Before it could go any further Bishop and Tranq were there to break it up.

“What the fuck is going on!!” Bishop shouted.

“I don’t know let’s ask Angel. Y/N doesn’t want anything to do with me but seems to care so badly about Angel and his feelings. So tell us big brother, what the fuck is going on?”

Gilly looked over at Coco, Coco intently staring back and forth between the brothers. With a breath of shock Gilly mumbled out “yeah. It’s a thing.”

Angel narrowed his eyes at his brother, trying to maintain his composure. What he really wanted to do was beat the shit out of him for breaking you the way he did.

“Oh boo fuckin hoo Ez, your girlfriend doesn’t want anything to do with you,” suddenly realization hit Angel. “Did you go see her? You talked to her?”

“Yeah Angel I talked to her. And she seemed to care more about the fact that I left you. Not her. What the fuck did you say to her? Did you fuck her that night I came home? You were coming out of my bedroom. Did you fuck my girl bro?”

“No, no one fucked anyone. Can you blame her for wanting nothing to do with you? You fuckin left her. No heads up, no explanation, you broke her Ezekiel! You didn’t see the way she cried every night, the way she fuckin doubted herself, you made her feel like she wasn’t enough man. And who was left to pick up the pieces huh? US. Your fuckin brothers!! Who was left to pick her up off the floor when she was too drunk to walk ? ME. I took care of her. I spent her birthday with her. I held her when she cried, FOR YOU. So yeah she wants nothing to do with you now, maybe she fuckin realized you ain’t shit. You didn’t love her.” Angels eyes were wild and his nostrils flared as he was inches away from his brothers face.

EZ smirked back at him, “that’s cute Angel you’re in love with her. She’ll never fuckin love you the way you need her to. Remember, she ain’t yours brother”.

Angel nodded his head and looked at the rest of the Mayan men, ready to throw shit down if it came to that. “You’re right...I didn’t fuck her. Man did I fucking want to. I’d be lying to your face if I said I wanted nothing more that night than to feel her pussy wrap around me... but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, because I would have been too ashamed of myself for letting that happen with my brothers girl but by the sounds of it, she ain’t yours anymore. Nah she ain’t my girl. Because if she was, I would have never left.”

Bishop nudged Coco in his side as he watched the argument unfold, “wait- Y/N? This is all because of Y/N? What the fuck is going on?”

Coco pursed his lips into a thin line, his eyes never leaving the brothers before him, “I don’t man, it s a whole fuckin thing.”

Before anyone could process what was happening EZ delivered a quick blow to Angels left cheek, causing him to stumble back. Once he had Angel backed into a wall he punched him again, landing a punch to his eye.

Bishop stood over them, “alright break this shit up. Take it the fuck away from here. This shit is personal. It doesn’t enter these fuckin doors. Go home Angel. EZ, get the fuck outta here . Come back tomorrow we gotta clear some shit up.”

Angel moves past Bishop, and Bishop put a hand to Angels chest stopping him in his tracks. “I fuckin mean it- go home shithead. Your home. Not Y/N’s. You love her?”

Angel looked back at Bishop, jaw slightly open.

“I need to know how to approach this shit with the prospect tomorrow. Do you love her?”

Angel had a faint glint of sorrow in his eyes but he couldn’t lie to Bishop. He slowly nods his head yes and Bishop releases his hold on him. He nods his head back in understanding and Angel walked out of the clubhouse.

——————————————————-

You were half a bottle of wine down when you heard two pounds of your front door. Jesus Christ what now?

You assume it’s EZ again and you swiftly open the door, “EZ leave it alone——Angel.”

He turned to face you, the bruises on his face now apparent.

“Angel what the fuck happened ?!” You usher him inside and shut the door behind you. As soon as you were in your living room you took his face in your hands, examining the black eye and cut to this lip.

He placed his hands on your wrists and held them. “I’m fine querida don’t worry.. just let me say this okay? I practiced this the whole way here and I need to say it before I fuck it up.”

You slightly furrow your brows but nod your head.

“When EZ left I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. I didn’t know if I would ever see my brother again. But for some reason I felt was my duty to see you. Take care of you. Make sure you were okay. We spent so much fuckin time together that I missed you when you weren’t around.”

Fuck. You knew where this was going and you needed to put a stop to it before he said anything else. You were already a mess. No need to add to it. But your voice wasn’t working and you couldn’t bring yourself to make him stop talking. Angel never talked about his feelings, and he was so genuine in the way he talked.

“Then we spent your birthday together, thanksgiving, we had movie nights, the way it felt when you laid your head against me was unlike anything I have ever felt and I never wanted those moments to end. And then my birthday. And then Christmas. Somewhere along the way I found myself thinking about you every single day. And you make me so fuckin happy like when I’m with you, it’s just so easy. And I think... I think that I love you, right ? and it fuckin scares me. That shit scares the shit out of me because I don’t know how to love anyone. And I don’t know if you love me too but I needed to tell you this. And if that means taking more fuckin punches from my brother then so be it because you’re fucking worth it. You’re incredible mami.”

The tears were back. Why couldn’t these men just leave you alone? But wait- more punches from his brother? Is that where those bruises came from? What happened to him tonight?

“Angel.... I... is that what happened to you? Did EZ do this to you? Why?”

He tried to be non-chalant in his answer to you but you could tell it bothered him. “Nahhhh.... you know I just told him how if you were mine I would have never left. That’s all.”

You let out a breath and a slight smirk. You don’t know if it was the after effects from the 2nd bottle of wine you opened after EZ left your house just a few hours before or if it was because the man in front of you just confessed his love for you but you pulled him by his kutte and slammed your lips into his. He stood frozen in place for a minute but when he settled, he fell perfectly in line with your movements. His hands found their way to your hips and he pulled you flush against him, digging into the skin and it hurt in the most delicious way.

You sighed into his lips, his tongue snaking out to skim your bottom lip and you granted him entrance, his tongue sinfully exploring your mouth and he moaned into the kiss. You backed him into the couch and when his legs met the front of it, he sat and pulled you with him. You were straddling him, his hands on your waist and yours in his hair gently tugging and your nails occasionally grazing the back of his neck.

His lips left yours and began their assault on your neck, your breath heavy and eyes slightly hooded as goosebumps graced your skin. The way his lips felt on you was heavenly and when he roughly sucked on the skin you let out a small moan. His lips found yours again and this time the kiss was feverish, hungry, and possessive. You broke the kiss, needing to come up for air and rested your forehead on his. He bit down on his bottom lip and groaned.

“Are you okay?” He asked, trying to catch his breath.

You smiled and nodded your head, “yeah, I’m fine. I just... I love you Angel.” Your bring your hand up to his cheek and he leans into your touch.

“Say it again.”

“I love you Angel.”

“Mmmm again. Just one more time.”

You let out a small laugh and kiss his lips. “I love you Angel Ignacio Reyes.”

“And I love the way you say my name...”he leaned in and kissed along your collar bone, gently biting at the skin as he went. His hands snaked their way up the back of your oversized tshirt and to his surprise you weren’t wearing a bra. Your hands came up to the hems of your shirt and lifted the fabric up and over your head, your nipples now erect from the cool air in the room, centimeters from Angel’s lips.

He needed no coaxing or further instruction as his lips latched onto your right nipple, his hand coming up to play with the other and you let your head fall back as your skin lit on fire. He gently rolled your nipples between his teeth, alternating between the two and he sucked hard on the skin of your breasts, possessively leaving his mark.

You could feel the bulge in his pants through the thin fabric of your biker shorts and you began grinding your hips over him, the friction practically begging to allow you to come undone.

“Come on, bedroom.” You let out between shaky breaths and moans and he stood up, carrying you with him, your legs wrapped around his waist. When you made it to your bedroom, he laid you on the bed, hovered over you and kissed you again.

“Are you sure?” He asked as he hovered over you stuck in place, patiently awaiting your reply. He knew you were on the fence with your emotions and your interaction with EZ probably made things worse but on the other hand he was so in love with you and there was nothing he wanted more than this very moment.

“Yes, I’m sure.” He came back for another assault on your neck, working his way down gently sucking and kissing at every piece of available skin. His fingers hooked into the waist band of your shorts and panties and both came off quickly and were discarded over his shoulder. He continued to kiss and suck down your tummy, your things, and then he spread your legs open and crudely exposed your center to him.

But it didn’t feel crude, in fact, it was gentle and romantic, and sexy. The dark gleam in his eye a now very obvious contrast to the tenderness that shown in them just a few minutes before. He pulled his shirt over his head and laid in front of you, his lips so close to your pussy you could feel his breath on you.

“One rule mami, don’t hold back on me. I wanna hear you. Tell me how good I make you feel. If I don’t hear you, you don’t cum.”

What the fuck did he just say? What happened to the romantic and soft things he was saying earlier? You were on overdrive, it’s been months since you had been with anyone, and you could have cum right there from his words alone. You didn’t have much time to register his words because you were snapped back to reality by his tongue licking up and down your folds.

When he reached your clit he suctioned his lips and began to gently suck, flicking his tongue across your sensitive bud, then slid a finger into you.

“Angel..... fuck....”

Your legs began to shake and you no longer had control of your breathing. His tongue flattened and his free hand came up to hold your hips in place, you grinding against his tongue.

His hair had fallen into his face, but he didn’t seem to care, his only concern was to make you feel good, make you say his name over and over and over again.

“Such a good girl... fuck your self on my tongue mami..”

“I’m gonna cum Angel ..... oh my god....” your back arched off your bed and you swear your soul left your body. You chanted his name like it was the holy grail and never once did he let up.

“I need to fuck you. You gonna let me?”

You barely registered what was happening you were were still coming down from your high and nodded your head yes.

He gripped your chin in his hand, “no mami that ain’t good enough. I need you to tell me it’s okay that I fuck you. Is that what you want?”

His hand came down to slap your pussy twice and you let out a moan followed by “yes, please fuck me.”

He stood up and removed his belt, jeans, and briefs before getting back on the bed. He spread your legs with his knee and kissed you again while he ran his dick over you clit, making you moan again into his mouth. In one Swift motion, he was inside you. You let out a gasp at the sudden fullness and he stilled himself for a second, allowing you to adjust to him. He was big. He was thick and the stretch burned but you loved it. Pleasure soon took over and you rocked your hips against his indicating it was okay for him to move.

He began to thrust in and out of you and listened to you moan with each thrust. You wanted to hold out longer, enjoy this much longer but your body was betraying you and you felt a pull in your belly and your walls involuntarily clenched around him.

“It’s okay baby, I got you. Cum.” He rubbed Slow, lazy circles over your clit and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“Please don’t stop Daddy.. please....just like that.”

You eyes shot open at the realization you had just called him Daddy. He locked eyes with you and a devilish grin flashed across his face.

He brought his hand to your throat and squeezed, a playful smile coming to your lips and he thrusted into you much harder this time.

“Be a good girl and cum on daddy’s dick mami.. I know youre close I can feel it. Give daddy what he wants.”

Your hands were gripping at your sheets and your body was slick with sweat as another wave of pleasure washed over you.

“AngelAngelAngelllll......”

He leaned his head into the crook of your neck and sucked the skin again, his hand coming to intertwine with yours.

“I know baby... I got you..”

———————————————

Coco pulled up to your house and his suspicion was confirmed. Angel was here. When Angel didn’t come home to the house he shared with Coco after the fight with EZ he could only assume he would find him here.

“Dammit.” He muttered to himself. He leaned forward and dig through his glove compartment for your spare key. Only two people had a key to your house — emergency purposes. Angel and Coco.

He knocked on the door but there was no answer. He knocked again but nothing. Sighing, he put the key into the lock and turned the knob, letting himself in.

Looking into the empty kitchen and dining room then making his way into the living room. He thought he heard the faint sounds of a bed smacking into the wall, he’s fucked before, he knows that sound anywhere, but he ignored it.

“Angel?” He called but no answer.

He stopped when he spotted a tshirt thrown onto the floor and that’s when he heard it. The distinct sounds of moans filling the house. He followed the sound and stood outside your door.

“Such a good girl taking daddy’s cock aren’t you... keep bouncing that ass like that.. fuck it’s so good...”

Coco tried his best to contain his laughter, but more importantly, things just got a lot more complicated.

He went back to the living room and made himself comfortable. He waited until the moaning subsided and the bed stopped creaking. He stood up and made his way down the hall, opening the door with no warning.

“Hey lovebirds.” He pulled up the chair that was at your desk and sat on it, you and Angel throwing blankets over yourselves.

“Are you fuckin kidding me man?!” Angel spoke first.

“Wassup Y/N, relax, I heard the whole thing it’s okay. We got bigger problems mano. Bishop talked to the prospect. Got some info on your mom. The guy who killed her. You didn’t come home so figured I’d find you here and tell you.”

Angel looked back at you, then back at Coco.

You kissed his cheek , “it’s okay, go. I’ll be here when you’re done. I love you”.

He kissed your cheek and got up, wrapping a sheet around his hips. “I love you too”.

————————————————

@starrynite7114 @blessedboo @drabbles-mc @everyhowlmarksthedead @angelreyesgirl @tranqs-main-mami @gemini0410 @superficialfeelings @montanaraed @appropriate-writers-name @lakamaa12

[rae-gar-targaryen]

loved you once, part two [angel reyes x fem!reader]

A/N: Muahahahaha. IT’S HERE!I know, it’s been over a month. And I’m really sorry for that. But HOLY SHIT, the traction “loved you once’ got was way more than anything I could ever have imagined or expected. I am just so grateful to everyone for reading. For the people I’ve met and gotten to know since engaging in the Mayans fandom and posting fic. Honestly, this wouldn’t exist without you.

For this part, as before I invented a tattoo and an ex-girlfriend for Angel, and I fudged the timeline a bit and added some elements from season three in here. You’ll know them when you see them. Also, if you can tell me where Frida’s date comes from, you win a cookie, and maybe a hug from me.

Part one was based on "Loved You Once" by Clara Mae, this part was definitely moreso based on "You Broke Me First" by Tate McRae. And "After Hours" by the Weeknd. Honestly, the playlist for this fic is a sad, horny mess. You wanna cry, but feel confusedly turned on by it? I may drop the link.

As always, if you want a tag in anything I write for Angel, EZ, the Mayans fandom (or anything else), please feel free to send me a message or an ask, or add yourself to the taglist (link in profile).

Pairing: Angel Reyes x fem!tattoo artist!reader (aka Frida -- as always, the appearance is ambiguous, but the reader is described as having female pronouns/parts. I do imagine a latinx reader, but I hope I’ve written this so you can imagine yourself with no restriction.); also slight Frida x other, and slight Coco x Frida.

Word Count: 23.4K (I KNOW, OKAY?) of ANGST! Half-baked simile and overbaked metaphor. Heartbreak swathed in honey-sweetness, and biting frustration. But maybe, ultimately, the balm of peace?

Warnings: ANGST, non-explicit references to infidelity, sexual references and sexual content, descriptions of sex, fingering, oral (female receiving) so 18+ ONLY, please! Canon-typical douchebaggery, references to a past relationship, song references and poetry. (It is me, so yeah, poetry). This honestly feels just like a compendium of heartbreak.

Summary: You and Angel have been broken up for a while. After the ill-fated run-in at the patch party, will you continue on as you have? Or is it the push you both needed to reconnect? Angel loved you once; will you love him again?

Read part one here.

---

It doesn't snow in Santo Padre.

It's not that you enjoyed being cold, or particularly wanted snow. But a part of you had always romanticized the concept of a “classic” winter -- the feeling of crystalline fluff tumbling from the heavens to dust your cheeks and lashes, bathing your surroundings in an ocean of chilly silver-white. Of retreating from the exterior world's glacial crispness and  into the warmth of your home, bathed in an orange-golden glow, the cinnamon-y scent of something baking. 

Of falling into the arms of your beloved, someone who would seep the chill from your bones with his warm embrace, kissing the tip of your cold nose. Who would admire the snowflakes caught in your lashes before they melted away as he presses his lips to yours. Cherishing you and cradling your cheeks as he does so, like you're the snowflake he's afraid will melt away.

But it doesn't snow in Santo Padre. Your idyllic winter fantasy is not to be. No snowflakes, no cinnamon; even the man of your reality is, in truth, much harsher than that of any winter chill you could’ve dreamt up on your own. 

In the real world, your romance with Angel bloomed, despite the dying light of mid-January. And nearly a year later, it felt like the true harshness of winter had come to your doorstep when you were, quite literally, left out in the cold. Not exactly the stuff of dreams. You know what they say, be careful what you wish for. This frigid winter was inhospitable, and worse than you could have ever imagined. 

The stinging numbness of Angel’s harsh treatment of you and subsequent departure left you with frostbitten limbs and an icy heart. 

The chill had subsided, had melted away from your bones some in the passing months... 

Until a few weeks ago. At that damned patch party that you were foolish enough to attend, despite knowing full well who would be in attendance. 

That had gone famously. 

Aneesa had come by the next day to drop off your gear, your books, and a wad of cash you’d tried to push off, but that she’d insisted was from Bishop for the night’s work. 

“So you are alive,” she’d snipped, her annoyed expression melting into one of sympathy when she’d taken in the shadowed look in your eyes, the sunken nature of your shoulders. How you’d shed your party clothes for one of Angel’s old t-shirts he’d left at your place and never come by to reclaim, something you hadn’t done in a while. And if you were honest with yourself (something you were a little afraid to be in this moment of weakness), you knew it was wildly unhealthy to still have it-- let alone to take comfort in wearing it. To want to take comfort in anything to do with Angel.

Though Aneesa hadn’t been in the room when it had all gone down, otherwise occupied with Gilly, she’d heard more than enough from Coco and EZ, Gaby standing to the side with an empathetic expression as EZ recounted how Angel had basically run you off the property in his insistence to speak to you. How you’d looked ready to burst.

You’d apologized, of course, for not responding to her texts and calls. For worrying her. She’d waved the apologies away, opting to scoop you into her signature warm embrace. But it wasn’t just Aneesa. 

The texts from that night went unanswered, despite the near-constant buzzing of your phone. 

It had nothing on the buzzing of the thoughts in your own head, replaying just what-the-fuck had happened at that party. 

“I care, Frida.”

“... and if I wanted you back?”

“Please, querida.”

Frida, this. Querida, that. Honestly, it was too much. 

You were smart to get out of there. You were right to get out of there. You’d said what you’d needed to say in that moment, even if it didn’t scratch the surface of everything you’d wanted to say to Angel since he tossed your shit in a box all those months ago.

You’d almost thought you were back in mid-winter, with the chill that had resided in your bones after you’d gone home, hands shaking and clammy with the nerves from confronting Angel. Your skin felt like it was vibrating on a different frequency. Nauseous. And as you’d slid into bed that night, all you could feel was the cavernously empty side of your bed, threatening to swallow you whole. And not for the first time did you wish it would snow. It would be warmer than the perpetual bleak chill you felt everywhere since Angel had left you.

Now, in the sweltering heat of late summer, the season’s defiant final push before it shunts away into cooler autumn, you find yourself back in your shop. Ever-grateful for central air as you watch the waxy sunshine and passersby through the glass door. 

You were  leaned over the counter, idly sketching, when the telltale ding signalled the shop’s door opening.

As you looked up and saw just who was making his way in, ever-present gentle thunk and squeak of his boots meeting the linoleum, you were struck with visions of your life a year and a half ago, when this very sight had been what started it all. 

A sight that should have been a welcome one -- your man walking into your workplace to greet you on a break with a kiss on the cheek; or, at the very least, what should have been a cherished memory -- the ineluctable meeting with the person you’d thought you’d spend the rest of your life with … all of it was tainted now by the actual sight of him walking to the counter for the first time in a long time (but not nearly long enough, given everything), hands stuffed in his pockets. His eyes were fixed on his feet as he put them one in front of the other on his way to where you stood. 

There was no easy lean on the counter. No self-confident rapping of his ringed knuckles against the hardwood. No smirking grin. 

The Angel before you was a sulking shell of the man who had blown into your life a year and a half ago with his practiced flirtation and his warm, ochre eyes. Maybe 'Clara Forever' should have been more of a red flag than you'd originally lent it. But you weren't reading between the lines then, content with perusing the beauty of the surface poetry that was the man you'd met. 

The man now? Between the lines was all you were reading. How could you trust the surface? After everything. This man was mussed hair and tired eyes, overgrown scruff and rumpled jeans you were sure he’d rolled out of bed in. Despite his disheveled appearance, your guard was still up. You knew how easily Angel slipped beneath your skin, like pin-pricking bolts of easy silk gliding seamlessly into your bloodstream, taking you over before you even knew he was wrapping you up, away, and into himself.  

To say you were grateful for the buffer the counter provided between the two of you would be a massive understatement. It may as well be Everest, because there was no damned way you were going to let him scale it and press his way even further into your day, let alone back into your life.

You were silent as you watched Angel unstuff his large hands from the pockets of his kutte and shift a little from foot to foot. You crossed your arms over your chest, flexing in your impatience, and waited for him to speak.

He looked up at you, sullen eyes meeting your shrewd ones for the first time since that night on the clubhouse porch. 

Oh. And Angel’s eyes had always held so much emotion. You knew you’d said it before, thought it before -- Angel’s feelings were his worst-kept secret, ever bubbling beneath the surface but inevitably bursting through like greenery through the cracks of stone. Spilling molten lava.

Bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve.

Today, they were glistening; but not with rage or definitive humor. You saw shame. You saw remorse. You had half a mind to tell Angel just where he could shove those feelings, and then he spoke, cracking the brittle, tense silence between the two of you with the gravelly timbre of his voice 

“You, uhhhh, got any space for me today?” You had to hand it to him, Angel’s question was unexpected; his eyes left yours to take in the  empty chairs at the back of the shop. 

You shuddered a little with your exhaling sigh, internally bemoaning the fact that you were alone to face this as you chewed over just how you could answer. Olí had gone to the bakery a few blocks down to procure some late-morning cafecito. You immediately thought of texting him, begging him to come back and save you from the inherent awkwardness of this situation. But you knew he was likely caught in the line of the belated rush. And eager to flirt with the barista.

On your own again, then. Left to battle with your own emotions, and to face the minefield that were Angel’s. To face the consequences your admittedly-childish and flippant exit the night of the party had wrought. And if you were honest with yourself, you were not ready for this. Not quite ready to face the music (music that, to you, sounded like every clichéd, sad song you’d played ad nauseum since Angel had pushed you aside, causing you to unintentionally meet the quotient of every breakup truism). 

What was it they said? Clichés are clichés for a reason? 

You pulled yourself from the mire of your own thoughts with the sluggish carefulness of a child unsticking their boots from thick mud, hating the way Angel’s eyes shone now with hopefulness as he awaited your answer. 

Was he fucking serious? 

You uncrossed your arms, sighing loudly now before you answered him.

"My books are full," you said simply, shrugging. “Sorry.” Though you clearly weren’t, your clipped words plinking through the tense air like chips of ice.

Angel looked around the empty shop, eyebrows lifting as he took in the underlying meaning to your statement. 

“You got no one in here,” he responded, trying to keep his instant and rushing frustration at the situation at bay. He’d come here to try to talk to you. To hopefully appease your mood by coming to your turf to do so. Make something easy for you. Couldn’t you see that?

You stood unmoving, studying him keenly, almost like you were wagering with yourself on just how long it would take his frustrations to boil over. 

You weren’t about to cave so easily.

“Dunno what to tell you, Angel,” he’d quirked up at the way you said his name, almost like a little puppy, and you tried not to let yet another icy shard wedge its way into your heart at his behest, slightly disgusted with yourself for how you defaulted to the desire to smooth the wrinkle from his brow, to cup his cheeks and kiss away the worry you saw behind his eyes. Even after everything, your first instinct -- your first desire -- was to nurture him. But you told yourself since the patch party that you would be resolute. 

Even if on the inside your heart was frozen, but your resolve was melting.

“My books are full,” you repeated, holding up the datebook where you kept your schedule and making a show of flipping through the obviously-sparsely scheduled pages. “No room for you here.”

The line across Angel’s quizzical brow deepend, ochre eyes hardening into a slate frown. His upper lip curled slightly in annoyance, and as he caught his breath on the inhale, you could see him physically resist the urge to snap at you. 

“A lotta white on those pages, querida,” he bit out, starting to lean forward in the direction of the counter, weight on the balls of his feet. 

You closed the pages to your datebook primly, placing it on the counter and folding your hands over where the book rested. 

“No sé a qué te refieres.” I don’t know what you mean. You gestured at the empty chair behind you. “Business is booming. Now, if you want something done, Olí has openings next week. Or I can have him call you if he has a cancellation. Other than that, I surely can’t help you,” you shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. 

You may have sounded tough -- cold and distant to your own ears, even. Angel may have been convinced. But you knew that if you looked him in the eye now, he would see the cracks in the already thin veneer that was your display of disinterest. Better to keep your head down, so to speak. Lest he see just how false your sense of bravado truly was.  

“Frida …” Angel slowly reached across the counter, holding out an arm to touch yours. 

You took a deliberate step back, just out of his arm’s reach, your eyes blazing now as he curled his fingers back and dropped his hand once more to his side. You shook your head. 

“Am I speaking something you don’t? I already said I can’t help you." You pointed to the door, “That’s your cue to go. I have a client waiting.” 

You'd had to hand it to yourself. Despite the depression-gymnastics your insides were doing, you were putting up a good front.

With that, you jabbed the finger pointing at the door, now over your shoulder at your empty chair. 

You were nothing if not adamant. Angel supposed he’d deserved that. At the very least, he’d deserved that.

Angel exhaled, rolling his eyes a little at your unwillingness to engage with him, before holding his hands up in surrender, retreating. 

Your heart was pounding in time with his steps to the exit. Were you really going to let him walk away -- keep walking away -- from you? Was he really going to say nothing else?

Angel gave you one last look before turning on his heel and making his way toward the exit of the shop. 

You don’t know what possessed you to say it. Maybe your inner masochist wasn’t done playing “Operation” with your feelings -- perhaps it was the gnarling, twisting fear you felt at seeing him walk away again, and maybe this time for good. But, as Angel reached the door, you called out,

“If you want an appointment, you’d better call first. You know what they say about walk-ins. Always risky.” 

Fuck. And you were doing so well. 

Angel glanced over his shoulder at you, full brows raised in mild surprise at your flimsy olive branch, wrapped in reference to your first meeting. He nodded mildly to acknowledge he’d heard what you’d said, his shoulders shifting beneath his kutte as he pushed the door open and walked back out into the hazy heat. 

Huh. Guess you had more to say to him, after all.  

----

"¿Flores, Angelito? ¿Para mi?" You asked in mild surprise, a little giggle bubbling from your lips as you took in the man before you with his short-sleeved flannel beneath the kutte, his thick, ringed fingers clutched around the bunched stems of an impressive-looking bouquet. 

The few dates you had been on with Angel at this point were all sweet. You’d never had much of a sweet tooth, but … there was a first time for everything. And Angel Reyes made you want to indulge. 

He had texted you the night before, asking if you'd like to meet him at the park the next day for some coffee, and maybe a walk. 

 "A walk?" You'd teased. "So old-fashioned, Angelito. Will we be supervised on this walk?" You drummed your nails against your thigh while you awaited his response, the bubbles in the corner of your screen popping up to indicate Angel was answering.

"Not the first time I've been told I needed adult supervision. But I think you're up to the task," he'd answered. Followed by a "winking" emoji.

Before you could type a similarly-cheeky response, he was typing again. A double-text.

"No need to involve anyone else in our business."

You chuckled at that. You'd give Angel Reyes that one. He certainly was charming. 

He'd met you as planned the next morning, proffering you the cluster of blooms. An unexpected gift. 

"¡Que bonita!" You accepted the bouquet, admiring the starshine sprigs of queen Anne's lace that were nestled between the soft pink pastel peonies and crisp swaths of greenery. You stood, rocking up to your tiptoes to press a kiss to Angel's cheek. "Gracias, guapo."

As you dropped back onto your feet, you took in the mildly flustered expression on Angel's face, rewarding him with another light giggle.

"Yeah, well…" Angel scrubbed his hand along the back of his neck. He had a habit of that, you noted. Was he nervous? "Seemed right, right? Since I've got flowers from you, and all.." he trailed. 

"I love them, Angel," you assured. "You didn't have to get me anything. I was just happy to have coffee with you."

On that note, you turned to the bench you had been waiting on, two cups of still-piping coffee in the little corrugated to-go carrier. You plucked one from its nest and handed it to Angel, popping the little plastic flip-top on the lip of the cup, blowing on it a tad to cool it, before handing it to Angel. 

You’d done it so seamlessly, he wondered if you truly realized what you had done, a cute little gesture of caring that -- the more he thought about in hindsight, the more he realized -- were the kind of gestures that exemplified and embodied you. He couldn’t help but stare down from his height in admiration of you.

“I assume you take it black?” you chirped. “If not, I grabbed packets,” you gestured at the little four-cup carrier, packets of cream and sweetener stuffed into one of the empty holders. 

He chuckled a bit at that, taking a small moment to admire you the moment you turned back toward the bench, your beauty in the late-morning sun as it streaked solar beams making your hair shine like a resplendent halo, the aura of it soft and reflective against the apples of your cheeks, ethereal. 

He appreciatively noted your own tattoos, streaks of ink awash against your skin and flashing beneath the ridden-up sleeves of your hoodie as you reached forward to grab your own cup from the carrier. 

You deposited the empty holder and packets into the trash, bringing your own cup to your lips and turning back toward Angel,

“Shall we?” You tilted your head toward the path encircling the park.

Angel took deep sips of his coffee, seemingly immune to the heat, and savoring the rich flavor as you walked by his side. 

Asbestos mouth, you thought, amused with yourself and your thought at Angel’s ability to slug the piping hot liquid without even flinching. 

For his part, Angel appreciated that you didn’t feel the need to compulsively fill the silence-- content to sip your respective “wake-up” cups, walking side-by-side and enjoying the sun’s tender, teasing warmth while basking in the other’s company. 

Angel didn’t know what made him say it, but in this moment, with you looking so perfect as you did, it felt like the moment to share a little piece of himself, 

“My mom used to bring me here when I was a kid, ya know?” 

You looked up at him from beneath your lashes, not breaking your stride, “That’s sweet,” you acknowledged. “I can just imagine you and Ezekiel running her ragged while you play. Do you and she ever come back here together?" 

Angel balked at your question. It struck him in moments like these, just how truly new you were to the self-contained corner of the universe that was Santo Padre, a vacuous and arid black hole that the rest of space and time forgot. It didn’t occur to him that there was anyone in town who didn’t know what had happened to Marisol Reyes. 

He stopped walking, unsure how to answer your question. You caught on to the change in pace, turning to meet him where he stood. 

“She, uh… she’s dead,” he said, softly and simply. He couldn’t deny the truth, and certainly didn’t see the point in being dishonest about it. 

“Oh,” you breathed. “Shit, Angel, I-- I’m so sorry,” you quickly wrapped your arms around him, mindful not to spill your coffee on him as you brought your hands around his waist. “I didn’t -- I didn’t mean to ask … I didn’t know.”

At first, Angel’s body had stiffened when you made contact with his torso. But he quickly relaxed into the hug, tilting his chin down to rest atop your head, bringing one arm around to gently pat your back, to reassure you that your innocent question hadn’t done any harm.

“S'okay, querida, it happened a while ago. Like you said, you didn’t know.” 

The two of you gently parted from your embrace, you leaning forward to run a reassuring hand over his bicep, genuine empathy emanating in the gesture.

“Well, this isn’t heavy at all,” as you withdrew from Angel, you hunched your shoulders at the mild discomfort you felt having brought up something painful for him. “Nothing like some light conversation on a casual coffee date,” you chuckled nervously. 

Angel had the good grace to smile at that, his easy expression a gesture of mercy on your flip-flopping conscience. 

“I mean,” you carried on, “I know you don’t know me all that well, but… if you ever want to talk, ever need anything, I’m here. I didn’t mean to dig at any old wounds,” you murmured, sincerely, but sheepishly.

“Really, querida, it’s OK,” he reassured. “I didn’t bring it up to be … depressing, or nothing... I have nothing but good memories with her here,” Angel took a long sip of his coffee, nodding at you slightly and resuming his previous pace. 

He pointed over to the swings on the other side of the large lawn, “She used to push me and EZ. Would cheer for us when we got higher. And ... if Pop was working late, and we wanted to play, she’d grab his glove and bring it to play catch with us, even if the damn thing was too big for her hands,” Angel smiled as he looked over at the lawn. “She woulda liked you, you know?” 

He nodded to himself in assurance at his own words, confident in his assessment of your character through the lens of his mother’s memory. 

Your breath caught at that, taken with the compliment. You smiled gently when Angel turned to face you again.

“It would have been an honor to know her,” you said, sincerely. “Sounds like she was a wonderful woman.”  

“She was,” Angel agreed, easily slipping his hand into yours as the two of you continued to walk, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. “I just hope I never lose that. Never forget her.”

Angel’s words gave you pause, struck with your default instinct to nurture. You were no stranger to loss. Who was, really? Not wishing that pain upon anybody, you imparted wisdom that had, in turn, been impressed upon you in your own similarly-sad moments: 

“You won’t,” you assured, taking your hand from his, trailing your fingers up his wrist and to his forearm, tracing your thumb over the sprig of rosemary you had etched into his skin a few weeks prior. “¿Por recuerdo, sí? For remembrance? You remember her in moments like these, where you share her with others. That’s not something you’ll lose, Angelito. Because she lives on in you. And your brother.” 

Angel was silent for a moment. 

Worried you had somehow overstepped -- when weren’t you feeling that way with Angel? Could you ever just mind your own business without spilling clichés like some kind of poetic dimestore vending machine, or a stale-ass fortune cookie? He hadn’t asked for you to  --

But Angel hadn’t said anything to put you down. As a matter of fact, he was just standing there… looking at you with that face again. What did that face mean?

Angel regarded you with a peachy-hued gaze of adoration, your words stirring something in him. But when weren’t they? Would everything you said always make him feel this way?  He had learned from the day you’d met, and your first date, that you were thoughtful. Generous with your thoughts and your empathy. Willing to give to others, but reserved with your own heart. 

And as he held your gaze, he was lightning-struck with the desire to make you feel safe enough to share your everything with him; wanted to kiss your pretty mouth and share every story from his life with you. Wanted to leech any pain from your pretty bones and replace it with the security of his affection. 

The thought might have scared him, if he had given them a second longer in that moment. Never before had he truly desired to share these things with another. 

You were dangerous that way, Angel decided. A real sleeper hit.

He tilted his head down, bringing his free hand to gently graze the high part of your waist with his fingertips, pressing his lips softly to yours. 

Every kiss with Angel was a novel experience, a lesson buried in a newly-cracked book you couldn't wait to turn every page of. He kissed fully, sweetly. At times, he kissed like the languid, steady pour of warm, thick syrup over waffles, overwhelming your every pore. Other times, he kissed like a bonfire -- passionate, smoky, hazy and stuttering in its fervor to reach the height of its burn. 

Now, he kissed you like honey, spliced with a crisp zing of orange zest, all sweetness and light. His hand on your waist a grounding reminder of your place on this earth beside him. But the longer you tasted it -- the heavier it became, filling you with a rush of sugary affectations, awash with your desire. 

You break the kiss to cut the cloying taste, just as much as you'd needed air.

Angel’s gaze upon you as you broke apart was heavy-lidded and weighted with some emotion you couldn’t (or wouldn’t dare, just yet) to name… his full lips dragged into a low, lazy smirk, watching as you giggled lightly, nervously. 

“So …” you trailed, making a vague gesture toward your stomach. “The butterflies. Not just a first date thing with you. Good to know,” you nodded, more to yourself than to him. 

A genuine little barking laugh escaped Angel’s lips at that, his amusement and rush of adoration for you compelling him to bend down once more and press a soft kiss to the side of your head. 

“You are something, Frida.” 

The two of you resumed your walk, you teasingly bumped your hips into Angel’s as you spoke again, 

“Since we’re sharing about when we were kids -- I always wanted to be a dancer, you know? My dad used to take me to classes. But I was… fucking awful,” you giggled. “I was better with my hands than on my feet.”

"I'm sure you are," Angel snickered, quicker than you were...

Your eyes widened when you realized what you’d said,

“I -- not like that. You know damn well what I mean,” you made a vague gesture in the air like you were holding a pen and sketching.  "You know I'm good with my hands. I freehanded that, didn't I?"

You nodded toward Angel’s arm once more.  

“Sí, sí, you’re Frida, after all,” Angel decided not to make a joke at your accidental double-entendre. “It's your hand, but it's also your eye. Your spirit.” 

And if Angel was more honest with himself -- and with you -- in that moment, he could have gone on -- “And in your heart, something inscrutable.” Not that he was one for too much, too soon with any woman.

"--But I'm sure you can dance Frida," Angel continued, gently knocking your shoulder with his own as the two of you continued to walk. 

"And how would you know that?" You teased. "I'm only left feet." As if to demonstrate your own self-deprecating point, you swung one foot behind yourself in a reverse-kick as you walked, an attempt to softly, jokingly kick Angel’s behind. But you’d woefully miscalculated the height differential between the two of you, your leg not extending high enough to reach its target, causing you to stumble and pitch off-balance. 

Angel scooped you in one arm before you could even begin to fall.

“Already tryna kick my ass? Damn, mama, I try to compliment you and this is what I get?”

Angel’s arm was warm around your waist, the result of his successful rescue to keep you from falling. Maybe you were glad with the stunt you’d pulled, if it resulted in him scooping you into his arms like something out of an old movie. 

“Yeah, well I may not be able to kick your ass now. But give me time,” your voice had taken on a breathy quality, overwhelmed by Angel’s proximity to you. “But I did tell you I couldn't dance.”

“Whatever that was aside,” Angel shrugged before replying, as simply and matter-of-factly as though he was telling you the sky was blue, “I know you’d be a hell of a dancer.” He gazed down at where you were held against him before continuing, 

"How could something about you not be beautiful?"

---

Now, you were squirming in your seat as you sat in one of your favorite restaurants in town, the familiar ambience not enough to assuage your nerves. Not only were you unused to the feeling  of the summer dress and heeled wedges you had donned for the first time in your post-Angel months, you were similarly unused to the company. 

Even if the man across from you had been the perfect gentleman thus far.

Christopher was suave, sleek in his black button-up and expensive-looking dress pants, tattoo peeking from the buttoned collar of his shirt, adorning his throat in a way you found regal. He was far too overdressed for this mid-level, casual dining. But you figured that on the first few dates, you should keep it light. A cup of coffee here, a quick lunch at a food truck there. 

The two of you had met when you were perusing your options, mulling over your selection of the perfect avocado at the supermarket. You didn’t see the man on the other side of the display, reaching for the same fruit as you, and you brushed hands. The two of you chuckled and made light conversation, and then went on your merry errand-running ways. Perhaps it would have ended there if you didn’t see him two days later at the bookstore. 

At that point, you had to say something. You took note of the novel in his hands, and by the end of the encounter, he had smoothly asked you to coffee on your next day off. You had liked his firm handshake when he had introduced himself, and the warmth behind his eyes. His smooth voice that sounded like a crime, too suave and beautiful to be legal. 

Had the whole thing been a little rom-com for your taste? Sure. 

Were you a little afraid to get out there again after the absolute shitshow the last few months had been? No shit, Sherlock. 

Were you keenly aware of the way Christopher’s dark eyes danced with mischief the same way Angel’s did? That he had the same keeled, low-pitch to his voice?

Fuck that. You weren’t going to shoot yourself (and someone else) in the foot because you were too busy lugging around heavy, distinctly Angel-shaped baggage. You resolved to give Chistopher an actual chance. 

And this was the first time you had sat down indoors together for a prolonged period. The first date-date. 

To say Aneesa was ecstatic when you told her about your plans with Christopher would be an understatement. 

“Girl, you know he’s gonna treat you. That man is smooth as hell, darling,” she called from the depths of your closet, mocking Christopher’s deep voice that you had relayed to her in your recap of the encounter, while she tossed out dress after dress in her mission to dress you in what she dubbed “the date ‘fit to end all date ‘fits.” 

She had outdone herself. You felt gorgeous.

And while there were no homemade sandwiches, and your favorite worn jeans were tucked away at home, you had to admit that Christopher was doing one hell of a job at making you feel wooed. And maybe Aneesa was right when she said that maybe “new” was a good thing.

You and Christopher had laughed your way through dinner. He didn’t talk much about his work, but was very interested in hearing about your job, and seeing photos of finished pieces from your ‘gram.

“Damn, mama, you drew that?” He asked appreciatively. “You got an eye for the beautiful things.” 

You felt heat rush through your cheeks and down across your collarbones at his words, preening beneath his smoky praises. 

"Well, I'm out with you, aren't I?" You flirted back gently, smiling into your glass of wine.

The easy smirk Christopher rewarded you with was swoon-worthy to say the least.

Who was she? You were impressed with yourself. Gone was the fumbling girl rife with awkward, unintentional double entendre that you were with Angel. This Frida was a smooth motherfucker, making a man like Chris smile.

He, in turn, showed you photos of his son, beaming with pride while he talked about his son’s winning science fair project. 

He had confided in you that, normally, talk of a kid on the first date could be a deal-breaker. 

“But you seem like the kinda woman who ain’t afraid of an up-front man,” he had said. 

If he only knew. 

As the date was winding down, Christopher gave you a kiss on the cheek as he departed the table to use the restroom while awaiting the check. 

You smiled to yourself, using the moment alone to glance down at your phone, basking in the champagne-warm, fizzy feeling of a date gone well. Of mutual attraction and reciprocal attention. When you looked up and out of the glass doors of the restaurant you saw him. The champagne feeling gone, dousing you like ice-water; as quickly and sharply as it had come, it was gone. 

And he saw you, too.

Oh fuck. 

Through the glass, Angel appraised your sundress, your makeup, your styled hair. You saw the decision on his face the moment it was made.

He fucking wouldn’t. 

Oh, but he fucking would. Ever one to place his heart before his own head, Angel reached for the handle, entering the restaurant and making a beeline for you, past the hostess stand. Until his biker boots carried him to your table, where he noted the napkin tossed on Christopher’s side of the table, the companion chair slightly pulled back.

He glanced at the empty plates on the table before raking his eyes up your crossed legs beneath the table, and up to yours, taking in the blaze resonant in your gaze. 

Fuck, you were hot when you were mad.  

Not giving him a chance to speak, you piped up first, voice hard and laced with boxcutter edges and vinegar,

“You need to leave, Angel,” you seethed. 

It was apparent to Angel, even in his slightly-tipsy haze (you hadn’t caught onto his mild impairment, thank God) just what you were trying to get him away from. You were on a date. And it wasn’t beneath Angel, he would admit, to make you sweat a little. Especially after you had brushed him off a few days ago in the tattoo parlour. Petty as fuck, and he knew it. Coco would certainly have told him so.

He pulled Christopher’s chair back even further from the table, lowering himself and spreading his legs out comfortably, leaning back in his chair, head tilted back obnoxiously to appraise you further. 

“You look good, dulce. What’s got you so dressed up and out and about on a Friday night?” He lilted his voice in a crudely teasing way, like he was mocking you for making yourself feel pretty. 

You would not let him have this one, too. Not after the shitshow of a patch party. Isn’t it funny how you could barely bring yourselves to look the other in the eyes then? Too afraid to broach feelings, content to instead skate around them with all the grace of Bambi on ice. But  this town was too small for you to hide from him for the rest of your life. And you were well-past sheepish aches and pains and trying to spare Angel's feelings; no, you were on the road to well and truly pissed.

The pulse and magnetism between you and Angel was always strong, a source of perpetual warmth for you. But it was you he had left behind, in the whispering grip of a ghost. And you? You refused to be that girl on the clubhouse porch forever. 

Now, your blazing eyes met his slightly-glazed, blasé ones.

Was he … drunk? 

Fuck this. 

“I’m not gonna tell you again, Angel,” you warned. “That isn’t your chair. You can go.”

“‘You can go,'" Angel mimicked your words, echoing what you had said to him just now, and of when he dropped by your shop. He giggled. “Bit of a broken record, Frida. Maybe I’m just here to get dinner?” 

You crossed your arms over your chest, tired of Angel’s games, and thinking that Christopher was likely due to return at any moment. 

“Then get your food. If that’s what you're here for, it has nothing to do with me. No reason for you to sit here.” 

Your usually patient nature was fading fast, the ice Angel had bestowed you with in his departure hardening your demeanor into someone he barely recognized. If he had been more himself, maybe that would have been cause for distress. But he was in petty, childish, drunk-Angel mode. The Angel his brother had often chastised him for being. The Angel his brother had laid into him for being after his behavior at the patch party, leaving you to the proverbial wolves while Andres had insulted you. The Angel who was hurt. Who tended to lash out.

That Angel ever-so-delicately chose to ignore your just-left-of-polite plea for him to leave. 

“So, you dressin’ up for dinner with Aneesa? Or … wait… is this a date, amor? You dating? Maybe I’m just tryna to talk to you?” 

A cool hand met your shoulder, a protective arm sweeping over you from behind where you sat. Christopher had reappeared, standing protectively over the back of your chair. 

“And if it is?” Christopher’s voice was smooth, even and deadly-cool in a way that made you shudder a little. 

This was all getting a little “West Side Story” for you. And you had to break it up before something worse could happen. You would not let Angel ruin the first date you had been on since him. Let alone the first decent date. 

“It’s OK, Christopher. Angel was just leaving,” you nodded at him in what you’d hoped was a reassuring manner. For his part, Christopher didn’t flinch at Angel’s antics, and didn’t remove his arm from the back of your chair. 

“C’mon, Frida. I told you, I just wanted to talk. You can’t give me a few minutes?” Angel’s voice had lost its teasing demeanor, bald and glaring. 

You glanced between Angel and Christopher, now thoroughly uncomfortable with the trajectory this night had taken. If Aneesa ever asked, this would be one of the top reasons you’d choose not to date in a small town. Who's dick didn't you step on when you left your house?

You opened your mouth to answer, to politely brush Angel off and resume your date with Christopher, when Christopher surprised you by speaking first. 

“Do you want to talk to him, mama?” Christopher’s arm was still resting reassuringly on your shoulder. You glanced between the two again, unsure of what to say. 

Your pause seemed to be enough for Christopher, taking in the raw emotion behind your eyes as you looked at the slick, kutte-wearing man that was in his seat. Your hesitation and apparent emotion filling in the gaps about just who this person must be to you. 

“Tell you what, darling,” Christopher said, sharp eyes never leaving Angel’s as he spoke to you, “I gotta take a quick call,” Christopher gestured to the sidewalk beyond the glass doors. “I’ll be right out there, give you a few minutes. But if he doesn't leave when you want him to,” he looked directly in Angel’s eyes now, “I’ll be back. I owe you dessert, anyway.” 

You swallowed heavily at Christopher’s words, a kind of sick relief washing over you as you nodded. Was he just that understanding? The demeanour around him had an air of what you would describe as … deadly. While his words were a balm to you, they were clearly a threat to Angel. But maybe that was just you being too dramatic. He was a smooth-talker, is all. 

Christopher took your nod as acquiescence to his compromise, pecking a quick, light kiss to your cheek and striding casually toward the door. The absence of his warm arm now rendering you unpleasantly naked beneath Angel’s gaze. 

“Weeeeeell,” Angel drawled, turning to look over his shoulder, eyes following Christopher as he strode just to the other side of the glass. “That’s who you’re going out with? He. Seems. Nice. Cheerful, too. You sure know how to pick ‘em, querida.”

“Is that really a joke you wanna be making, Angelito?” You sneered. “What the fuck do you want?” 

“I told you,” Angel said lightly. “To talk.” 

You sighed, rubbing your temples, carelessly dropping the napkin that had been resting on your lap on the table, a not-so-subtle white flag. You looked pointedly at Angel, urging him to continue. 

“I meant what I said at the party,” Angel started.

Strike one, Angelito. Mentioning the party was not the way to go. 

“Which part did you mean?” You asked, voice taking on a tinge of faux-sweetness. “The part where your hand practically up some girl’s ass the entire night? Or the part where you let that guy shit-talk my work? Or maybe it was the part where after all that, you cornered me with nobody around to tell me you loved me?”

Angel flinched. 

“I deserve that,” he said. 

Strike two. Too little, too late. 

“You deserve more than that, Angel,” you chastised. “And now you’re still trying to take from me. Date-crashing? You tryna fuck this up for me, too? Haven’t you done enough fucking? So, what is it about me that says you can walk all over me? Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone?” 

Shit. You’d said it at the party, and you were telling yourself again now -- you would not cry in front of Angel. So, why were there hot little slivers poking the corners of your eyes? Your heart felt heavy, sick. It was getting to be a familiar sensation -- like a friend who showed up to crash at the worst possible time. 

The appearance of your tears was sobering to Angel. He reached toward your side of the table in an attempt to brush your hand, to offer you some kind of comfort, even though he was the one you wanted to be comforted from. 

“No, Angel,” you wiped your cheeks and placed your hands in your lap, out of his reach.  “Why aren’t you listening to me? You tell me. How much more could you possibly take from me? There's nothing left,” you shuddered, sucking uneven air between your teeth before gesturing at his state. “I don’t care if you’re drunk, I don’t care if you’re broken. You can’t just walk in here like nothing, trying to tell me the same shit that didn’t land the first time. To what?  To give you my heart back when y-you broke it -- broke me -- first? Is that what you wanted to talk about?” 

Angel was stunned. But, as is the default, Angel deflected. His genuine remorse at your words buried beneath his childish need to lash out, like a child buries toys in a sandbox to spite the friend he won’t share with. 

“That's why you're out with that … What was his name? Chad? Tim? Awfully shiny duds that dude had on,” Angel continued, “He's so… not me."

Strike. Fucking. Three. 

"Possibly one of his best qualities," you snipped, venomously. “But this isn’t about him, and don’t act like it is. You keep trying this thing where you just want me to hear your broken record bullshit about how you want me back, how you wanna talk. But then you don’t say any shit of substance  And you certainly don’t hear a goddamn word I say back to you. That tells me you aren’t really ready to talk. And you don’t give a shit if I’m ready, either,” you bit. “I tried, Angel. To tell you a little bit of what I’m feeling? You don’t wanna hear it. You just want me to hear you -- even if you say nothing.”  

A little flurry of movement caught the corner of your eye, turning your head to see the waiter hovering awkwardly, clearly confused that the man sitting across from you was not the man he had seen you with all evening. 

You pushed back from your seat, standing and beckoning for the waiter to come over. 

"He's got the check," you gestured at Angel. 

You patted Angel’s leather-clad shoulder as you walked past him, toward the door. “Thanks, amor. Real classy of you, paying for a girl’s date, and all.”

Ice cold. 

You walked out of the restaurant as Christopher hung up his phone, turning to see the door swinging shut behind you, and you walking toward him. His sharp brow arched questioningly at your sudden appearance, opening his mouth to ask about the bill. 

“It’s taken care of,” you breezed before he could ask, “Let’s go. You said something about ice cream?” You looped your arm through his as the two of you made your way down the block. 

Inside the restaurant, Angel’s phone buzzed with a text from Coco asking him where the fuck he was, and what the fuck he was doing. 

But his mind was swimming. The verbal truths you’d laid into him wriggling beneath his skin to take residence in the part of his brain that kept him up at night. 

He looked down at his texts again. He honestly didn’t know how to answer. 

---

Then, after a bad night, there was nothing more you wanted than to see Angel, his presence always a balm to your frazzled nerves. His easy, (at times) childlike demeanor was refreshing, and brought a light into your day that you now realized had been long missing before you had moved down here. 

You were sitting on the couch in your living room, feet up on your coffee table, wearing your favorite joggers and oversized tee, the epitome of comfort. 

You had a crappy reality TV show on in the background while you tilted your head back, sheetmask on, the cooling gel seeping into your pores. Cleansing your face and your soul.  

You had texted Angel to come over. After this shit-show of a day, you could use the company. You understood it was late. You understood he may not be able to come over right away -- club shit. And wasn’t there always?

“Hasta pronto, Frida,” his last text had read. See you soon. 

That was over 45 minutes ago. You were antsy. You’d had a long day. Some dude at a consultation had rubbed you the wrong way -- the two of you not communicating your respective ideas together well. The idea that your artist’s brain couldn’t match his vision to deliver something itched at you, wrinkled your brain. You’d had no choice but to refer him to Oli. On top of that, he’d been leery with you. 

Your hands were tired, the fine bones in your fingers aching. And you sure as shit didn’t want to answer any more emails or DMs. You just wanted to lie here, sheetmask on. Unbothered. Your boyfriend’s presence would be a bonus, but he was late.  

Somewhere between your next episode of “90 Day Fiancee” and your umpteenth sigh, you heard it -- the telltale rumble of Angel’s bike making its way down your otherwise quiet street. 

At the gentle rap on your door, you solidified your puddle of comfortable bones long enough to slip off of your couch and make your way down the hall, unlatching it and opening the door, only to be greeted with the rapidly-horrified face of your boyfriend.

“Jesus fuck!” Angel yelped. 

Your body jolted at the shock of his shout, hand coming to your chest. 

“Sorry, Frida, didn’t mean to scare you, but…” he gestured at your face. “What the fuck is that?”

Oh. 

You brought your hand up to where the silvery-grey sheetmask was still resting atop your skin. You sighed, peeling the mask from your face slowly, revealing your dewy skin beneath. 

“Sorry about that,” you chuckled, your heartbeat returning to normal.

You turned and made your way back down the hall, beckoning for Angel to follow, which he did, shutting the door of your place behind him. 

“Sorry about that,” you called over your shoulder as you tossed the mask in the trash beneath your sink. “I kinda forgot it was there.”

“Not for nothing, Frida, but that’s a hell of a home defense system.”

At the question in your eyes, Angel continued, kicking his boots off and shuffling his way into your living room. 

“If any serial killer ever shows up to fuck with you? All you gotta do is answer the door like that. He’ll think another murderer is already here,” at that he sucked air thorugh his teeth like Hannibal Lecter. “Hellooooo, Clarice,” he mimicked, laughing at his own joke and popping the button on his jeans to make himself comfortable as he slouched on the couch. 

“Bien,” you agreed, between a flurry of giggles. “Too many cooks in the kitchen, and all that. Brilliant, Angelito.” 

You popped open your freezer to grab your jade roller, subsequently grabbing Angel a beer from the fridge. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Angel called from the other room. “Club shit ran long. Plus, you sounded kinda down when you messaged me. So I had to make a stop.” 

You peeked into the living room in time to see Angel pull a crinkling plastic bag of mini peanut butter cups from the deep pocket of his kutte, plopping the bag onto the coffee table. “I come bearing gifts.” 

You smiled to yourself in the kitchen, pleased as punch with Angel’s thoughtful gesture. You popped the cap on Angel’s beer, turning to bring the drink to him, simultaneously rolling the jade over your face in your other hand. 

“Gracias, amor,” he accepted the beer from you. “What’s this now?” He beckoned at the roller in your hands.

“It’s to help rub the product from the mask into my skin, plus it’s nice and cold -- keeps my face from getting puffy,” you explained. 

“I don’t understand why you females think you need alla that shit,” he said, taking a sip of your beer, turning his attention to your TV. Not that he would ever admit it, but he was following along the trainwreck of season six of “90 Day Fiancee” with you. Had his own couples he loved to hate. 

“We females,” you emphasized, “just aren’t afraid to prioritize self care, unlike you big, bad bikers. Seriously, Angelito, when was the last time you washed your face with something other than hand soap, or --” you gave an exaggerated shudder to drive home your point, “that shitty 16-in-one body wash/engine oil I know you keep in your shower.” 

Angel gave your shoulder a teasing little shove, ”Man, shut up. I bring you chocolate, and this is how you treat me?” 

Flirtation and sexual chemistry come easy to Angel. He was always blessed with an easy social grace, and women seemed to eat up the flirtatious attention. But anything more serious, and he becomes a blushing little boy, all shuffling feet, nervous smiles and awkward stuttering. There was some of that with you, he wouldn’t lie. But with you? Everything had a way of feeling so natural. 

“Oh, gracias, beautiful, generous, benevolent Angelito, god among men,” your voice was dramatic, teasing, you mocked bowing to him. 

“Okay, that’s enough outta you,” you grabbed your wrist, tugging you into his lap, tracing tickling fingers up your sides, causing you to writhe, shrieking through chiming laughter.  

Angel’s beer long-abandoned on the coffee table, your jade roller now dropped somewhere on the floor, you gazed into Angel’s face from your place reclining across his lap, chest heaving with the exertion of being tickled and laughing too much. 

For his part, Angel was looking down at you, brow softened in fondness for the woman before him, lightly trailing his hand along your cheeks. 

No one was laughing now, and the noise of the TV became an unimportant, staticky hum somewhere in the background to the moment you and Angel found yourselves in. 

You don’t know how you ended up beneath Angel on your couch. You were even less certain just when the two of you had absconded with your clothes. 

All you knew was that the heavy drag of him inside of you was resplendent, beyond words. Was it always like this with him?

And you? You were a brazen little thing, all gasping moans and dragging fingernails, urging Angel on with pleas and fluttering lashes. Your dedication to marking Angel’s back was admirable, and it’s not like he could honestly say he minded. He’d bear the battlescars of a night with you for eternity, if he could. 

As Angel thrust into you, all you could think about -- beyond the heated urgency of the way he was making you feel, was that he was perfect. 

The two of you basked in the after, awash in the blue-white glow of the TV screen still playing before you, skin now slightly sweaty and glistening in its own right, catching your breath together. The synchronicity of it all … music to you. 

You were both unfocused in your respective gaze’s on the television, just content to lie next to one another. Angel was stretched out on the couch behind you, unwrapping peanut butter cups, handing them to you piece by piece. This last one, he had pressed directly to your lips, which you had wrapped around the tips of his fingers, tongue following, as you accepted the candy. 

“Don’t start, Frida. I don’t know that I have the strength,” Angel said, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Just once more, Angelito? You know I’ve had a hard day,” you hmm’d. 

“Evil woman,” he chuckled, reaching for you again. 

“You love it,” you gasped at the feeling of his fingers making their way once more to your center. 

“Yeah,” he rasped, eyes trained on your face as he played your body. “I fuckin’ do.”

Somewhere between rounds two and three, you had managed to talk Angel into wearing a face mask of his own, promising that he would “feel so much better for it.” 

He had acquiesced, of course, never able to tell you no. But made you promise under pain of death that you would never reveal that he had done something so girly to any one of his brothers.

You had agreed, but taken out your phone to snap a quick pic. Angel shirtless, tattoos illuminated against his skin in the ambient lighting of your living room, with a sheet mask on his face was too good not to capture.

“I swear, Frida,” he began, mock-threateningly, “If that ends up on the ‘gram…”

You shook your head. 

“Don’t worry, Angelito. This one’s just for me. And… maybe for Coco, if I’ve had enough tequila.” 

So, the butterflies… Always gonna be there with you, huh?

---

A few days after your date, Coco had texted you. 

“Leti needs a ride to work on Tuesday, and I have a yard shift. I hate to ask, but can you take her?”

“Sure,” you’d agreed. Following up with another message, “Do I pick her up from your place?” 

“She’s coming with me to the yard. She likes to hang in the office with Chucky,” he’d responded. 

Well, shit. 

If you’d known that this favor had come with the condition that you return to the yard -- to anywhere within the vicinity of that god-forsaken clubhouse, you probably would have refused. But you knew Coco was struggling to balance his club life with his relationship with his daughter. And you liked Leti. 

“You got it,” you responded. Cringing to yourself at just how you were going to pull this off and get out of there without anyone else talking to you. But texting Coco back to ask who else was on the yard shift with him would be too obvious. And kinda rude. He knew who you were hoping to avoid. 

Not much got past Johnny “Coco” Cruz.

So, Tuesday afternoon found you rolling over to the yard, hoping to swoop Leti and make a quick getaway. 

Luck, like time, was a bitch of a woman. And never seemed to be on your side in the keen moments you’d hoped she would be. Because as you pulled your car into the dusty lot abutting the scrapyard, who do you see?

Coco, in his snapback and yard uniform, was laboring with a large piece of metal. Ezekiel appeared to be fluttering in and out of the clubhouse, the clinking of glasses from inside reaching your ears when the door opened. 

Angel and … of fucking course … Andres were across the yard from Coco, standing over a junker and exchanging words. 

You sighed, rolling your shoulders and steeling yourself for whatever this was about to be as you got out of your car. 

The sound of your door opening and shutting was enough to draw nearly every eye in the yard to you, Angel freezing in his spot from the other side of the lot

As you began to stride over to where Coco was standing, EZ bound down from the clubhouse steps, intercepting you and greeting you with a warm hug. You smiled easily at the younger Reyes brother, holding your hand up to your eyes to shade your face as you looked up at his smiling face, him already talking to you a mile-a-minute.

From across the yard, Angel observed the interaction. After you’d met the club initially, and met EZ, Angel was content to say that he could appreciate how well you got along with everyone. How well-liked you were by each of the men, especially his brother. 

You two discussed literature, art, and liked to talk shit to each other, friendship in its purest form. Somewhere between Faust and the floodgates, Angel had watched on as you spilled over in your excitement speaking to EZ. Faust and Proust. Did Angel know what -- or was it who?? -- the fuck a "Faust" was? No. But he'd drown himself in literary references that already made him feel over his head if it meant he got to sit back and just take in how well you'd gelled with his family, with Ezekiel. In another life he supposed he'd be jealous that you had so much in common with his brother. But you didn't look at Ezekiel the way you looked at him. 

Even Angel could see it. And if he couldn’t, Coco was quick to remind him. 

“She only got eyes for you, mano,” Coco had told him, quietly, resolutely. 

EZ had left you now, gone back to the clubhouse for something. As you made your way to Coco, hugging him in spite of his obvious hesitance. 

Angel heard him protest against your attentions -- “I’m covered in grease, ma.” 

You’d hugged him anyway. He’d melted into your embrace, smiling softly. Angel had confided to Coco that he had seen you a few days ago on a date. Coco’s eyes had clouded over with something as Angel spoke, but passed through his features quickly, like a summer storm, before clearing. Resuming listening to Angel. The conversation… hadn’t gone well. 

“Back again, huh?” Andres had said from Angel’s side, gesturing lightly to where you stood with Coco. He nudged Angel’s side. “You taking another crack at that?” 

Angel ignored his question. 

“I think she’s here to pick up Coco’s kid,” he said simply, turning his attention back to the junker. Choosing to stay out of the situation, as Andres had left the car and was now striding across the lot to you.

“No hug for me, jaina?” 

You’d frozen in place at the voice behind you, Coco’s quicksilver eyes darting to over your shoulder, where Andres now stood, narrowing at the man’s question. 

You recovered quickly.

“Sorry,” you breezed, turning to face Andres. Noting the way his panther tattoo peeked out from the tank the man was wearing. You would never say you hated any piece you did, per se. But you weren’t about to post this one, wanting no association with it, or the man who bore it. Even if it was perfectly fine work. “Coco really was covered in grease. It’s pretty gross. I think I’m good,” you diverted, nudging Coco’s ribs and smiling to ease the tension. 

Andres shrugged, the blow to his pride obvious in the way his face twisted and his eyes narrowed at how closely you stood to the lithe ex-military man next to you. 

Coco eased through the conversation, patting your arm comfortingly, his eyes finding yours as he spoke, “I’mma go get Leti, OK? I’ll be right back.” 

You were a little distraught at the idea that Coco would leave you with this man, knowing how he had spoken to you before. But you supposed if he could hurry this interaction along and go get his daughter, it might not be so bad. 

“So,” you turned, schooling your facial features into a mask of cool indifference as you faced Andres, who was now addressing you. “We didn’t get to finish what we started the other night,” was all he said.

“Didn’t we?” You asked, tilting your head, nodding toward Andres’s tattoo. “I think we finished. It healed nicely.”

Andres rolled his eyes a little at you, as though you were slow. 

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” He took a step toward you. 

Was this guy for real? Was he not getting it, or did he just not care?

You took a step in kind back from Andres, your anger flaring. “So what did you mean?” you asked. “You mean the bit before I gave you free ink, where you insulted my work? Or the bit after I gave you free ink, where you just insulted me?”

You could see the faint twitch in Andres’s face as you called him out. His patience clearly wearing thin. A man not used to hearing no when it was told to him. 

“That’s what I always liked about you,” he gritted out, smiling fakely, “you got that reaaaal fiery attitude. Not just any guy would put up with it,” he said, as though he was trying to give you advice.

“I dunno what you mean by ‘always,’” you said, politely, your own fake smile screwed into place. “If you excuse me, I’m gonna go find Leti.” 

As you made to leave, Andres lunged forward, gripping your wrist. 

"You really don't remember me?" Andres pressed, "C'mon, chiquita, don't be like that."

"I really don't," you snipped, whipping your wrist out of his grip. You were a little shorter with him than you usually were with people, even in your more frustrated moments. But he really was pissing you off. "Sorry if that's a blow to the ego, or whatever, but I didn't really make it a habit of looking at other guys when I was with someone else."

Andres snorted, tone no longer teasing, eyes dark and flat. You turned to face him again at the undignified sound he had made, noting his cool, angry features. 

"If only that 'someone else' had shown you the same courtesy," he snarled, swatting at your wrist now instead of reaching for it. 

"Hey, man, leave her the fuck alone." You turned to see EZ and Coco striding across the yard with Leti in tow, making their way toward you. Out of the corner of your eye, Angel was also making his way over, shoulders tense. 

EZ turned to you, taking in your crestfallen expression and the way you were suddenly very interested in your shoes. 

"You okay, hermanita?" EZ asked, large hand gentle on your shoulder. 

You nodded, sheepishly. Hating the way you seemed so small in that moment. This man was nothing, to you, or otherwise. And he’d managed to make you feel like you were nothing, too. 

You tried to find your voice again as you spoke, quiet at first, “Andres was just apologizing to me for the way he was rude at the patch party,” you turned to look at him, your eyes blazing now, “weren’t you?” 

Coco snorted. 

Andres narrowed his eyes, glaring at Coco, who held up his hands as if to say, “what can ya do?” 

“Best apologize,” Coco rasped, now pulling on a cigarette that seemed to have materialized from nowhere. “One does not fuck with Frida,” Coco exhaled. “Unwise, mano.” He gestured to you, “She’s got that scary tia energy.” 

EZ’s hand was still resting protectively on your shoulder as you crossed your arms over your chest, waiting for Andres’s apology, now that you’d put him on the spot in front of his brother. Angel watched the entire exchange like a snake coiled to strike.

He knew he had fucked up by not saying shit as Andres dug at you at the patch party. It had been roiling beneath his skin, his blood bubbling and waiting to burst forth. Waiting for a chance to put the fucker in his place.  

“Yeah,” Andres gritted through his teeth, fake smile ready to crack at any moment. “Sorry about that. Too much to drink, and all.” His voice was flat. Devoid of any real remorse, as you knew it would be. 

“It’s alright,” you shrugged. “I hope you enjoy the ink. It’s the last you’ll be getting from me.”

Andres’s eye twitched before the dam broke on his childish rage, “Why you gotta be such a fuckin’ bitch? No wonder Angel fucked around on you -- that smart-ass mouth is gonna get you slapped.” 

He made to step toward you again, EZ and Coco stood before you, protectively, blocking you from Andres’s approach.

But Andres could reach you, Angel had gripped his shoulder, turning him around and landing a punch square to his jaw.

“Man, what the fuck,” Andres swore, spitting a wad of blood at the toe of Angel’s boot. “What the fuck did you hit me for?” 

Angel cracked his knuckles, shaking his wrist and his hand out from the impact of his hit to Andres’s face, readying himself to strike again if he needed to.

“You don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that,” he squared up, shoving Andres in the shoulder. “Listen to me, new patch. I’ll explain the rules -- you don’t look at her. You don’t talk about her. You don’t even think about her.” 

Angel’s shoulders were heaving as he worked himself up more, stalking toward Andres, like a jungle cat, coiled muscle beneath his skin ready to unleash. 

“Nod so I know you understand,” he bellowed in Andres’s direction, pointing a thick finger accusingly into his face, rewarded with Andres's curt nod.

EZ gently removed himself from your side, coming to grab Angel and whisper into his ear, calming him.

“Hey, man,” EZ reasoned, “Now’s not the time. You guys can settle this later. Cage.” 

Angel nodded, breathing heavily through his nostrils and willing himself to calm down as he turned to you, locking eyes with you again, only to be met with an imperceptible look on your face. Had he fucked this up even further now? You had never looked at him like that.

You shook your head, breaking the moment and stepping from behind Coco to go meet Leti where she was standing a comfortable distance away from the whole scene. 

“We gotta go,” you said, hurriedly grabbing Leti’s hand and marching off toward your car with the girl in tow. 

You buckled yourselves in and drove away from the lot in a cloud of dust. Hoping you could just leave it all behind. The further you got from the gates, the easier you could breathe. You drove in silence, as Leti watched you, assessing. Before she broke the silence. 

"We all miss you, you know," Leti said, softly, from her place in the passenger seat. "Just because Angel let you go doesn't mean we wanted to lose you, too. And fuck Andres. He’s a fuckin’ clown."

Leti's words were a wave of molten-hot guilt washing over you, burning your synapses and hardening over any residual anger and sadness you'd felt over the confrontation that had just happened. You knew some of what Leti had been through. How she, so like yourself, was reticent to form bonds with new people. How she'd routinely felt abandoned by those she let herself care about -- and you felt you'd now done the same.

"I'm so sorry, Leti," you implored, looking into the girl’s doe eyes, flecked with amber-gold and layered with wisdom and emotion. Her gaze heavy and so like her father’s. Nothing slipped past them. "I never meant to hurt you, to leave you."

"I-it's just … I miss you, is all," she murmured, twisting her long hair around her finger. "I know EZ misses you. He talks about you all the time. And … and my dad, too. Coco doesn't talk about it alot, but I think that says more than if he tried to put it in words. I know for a fact he misses you. Was pretty pissy with Angel for a while after everything went down." 

You smiled gently, leaning forward across the console to give Leti a soft hug.

“I really am sorry, Leti. I promise I’ll be around more,” you broke the hug, rubbing her arm as you pulled away. “You and Coco are welcome to come over for dinner anytime. I’ll cook for you. Just tell Coco no smoking in the house, cierto? And don’t tell Coco I said so, but you can come hang with me in the shop, if you want. Been slow lately. You can come do homework someplace quiet..” 

She chuckled lightly, nodding and promising to text you about coffee plans as she got out of the car.

You mulled over Leti’s words as you drove away. Maybe cutting everyone other than Aneesa out flatly wasn't the way to go. It's possible you had made a mistake there, though it's not like Leti hadn't confirmed that she understood why you did what you did. And it's not like other people wouldn't have done the same in your shoes. Even still, perhaps re-cracking open the "Angel" chapter of your life had its benefits, if only to once more let in the friends you had made along the way. 

Your departing words to Leti ringing in your ears long after you’d parked at home,

"I'll reach out to the guys more, too," you confirmed. "I didn't mean to leave everyone hanging."

I know you, you're like this. When shit don't go your way, you needed me to fix it.

And like me, I did, but I ran out of every reason.

---

The cracks of the next morning’s light streaming through the slats on his window were barely perceptible to Angel in his haze. The kind of stupor that comes when you’ve effectively straddled the line between two worlds -- Angel reluctantly bids farewell to the gentle caress of sleep, even if it was imperfect and restless; and begrudgingly greets the world of the waking, frowning beneath a heavily-furrowed brow at the grey-orange sun. 

Through the warming beams of light that streamed in isolated splashes across his skin and the bedspread, he could still imagine, half in dreams, that the warmth was you curled beside him, all soft curves, your thigh slotted between his, your sleep-mussed hair, his shirt riding up your form just so as you snoozed, and oh, your sweet, half-awake smiles. But the alternating cool spots of shade from the slats were the chilly reminder of your absence, of the ghost of your touch long gone cold. And as Angel shook himself more evermore awake and into the latter world, he wished he could return to the amorphous and hazy, staticky embrace of his dreams. 

Where life was a little more kind. Where there was a little more you. You were haunting him. Did memories, both experienced in your past together and the hypothetical potential “memories” of an unmet future, plague you, as well? Never to be? Did you dream of him? Or was he your nightmare? He supposed he’d never know, and knew had given up the right to ask. 

Put myself to sleep, just so I can get closer to you inside my dreams ...

It was a truth that was bitter, acrid, and hard to swallow. Or was that just his morning breath? Angel licked his lips, tasting the post-sleep stale dryness on his tongue, pushing himself out his side of the bed and toward the door -- for coffee or his toothbrush, he hadn’t decided. But the need to make a decision was cut short with an unexpected event-- 

A pounding at his door. Three raps from a heavy fist on the other side of his shitty apartment’s excuse for a door.

“Angel!” The shout through the wooden barrier that followed the persistent banging was unmistakably his obnoxious younger brother, come to pester him about what had gone down yesterday. Likely with a peace offering of some sort, as was EZ’s way. 

Angel sighed, rolling his neck to both sides until he was satisfied with the resulting crack, not bothering to tug on a shirt or socks as he padded his way through the cool, empty apartment. 

He fixed his signature scowling look of annoyance that EZ was so accustomed to to his face before swinging open the door. 

One of EZ’s bearpaw-like fists was still raised, fixed to rap against the door again if necessary. The other clutched a carrier with two to-go cups of coffee from EZ’s favorite shop. The one down the street from yours. The one with the cute barista. 

EZ, for his part, looked a little sheepish at the exaggeratedly grumpy look on his older brother’s face, his gilded, mossy eyes widening in a show of good-natured surprise. He recovered quickly, shouldering his way into Angel’s apartment, placing the to-go carrier with Angel’s coffee on his coffee table and flopping on one end of Angel’s couch, the leather giving a groan beneath his weight.

“By all means, bro, make yourself at fuckin’ home,” Angel groused, smacking his lips and turning to swipe the cup of coffee off of the table. 

“You’re welcome,” EZ smarted, eyebrows raised at Angel guzzling the fresh coffee like the heat was nothing. What was it you had called it?

Ah, asbestos mouth. EZ had heard the moniker pass through your lips on more than one occasion and found it to be apt as applied to his taciturn older brother. 

“So,” Angel said between sips of nuclear caffeine. “What? Any particular reason you’re banging on my door at ...” Angel trailed off, clearly unsure what time it actually was. 

“At 11:00 a.m.?” EZ supplied, sarcastically, “You’re right, Angel. It’s practically dawn.” 

“Man, shut up,” Angel groused, “What do you want?” 

“Who says I want anything,” EZ asked?

“This coffee’s got a string attached to it,” Angel shrugged, shuffling over to the couch and sitting a respectable distance from his annoying younger brother.

“We gotta talk about yesterday,” EZ supplied, finishing his sentence over Angel’s exaggerated groan and eye-rolling. 

“Wasn’t the point of yesterday that it’s done, little brother?” 

“Between you and Andres, maybe,” EZ said. “But not between you and me. After that shit you pulled at brunch with Gaby a few days ago, and now this, with Frida...” 

Angel took another sip of his coffee, his annoyance doubling at the increasingly lighter weight of the cup in his hands and at his brother’s pestering. 

“So, what? You wanna try and beat the shit outta me, too?” Angel asked. “Didn’t work out so well for Andres, did it?” 

“Look, Angel, I’m not trying to say I understand why you did what you did, fucking with Frida and Adelita. Because I don’t. And I gotta be honest -- after how yesterday went down, I understand it even less. And Coco agrees with me --”

“Oh, great,” Angel rolled his eyes, cutting his brother off. “You gotta stop going to the Church of Coco, man. What’d he tell you this time?” 

“That you’re fucking your way through your pain,” EZ parroted, mimicking Coco’s signature throaty breeze, “and you won’t stop until you feel something,” he shrugged, resuming his normal voice as he continued. “I don’t know about alla that, but --”

"It was too … domestic," Angel cut EZ off, shaking his head, more at himself than his brother. "Can you really see me with all that shit? Drinking coffee in bed together on a Sunday morning until we're old? Nah, bro … that ain't me. Adelita, the chaos. That's me." 

"It could be you, Angel," EZ protested. "The only person saying you can't have the Sunday coffee life is you."

“I'd just… I'd just fuck it up,” Angel sighed, dropping his forehead into his palm, his elbow on his knee. 

EZ continued drinking his coffee, pausing before delivering the blow. 

“I got news for you, bro,” he said between his prim little sips. “You did fuck it up.” 

Angel tch’d in annoyance at his brother, carding his hands through his hair and smoothing the thick strand that seemed to always threaten to fall over his eyes. For good measure, he tossed EZ that wicked side-eye only that only Angel and his mother had ever been able to truly perfect. 

“You think I don’t know that? You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

Angel takes another pull of his coffee, now just the overly-concentrated dregs at the bottom of the cup, lightly grimacing at the beverage’s bitterness. EZ knew Angel took his coffee black, of course it would be the kind of thing his little brother would remember. But, in truth, given the way this conversation was turning, the literal sensation of bitterness on his tongue was almost too much for Angel to bear. He’d almost preferred it if EZ had forgotten his order -- watered the drink down with cream and (dare he say it?) sugar, and called it a day. Because at least it would be easier to swallow than the harsh truths and bile that were currently stewing inside of Angel, waiting to be given a voice. And it didn’t seem that EZ was in any kind of charitable mood when it came to pulling punches, either. 

Angel took in his brother’s profile from his perched place at the end of the couch: EZ’s legs were spread in a show of comfort, but shoulders tensed, like he was waiting to fight Angel every step of the way, no matter where this conversation was headed. Angel supposed he’d deserved that. 

For as fiercely protective as little Ezekiel was of his big brother, he was -- annoyingly so -- protective of the woman he’d dubbed his hermanita. A soft spot for you, the artsy girl with ink-stained fingers who would press lent books into his baby brother’s hands insistently, all the books you could bear to part with. Always there for Ezekiel with a patient ear and arms that would do their best to wrap around his broad shoulders. 

 Angel was struck again with the heavy weight-- the sinking stone in his gut that -- in theory-- should pull him to the bottom of the river he found himself awash in. Drowning is a sort of grounding, yes? But no… he just drifted further and further down the bank, carried in the foaming rapids by the pressing weight of his choices. In addition to that weight, his guilt prickled. Once again with the realization that his decisions had affected not only his love with you, but your relationship with Ezekiel, as well. How incredibly short-sighted he'd been with it all, playing fast and loose with the lives of everyone he'd loved.

Angel sighed before he spoke again, 

“No one ever tells you, do they?” EZ perked up at that, looking at his brother with his brows furrowed in puppylike-confusion. 

“No one ever tells you just how insecure it all makes you feel,” Angel supplied. “Love. They write a million songs about how perfect it all is -- how it’s supposed to be some kind of divine answer. Birds singing, an’ shit. Or they talk about how it rips your fuckin’ heart out, but they…” Angel pauses to chuckle, “They never tell you how when you’ve got it, you feel both so… happy it’s yours. But terrified at the same time that it never. Really. Belongs to you.” 

He shook his head, meeting his brother’s eyes again, his own swimming with the glimmer of emotion long-kept down. EZ leaned across the couch, placing a warm hand on his brother’s shoulder, nodding at him in acquiescence, encouragement to keep going. 

“I-I know what I did, and I know everyone wants an answer… Why did I do it? Why-why did I let it all go down like that? But what answer would ever be good enough? I hurt her, and that’s the end of it. I was fuckin’ stupid, all because I was scared. I had her, and I knew I shouldn’t have had her at all. And I’m just so fuckin’ … sorry.” 

He sighed, breath shuddering. Opting to fill the now-still air in his apartment with another bitter slug of shitty coffee while EZ pondered what to say in response. 

EZ shifted on the couch, leather creaking beneath him as he weighed what to tell his brother. 

“I- I don’t know what the answer here is, Angel,” EZ finally admitted. “I get that it’s scary. Fuck yeah, it is. But that’s no excuse --”

“I know that,” Angel snapped. 

EZ held his hands up in surrender, placating the red dragon-heat that was his brother’s quick temper before it could rise. 

“I know you do,” EZ spoke softly, “I know, man. But it’s not that simple. You should probably tell her, ya know? What you just told me. But even if you did, she’d be within her right not to hear it. Or not to want to fix shit with you, or take your apology. And you? Gotta accept it.” 

EZ brushed imaginary dirt from the thigh of his jeans before speaking again, 

“Sucks,” he sighed through his nose. “I dunno if I’d be madder at her for taking you back or for not taking you back. But, uh, even if she doesn’t, that doesn’t mean you won’t find it again, Angel. You just gotta decide whether you wanna try here -- and accept the outcome no matter what she decides. You owe her that. But one thing’s for sure … you should actually try talkin’ to her.”

Angel had the faraway look in his eye of a man either deep in thought, or someone not listening entirely, staring through the far wall as EZ had spoken to him. Maybe he didn’t look it, but he’d heard every word, turning them over again in his mind before swallowing them somewhere deep in his gut, internalizing wisdom from someone who was younger than him, but who’d undoubtedly lived through more than most people. EZ was good for that kind of bereft wisdom -- disconnected in its logic coming from someone like EZ, but completely sensical when you understood the depth of the boy’s character and empathy. Not for the first time in his life, Angel was grateful for Ezekiel. 

He smiled weakly at his little brother, acceptance cracking through the little cracked crescent grin, “Mom would’ve liked her, huh?” 

EZ smiled at his brother in return, facile and genuine, as only Ezekiel’s grins could be.

---

I swear, for a while I would stare at my phone just to see your name, but now that it's there, I don't really know what to say…

Across town, EZ had left Angel’s, and the latter, now alone in his apartment and buzzing with EZ's words, was typing a text to you. And here you are … looking down at your phone between gathering your laundry and stacking clean dishes. You saw Angel’s name pop up next to the little text bubble on your homescreen, causing you to pause in your chores.

Huh. Unexpected  Should you open it? 

After everything that had gone down yesterday at the scrapyard, and the shitty attempt a few days prior to fuck up your date-- were you ready now to have the conversation you knew you and Angel were dancing around for the better part of several months? Ready to breach the seemingly impenetrable wall of silence? Feelings like the ones you held for Angel had a way of not being able to stay buried for too long. And you knew you could never truly move on, never would be able to give the icy shards wedged between your ribs and into your heart a chance to heal. Not unless you and Angel got it all out into the open.

And with the circumstances the way they were, with everything that had gone down -- how many women in your position could say they'd had the same opportunity?

How did the old saying go? What three things cannot long be hidden? The sun. The moon. And the truth. 

The truth was, to you, the sun and moon rose and set on Angel. 

The truth was, you had bitten off a few barbs and spat them at Angel in the few moments you’d shared with him since he tossed you from his apartment all those months ago. You weren't a perfect person. But it’s damn well what he deserved, after what he did. You weren’t wrong about that. The fact that everyone, and Angel’s father, were angry at him for the way things had gone down told you that you were not the one in the wrong.

The truth was, Angel had fucked up. Not only with his infidelity and the way he had tipped you from his life, with blunt hands tearing haphazardly at the roots… but he had insulted you, your work, and stood idly by and allowed others to do the same. 

He knew it, and you knew it. And you had both been petty.

But now that the wound was open, and the skin around it raw and heated, pulsing with its own heartbeat -- how could you ever give it a chance to heal if you didn't try to close it?

There was nothing saying that if you read Angel’s message, if you heard him out, and you got the chance to say your own piece, that you had to forgive him. And if it meant moving on? Maybe it was the step you needed to take. 

Like burning a candle to the end. Or, yes, wrapping a wound. Or perhaps like covering an old tattoo. Clara Forever? 

You unlocked your phone, sliding open your texts, taking a deep breath as you did so.

“I just wanted you to know I heard what you said,” Angel’s text read. “I do wanna talk to you, Frida. But only when you’re ready to talk to me. If you ever are. I just want to hear you out. Even if I know you never have to accept my apology.” 

Well. 

You looked down at your phone. You read Angel's text. Re-read it.

You'd be lying to yourself if you didn't acknowledge that everything that had gone down hadn't been building to this. 

 You brought your thumbs to the glass, beginning to type,

"I'm off tomorrow at six. You can come by after."

There. Short, sweet, and to the point.

Your phone pinged in your hand. Glancing down at it, you saw two words in response,

"Gracias, Frida."

"Don't thank me yet."

You put your phone down flat on the counter. 

The truth was, you still loved Angel Reyes. And you weren't sure whether your rage outweighed your ardor. And this scared the shit out of you.

When Angel rolled up the next day at ten after six, you were slightly annoyed. In the beginning of your relationship, he had been incredibly punctual, likely borne out of eagerness to see you. As time wore on, Angel's timeliness waned. At the time, you had assumed it had everything to do with his commitments to the club, and had remained understanding. With the benefit of hindsight, however, you now knew that it likely wasn't always the club. 

You didn't know anything about Adelita, save for her relationship to Angel. And you intended to keep it that way. But a nastier part of your brain was intensely curious. 

Did she make Angel laugh? Was she smarter than you? Prettier than you? She had to be beautiful, just like Angel was beautiful. The thought made your heart ache. 

When she kissed Angel, did she taste your lips on his? Did she know about you now? Did she hold more of Angel's heart than you had? 

If you were more like her, would Angel have chosen you?

You knew you wouldn't ask Angel any of these questions -- what did they always say? Don't ask something you don't really want the answers to? 

You slept easier at night keeping the idea of Adelita just that -- an amorphous, question mark-shaped idea. Knowing Angel's part in it all was more than enough.

Easier. You said you slept easier. Not well. You dreamt of Angel far too often to say you slept well. You dreamt of the feel of his hair between your fingers, both in a gentle and comforting pass, and in the harsh tugging borne of passion. You dreamt of the feel of his warm skin against yours. You dreamt of days spent swimming in the ocean, him lifting you up to twirl you through the water, like a sea sprite, a deity meant to be worshipped. Perhaps most cruelly, you sometimes dreamt of a future. Your memories blended with your dreams at the cruel, twisting hands of hazy sleep. Never to be.

And when Angel arrived at your place shortly after you had returned home from closing the shop, your gut, your brain, and your heart were all writhing in their own respective dances, never in sync with one another, and rendering your nerves completely fried. 

You opened the door, beckoning Angel in. You stopped yourself from moving to help remove the kutte from his shoulders and hanging it by the door, freezing your hands in the middle of raising to do just that, dropping them awkwardly by your sides again.

If Angel noticed, he hadn't said anything.

He shuffled into your place, likely surveying what had changed since he had last been there. To his surprise? Not much. You still had candles everywhere, casting everything in a warm glow. Your overstuffed chairs were still draped in cozy blankets and piled with brightly-patterned throw pillows. The bookcase in the corner of your living room was still packed to the edges, stacks of additional books on the floor at the foot. Your potted green plants made the room look simultaneously larger and smaller. Your dedication to maximalism was admirable. 

You loved what you loved, even if you didn't have the space. In your heart, or otherwise.

Angel breathed in the familiar cinnamon-orange scent that was your place, its permanent residence in his mind sending a zip through his heart. 

You shuffled past Angel, into your living room and making your way toward the kitchen, offering Angel a drink, which he declined.

You shrugged. "Suit yourself."

You made your way into the kitchen, opening a cabinet that Angel knew contained a precarious tower of stacked coffee mugs. Like a personal game of Jenga only you could win, you plucked your desired mug, and closed the cabinet before the dangerous clinking of the remaining mugs could turn disastrous. 

You prepared a cup of tea while Angel stood at the carpeted edge of your living room, unsure of just how comfortable he was allowed to make himself in this space that -- while just as chaotically orderly and distinctly you as he remembered it -- seemed to be purged of any remembrance of him.

Stirring honey into your mug of tea and blowing on it, you watched Angel over the rim of your mug. Watched him observe your space, and waited for him to speak. 

You tilted your head toward the open door of your bedroom, breaking the silence first,

“I, uhhh, I’ve been working all day. I’m just gonna change real fast.” You shuffled your feet into the carpet, padding softly into your room and pushing the door softly shut. 

You slipped out of your jeans and into soft sweats and an oversized tee. Maybe if you felt more comfortable, you could stave off some of the awkwardness. Maybe letting Angel back into your space wasn’t the best idea. 

After changing, you took a moment -- sat on your bed, elbows balanced on your knees and head in your hands … you took a few deep breaths, lit a candle. Your palms felt clammier by the second, knowing that Angel was out there waiting for your re-emergence.

You don’t know how long you were sitting on the edge of your bed, just breathing. Preparing yourself. 

A soft knock on your bedroom door broke your dazed thoughts. You looked up, seeing Angel through the widening crack in the door, fist raised, his knuckle rapping softly on your bedroom door. 

You locked eyes for moment before Angel chuckled sheepishly to himself, shuffling his feet in your doorway,

“I, uh, thought you might’ve jumped out the window,” he chuckled lightly. 

Leave it to Angel to find a way to lighten the heavy mood that had descended upon your space. You managed to crack a small smile, corner of your mouth tilting up just-so in that way he had always found endearing. 

“The thought had crossed my mind,” you shrugged, patting the space next to you, acquiescing to allow Angel to sit. 

He crossed your room, exhaling heavily as he took a seat next to you on the bed. 

Now that you were seated so closely to Angel in the low light of your bedroom, you looked at his face, taking him in. Really looking at him for the first time in months. Trying to ignore the pricking feelings of trauma that were doing their best to bubble beneath the surface and consume you --- had Angel not broken your heart in a manner so like this? Seated next to one another on the end of his bed while he told you, in no uncertain terms, that he was done with you? The thought made a sick wave of nausea wash through you. You wiped your perpetually-sweaty hands along the thighs of your sweats. 

You had survived the last encounter like this, hadn't you? Honestly, what more could he do to you? 

For his part, Angel was silent next to you, surveying the space of your room as he had in your living room. The familiar clutter greeted him -- a stack of books and a coffee mug on your bedside. A sketchbook never too far from reach. The comforter beneath him as pillowy as he remembered. He shuddered a sigh. 

You decided to take conversational mercy on him, 

"Go ahead,” you beckoned. “Say what you have to. But just know I meant what I said at the party. I don't need shit from you. You telling me what you want to say is for you. And when it's done, you're going to give me what I deserve and listen to me. We need to put this behind us. I’m not going to be looking over my shoulder for you for the rest of my life, Angel.” What had started as a murmur grew fiercer with each word.

"That's fair, querida," was all he offered. Your words to him each time you had spoken since the party were evermore forceful. He was used to gentle Frida. It wasn't often that the turn of your tide was leveled against him. Not often he was forced to bear the brunt of your storm when you were upset.

He could see what Coco meant. It was unwise to make you angry 

He turned his body slightly to face yours, looking down at your hands as though he was contemplating attempting to hold one. His fingers twitched where his hands rested along his thighs. Better just to crack the ice, become submerged in frozen water. Take the shock out of it now, even if he wasn't sure where to begin, now that he faced you.

“I”m not really sure what I can tell you that’ll make it better,” he admitted.

You sighed. 

“I’m not looking for you to make it better, Angel. There is no more better. Whatever you want to say, you say it,” you pressed. “We’re past better. We’re not together. you were clear about that. You don’t have to spare my feelings, I’m not your girl.”

Angel flinched, almost imperceptibly, at your last statement.  He knew you weren’t together, knew you weren’t his. Hell, he’d been busy in the months since you’d been broken up. Busy chasing Adelita. Busy with other women when it didn’t work out with Adelita. Busy acting like a jackass with Andres. Busy with club nonsense. But hearing you say that you weren’t his girl? 

It made Angel’s heart ache in a way he wasn’t expecting. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said. At your scoff, he shook his head. “Really. After Adelita told me she was pregnant … I thought it was easier just to let you go. I needed to be there for her, for the kid. Even if it meant -- even if it meant losing you.” 

“Easier for who? For you?” Your voice was soft. You hated that, once again, you felt like the crystalline girl Angel’s heartbreak had rendered you. Worried that the slightest thing would shatter you once more. 

Angel chucked again, but there was no humor behind it. His eyes looked flat, as though he wasn’t really focusing on anything. 

“For both of us, I guess. It’s stupid. I thought if I just -- cut you out … we would both be better. But … that ain’t what happened. I just made us both miserable. I made you hate me. And now ...  She's gone. And so are you,” Angel’s voice was low, cracked. 

The weight of his words, coupled with the gravelly pitch of his voice was making you feel restless, itchy. Grit like pebbly grains of sand you would roll between your fingers on days at the beach, palpable and pronounced.

“A-and,” you interjected, “how did you meet her? When did you meet her?” 

Angel’s eyes darted to meet yours again, finding a swimming emotion he was getting better at putting his finger on. You only looked like that when you were getting lost in negative thoughts, awash in a sad song. Or when he was breaking your heart. He hated that look on your face. Hate that it marred your beautiful features into baleful melancholy. 

“Club shit,” was all he’d said. “We were mixed up in some shit with the rebels. We were helping each other. W-we connected. It just … happened.” 

You whipped your head at that last bit, eyes hardening. Angel’s hands came up, defensively.

“I know. Everyone says that, don’t they? It’s true… and I -- I really didn’t mean to hurt you. When I found out she was pregnant, I thought I was doing the right thing. By her. And by you,” he sucked air in through his teeth before releasing the breath in a huff of air. “I was wrong, Frida. I made every wrong choice, and I’m sorry.”

Angel carded his hands through his hair, tugging the ends lightly in his frustration. “I-- I just been going through some shit lately. And then ... Ezekiel tried to serve us brunch, and I was an asshole.” 

He looked at you, only to meet your puzzled gaze.

“Brunch?” You queried, wrinkling your nose lightly. “Since when are you a brunch kinda guy, Angelito?” 

“I really ain’t,” he said. “And you?”

“I like brunch just fine,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes.

“That’s not what I mean, Frida, and you know it,” he said. “But we can get back to that later.” He took in your loose sweats, the way you had been picking your nails, the bags beneath your eyes. You had looked so beautiful, so perfect and untouchable,  at the patch party the other night. And now -- in your room, all pretense stripped away, Angel could see the real you … behind the professional and put-together front. The tired girl with a broken heart. And he felt the residual ache in his chest that had taken residence left of his heart ever since the day he had put your stuff in a box and left it outside of his door. 

“I know you have something you want to say to me, too, Frida. Your turn. How are you feeling?”

You laughed hollowly, your eyes fixed on the doorway to your room, half expecting Angel to get up and go.

“I’ve been better, Angel,” you deadpanned, swiveling to look at him, and finding him still seated next to you. “Ya know? It’s been a tough couple of days? Between that disaster of a party and whatever the hell went down the other day… but this town is too small for us to just try to ignore each other, and I do like it here.” You rubbed your eyes, the air between the two of you filling with silence that never used to be so awkward.  

“That can’t be all you gotta say,” Angel pressed. “C’mon, Frida. Tell me how you’re feeling. I was… I was awful to you.”

The candle in the corner of the room sputtered, causing momentary, flickering shadows to dance along the walls of your room. Your safe, homey space felt full of shadows and ghosts, words unspoken between the two of you threatening to burst forth, your closet brimming with proverbial skeletons. 

And you were just so tired. And now Angel was pressing you? You weren’t sure if the heat was from your sweats, the proximity of the man next to you, that you had turned up the thermostat too high. Or the fact that you were still so fucking angry. 

“You want to know how I’m feeling, Angel?” You tugged on the ends of your hair, running your hands down the thighs of your sweats once more. Were you always so sweaty? “I appreciate you telling me the truth. Finally. And for apologizing, I guess.”

Tears were pricking at your eyes, the heat blazing in your cheeks matching the heat in the room.  

"But you made me look stupid. Like someone in need of pity," you sucked air in through your teeth. "I fucking hate pity, Angel. It's just misplaced empathy. A useless emotion. And you’d think I’d just wear that mess? For everyone to see? At the party. At the yard. Everyone just feeling sorry for me. For months. Because of you.”

The ache in Angel’s chest intensified. Awash in a wave of hot shame. Was it always so hot in this room? You were right. And weren’t you always? You never were that girl, and he had sent you down the river like you meant nothing, your artist’s hands crushed beneath the washed stones of his choices. He opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t done, apparently --

“And after everything? The way it went down? You made me feel like … I don’t know … Like you were punishing me,” your voice cracked, sobs and tears imminent through the dam you had erected. “Like I loved you more than you loved me, and you knew it… like you wanted to make me pay for that.” 

“Frida …” Angel turned his body toward yours fully now, closing the space between the two fo you and cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the silvery hot tears that were slipping down your face, sick that he had caused them. Sick that he had even made you think that what you were saying was true. “It wasn’t like that,” he assured. 

“And the shittiest part is,” you hiccuped around your words, “you can’t even tell me give me the comfort of a cliche -- you can’t honestly tell me ‘it meant nothing,’ or that it was a ‘one-time thing,’ because none of that is true, is it? You care about her -- you had a child with her. You love her. And here I thought I could take what you did, take you, fold you up and tuck you away, like a note you pass in school. And I can’t. I just can’t.”

You tilted your face downward now as your tears fell, allowing your face to be fully cupped by Angel’s warm, calloused hands. Even now, you were still amazed at how tender his touch was, despite his rough exterior. All he wanted now was to comfort you, to touch you and bring your eyes to his again. To remind you of his love for you. Once. Now. Always?

“Frida, it wasn’t like that. They were my selfish, stupid choices. Mine. And I was scared. Scared of how much I wanted … everything with you. And it wasn’t right. I told you -- I … been going through some shit.” 

“Scared,” you murmured. Turning your face in Angel’s hands, causing your lips to brush over his fingers. You leaned back, effectively releasing your face from the trace of his touch. 

“Isn’t it remarkable how secure and insecure you can simultaneously feel when you’ve found someone worth loving? I felt it, too. With you  it's now I knew you were the one,” You said. Angel straightened in shock, at how, though you weren’t present for his conversation yesterday with Ezekiel, you parroted his feelings he had confided in his brother back to him. Always on the same page. His full lips pursed as you continued. 

“We can’t keep using what happened to hurt each other. I’m done with that,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m sorry you felt the way you did. I’m sorry you felt like you needed to look elsewhere. And I hope you find what you're looking for,” you hated how soft your voice sounded to your own ears. Hadn't you meant to be forceful, angry? You sniffled. “Because, despite everything that’s happened...  You are someone worth loving, Angelito.” 

"No, Frida," he shook his head softly before looking at you again, eyes glittering. "You are. Someone deserving of more.”

Your breath caught in your chest at his words, taking this moment to look into his ochre eyes once more. You wanted to commit to your memory just how they swirl like melting chocolate and promises in low candlelight.

And, oh. Angel was made to be seen like this, you’d thought. The dim candlelight giving everything in your room a pleasant glow and slightly-blurry edges. He looked like his namesake. And how ironic was that, really? Considering the context of your conversation. 

It's easy these days, you thought, for you to get carried away by your own feelings... While you searched desperately in the emotional rubble for your muse, Angel, the truth of it tore you to shreds with blunt fingernails -- knowing he was  out in the world -- running freely and carelessly. Running away with your imagination. With your hope. With the pieces of your heart that had survived the blitzing storm he had put you through. With the pieces of your heart that had belonged to him. That you feared may always belong to him.  

Looking at Angel now, in the low-lit steadfast luminescence of your room, shadows flickering agreeably across his angular cheekbones. He was sculpted. Made to be admired in perpetuity. Artist that you were, it ached. It stung. The knowledge that your hands were not the ones that had molded him into the man sat beside you. A man molded, instead, by his own choices. 

All you could do was watch as those wrong decisions drifted lazily down the river, only to become a torrent, Angel caught in the current. The waves lapped loudly, sloppily against riverbanks of better judgment, but Angel is never quite washed ashore. No, as you watched, he slipped down the river, out of your fingertips and toward something you're too fearful to quantify. Away from you. 

You want the river to carry him back to you. To home. But you know it never will. 

Angel has two choices now: To drown under the weight of his path this river has wrought; or to swim. 

As you sit beside him in the growing heat of your room, you hope he chooses to swim. Even if it’s not to where you stand. 

"So, is that what’s next?” You asked, wiping your eyes. 

At Angel’s puzzled look, you carried on,

"You're asking for it back," you whispered. “Or you’re going to. My heart? You may not have said it like that, exactly, but it's what you want. Like you don't know how bad it all hurt me, even if you say you know, I don't think you ever will. And even if I wanted to give it to you, I don't know if there's enough of it left."

You wrung your hands together, awaiting Angel’s response. You looked up at him through your lashes, clumped together with the tears that had escaped during your confessional. 

His molten eyes were soft on your form, swallowing before he spoke again. 

“I was such an asshole… to you. And at that stupid brunch … to Gaby. But it was all just … too much. I mean, she was wearing mom’s apron…” Angel shook his head. “And all I could think of … Even with Adelita out there, with her and my boy gone, outta my life… all I could think of was how it should be you wearing the stupid apron. It should be me giving you my mother’s ring. And I was so angry at Ezekiel for having all of that. For having what I wanted … wanted with you.” 

If there was any air left in the room, it was certainly all gone now. All that was left was heat, no air or space between the two of you. Just stagnant air and the weight of words, both said and unsaid. And if Angel had said these words to you more than a year ago? Maybe they would sound different to your ears. Melodious, even. 

Now, all you could think to do was comfort. Ever the nurturer. What else could you do, really, after he'd said that? You shook your head gently, lacing your fingers through Angel’s and squeezing. 

“It’s not that he has something you don’t, or that you can’t have, Angel… What EZ and Gabriela have is what they have. It’s theirs. You’ll have yours. Someday.”

Silence descended upon the room once more. The warm scent of orange-cinnamon from your candle permeated the room, the ever-present heat between you and Angel banishing all thoughts of romantic winter from your mind. 

“I just wanna say, again, Frida… how sorry I am for what happened at the party. For what happened with Andres. It was fucked up of me,” Angel’s tongue passed over his lips. “Did I answer all of your burning questions?” 

You reached over, trailing your fingers over the tattoo you had given Angel what felt like a lifetime ago.  His eyes followed the trajectory of your fingers, his nerves alight at the feeling of your starlit, feathery touch on his skin once more.

"Just one left.” Your eyes locked with his, unwavering. “Who am I to you, really?" You ask, the edge your silken voice had taken on slides beneath Angel's skin clumsily, like crumbling shards of glass. "What did I mean?"

Angel tries not to look at you now. Tries, but fails. His dark eyes meet your downcast ones once more, hates that they are once more glimmering with unshed tears waiting to fall. Hating that once again, he's the cause of the dreary blue tinge shading what should have been your sunny, hopeful worldview. Awash with the sunsets he would take you to see. 

And if there was any time for blossoming truth, for a sprig of rosemary remembrance of sacred feeling, it was now. 

"You're the love of my life," he finally admits, exhaling heavily. "That's just it, ain't it? Always you. And not that I have any right to ask you now -- But I need to know, Frida. Am I yours?"

Any air left was sucked from the room in one fell swoop, leaving you with the stuffy and sticky discomfort of Angel's question and the weight of his heated gaze on you, waiting for something, anything to fall from your pretty lips.

And what a question it was. 

You knew the answer, of course. You reach up to brush your thumb tenderly across Angel’s sculpted cheek, as though you could be the one molding it, nodding before verbalizing your answer,

"You've always been the love of my life. Had my heart. I'm yours, But, I think I know now… that  you were never truly mine. Even if you say it now. You have a heart that's not so easily won, Angelito. That's something I wish I'd learned sooner, wish I could've taken from you… from all of this." 

All Angel could do was shake his head, the crease in his brow deepening at your words. 

"Ever the poet, Frida."

"I thought I was a 'shit' poet?" You teased gently, recalling his words to you when he’d texted you to ask you out for the first time. 

Angel chuckled, the grit and honey in his voice washing over you, a wave of silken heat, his eyes are fixed upon yours intently, leaning forward and bringing his hands to trace along your neck, your jaw, dragging his thumb over the full, pillowy part of your bottom lip. 

“You did win it, Frida,” was all he said. 

The rush of warm, fluttery feeling swam through your body, prickling you like sparkling, popping champagne. Angel’s eyes tracked yours, down to where his thumb was dragging across your lip. Your eyes slipped shut, lashes fluttering. 

You could feel it rushing back. Everything Angel had ever made you feel -- the ardor, the frustration, the crushing weight of the river wild. Heat bloomed across your cheeks and down your chest, between your thighs and through the fingertips that you had brought to grip Angel’s biceps. 

His declaration of love, of melted marshmallow and warm cocoa -- made you crave him in a way you had long thought gone. 

You pressed your lips to kiss the tip of Angel’s thumb. You were rewarded with a reciprocal, sucking in of air on Angel’s part. 

He held his breath momentarily before surging forward and capturing your lips with his full ones. 

You were awash in the memory of every kiss shared with Angel. Of how he’d made you feel in your full-hearted moments together. Rich and full, like morning coffee. Hazy and sweet, like cherry smoke.

Angel’s kiss makes you feel dizzy, fizzing and dissolving simultaneously, like a Mento in a glass of Coke. Volatile and thrumming, both erupting and disappearing so fast, you were afraid you’d never have the chance to process exactly what it made you feel. 

It might be okay, you reasoned to yourself -- if you could hold Angel just for one more night, feel his body pressed against yours. It felt like a good idea in this moment, just to hold him for one  night only. 

Your lips pressed against one another, his hand cupping your jaw trailing back to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging it -- causing your kiss to break. Angel trailed his lips from yours, down and along your jaw. 

Angel’s grip firmed, turning your head further as he continued his attention down your neck, giving you a view of the chair next to your closet where you had haphazardly thrown Angel’s t-shirt when you had worn it last, a symbol of comfort now worn-out. 

You laid back, Angel following, surging over you and pressing you into your cloudlike comforter. His hips rolled into yours, his teeth now scraping gently along the slope of your neck. 

At the gasp you emitted, Angel felt himself harden in his jeans. He'd thought he'd never hear that sound from you again. And replaying the memory of it in his head? Not enough. He rolled his hips into yours again, again, as you dragged your thighs up Angel’s sides, locking your legs around his hips. He trailed warm hand down to caress your breast through your soft t-shirt, leaving a heated trail in its wake. 

“Oh, Angel,” you gasped, rolling your hips to meet his. 

“Can I kiss you like this, amor?” Angel rasped, “I’ll make you feel good.” 

He took in the heat behind your eyes, the kiss-swollen state of your lips when he broke from them. The creeping heat he felt from beneath your collar in his position atop you, and the way your breasts heaved beneath your shirt. 

The thread of resolve you were hanging by seemed to dissolve, leaving you unraveled and threadbare, naked before the man you swore would be your forever. The ache you felt between your legs burned crimson, cloudy and acrid. You tasted Angel’s kiss, tasted him, on your tongue.

You were never more aware of the dimensions of your body than when Angel had his hands on you, tracing and gripping every curve, the touch of places you don't think to touch yourself, strange but pleasurable as you relished in the trace of his rough fingertips against your smooth skin. He slid his hands down your waist, hips and into the loose waistband of your sweats, sliding them down your legs as he went. 

Angel played your body with temerity, a confidence, and before you knew it, your lower half was bare before him. He pushed the soft, loose fabric of your t-shirt up and over your chest, trailing his lips over your now-exposed skin, bringing his other hand to cup your breast, circling the pad of his thumb over your nipple. 

You gasped and groaned beneath Angel’s attention. Gripping at the hem of his shirt, you tugged it up and over his head, trailing your hands down his firm, thick torso. 

Angel was reticent to deprive himself of your touch after not having had it for so long. The touch of your nimble, artist’s fingers trailing over the lines of his body made Angel feel like an instrument being plucked to a tune that made both his and your body sing. He thought he would never feel it again.

 But this moment? This was about you. 

 Angel gripped your wrists, firmly planting your hands next to your head, following the trajectory and leaning over you with his full body. Releasing your wrists, Angel firmly pressed his lips to yours again, his tongue swiping past your lips and invading your mouth. Hot, needy, dirty. 

Ange tore his mouth from yours, his lips trailing lower and lower down your body, kissing your hips, nipping at your hipbone, causing you to yelp and buck your hips.

The action drew Angel’s attention, lifting his lips from your body, his eyes meeting yours. 

“I missed you, baby. Did you miss me? Sweet girl...” His voice was lower than you think you’d ever heard it, dangerously so. 

Bringing his hand down to cup your mound, he traced his fingers through your slick folds.

“Ah-Angel,” you gasped, tilting your head back at the blissful feel of Angel’s touch. As quickly as his touch had come, he withdrew it, causing your eyes to snap open, fixed on him and full of fire. 

“You know how this works, querida. I won’t touch you unless you answer me,” he taunted, the tips of his fingers trailing lightly over where you’d wanted him most, staunch in his refusal to commit to the touch. 

“God, Angel, yes,” You gasped. “P-please.”

Angel rewarded you, prising apart your legs and sliding down your body, tracing a teasing lick of his tongue through your folds, increasing in pace and intensity at the noises passing through your lips.

"I d-do miss you,” you sighed, starting to roll your hips against Angel’s tongue. “I miss the way you touch me… the way you fuck me.”

God. It was hot, the way you talked, the way you gave yourself over to him. 

Stars and firecrackers popped behind your eyes at Angel’s attention, cinnamon heat seeping through your bones, writhing and twisting at the way Angel strung his way through your body. Unable to justify the concept of being left alone, you tugged up at Angel’s jaw, forcing him to look up at you. Met with your wanton gaze, Angel licks his lips at the sight of you and slides back up your body with a grace that defies his size. 

Now level with you once more, he gripped your jaw, turning your head to the side and attacked your neck, your breasts with renewed vigor, grinding his denim-clad hardness against your naked core, the painful drag of the fabric turning pleasurable. 

With your gaze turned toward the wall, you were once again greeted with the sight of Angel’s rumpled t-shirt on the chair by your closet. An object of comfort, threads and strings tying you to a past life.   

What were you doing? Taking comfort in something that you couldn’t, in good conscience, call your own?

The rumpled shirt seemed to be mocking you, taunting you. Reminding you that, once again, you were seeking clinging to something you shouldn't. Seeking solace in things -- people -- that you shouldn't. 

Apart from Christopher's warm, sly, sensational goodnight kiss the other day, Angel's was the first touch you'd experienced like this since, well, Angel… How easy it was to slip back into your feelings for him, get caught up in him.

I'd give it all just to hold you close, sorry that I broke your heart... You shouldn’t be doing this. 

“Angel,” you prised his lips from your body. “St-stop.” 

Angel’s eyes were wild, hair mussed and lips swollen.

“What, querida?” 

“Angel,” you sighed again, sliding your shirt down and coming to sit up. “We can’t be doing this.”

Angel slouched next to you with a huff, trailing his fingers down your arm.

“Why not?”

You sighed. After all this time, the feeling of Angel so close to you was everything you thought you wanted. But everything that had been said? The water beneath your respective bridges? Angel was still awash, had not come to rest on any bank. And you were still waiting on the shore -- now certain that all you would mold from the riverbank clay were memories and half-baked dreams. 

“We’re not together,” you breathed, leaning over the bed to pick up your sweats and tug them back on. “And that’s not what this is. We're too old for platitudes, and happy endings are for children's stories. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, you know this is wrong.”

“Querida -- I want…" Angel started, before turning away, leaning over his thighs and tugging his hands through his hair… his distress with how he had let himself get so out of control with you was mounting. He sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“What? Angel,” you touched your hand to his still-bare shoulder. “What do you want?”

"A second chance…?" Angel's normally smooth voice trailed at the end, transforming his desire into a question, fading into the silence of the room. He shifted his shoulders, turning his body to once more face yours, but not quite meeting your eyes. 

You let his words hang in silence for a moment, weighing how you wanted to respond.

“Say something, Frida.” 

"I knew you'd say that," you chuckled drily. "I know you, you're like this. But second chances become third, fourth, fifth. I can't trust you. What did you expect me to say?"

Angel opened his mouth to answer before catching sight of the expression on your face, twisted into proverbial knots. Even now, you were being far more gracious than he had any right to expect. He closed his mouth again, sighing.

"I don't know, dulce."

"I do,” you shook your head. “You expected me to say 'yes,' " you reached across the bed to one more lace your fingers through his. "I know you. But what does it say about me that I want to? It would be so like me, wouldn't it?"

You squeezed Angel's fingers tenderly in your grip, awarding him a flickering, wan smile. 

Angel's voice cracked when he spoke again, "Then say yes, Frida. Let me prove it to you. Prove that we’re meant to be together."

"And would you? Would you take me back if I did that to you? If I had someone else's child? While we were together?" 

Angel was silent at that, not having considered the reversal of roles. In truth, though you knew him, he knew you, too. It would be so wildly out of character, how would he have been expected to consider it?

"You think you might, because you love me. But, see, Angelito, I don't think you would. So how can you sit there and say we're two people who are meant to be when we don't even love each other the same? Love doesn't come in pieces, amor. You held my heart in your hands. And you crushed it. Let it crumble into nothing, like sand. Like I meant nothing."

“But this--” Angel gestured between the two of you, eyes lingering on the skin of your neck where his mouth had been, tracing his fingers over your kiss-swollen lips. 

“--Can’t happen.” Tears were rising to your eyes again. 

Goddamnit. Couldn’t you get through one conversation with him without crying?

“Maybe we are meant to be. And maybe we'll find our way back to one another. But right now? I -- I don't think I can. But more importantly, I don't think we should. And please hear me when I tell you how much it breaks my heart to say that."

Your heart was burning, but your skin was ice. Dream, they call desire. And he could hear the heartbreak in your voice. Always stupidly genuine.

Angel was stock-still, and as you took in his prone form, eyes tracing to his face -- you saw a lone tear slip down his cheek, shaking his head. 

"I miss you, you know?" He chuckled, no humor in his soft, velvet voice. 

"I know."

You were in a fugue state, the rumble of Angel’s bike retreating down the street barely registering as you were processing as you retreated to your bed, the room and your sheets noticeably cooler in Angel’s absence. The room feeling too large without him in it.

As you settled into bed, you noticed it -- Angel’s old shirt, still on your chair. 

You hadn’t thought to return it.

---

The following week found you back in the shop, preparing for your mid-afternoon appointment. You had wiped down the table, changed the wrapping, and were now idly jotting as you waited. Thoughts on one person in particular. 

The bell above the shop door dinged, causing you to look up from the poem you were penning on the lime-green sticky you kept a stack of near your work station. 

Your one o'clock was right on time.

And you were greeted with the sight of Angel striding in with two cups of caffeine, offering one two you as he rested his ringed hand on the counter.

“If you want an appointment, you’d better call first. You know what they say about walk-ins. Always risky.” 

Since Angel had departed your place in the middle of the night a week ago, the words between the two of you having had time to simmer and settle, allowing you to process the weight of it all. 

For his part, Angel had given you space. Hadn’t said anything past texting you to tell you he had made it home safely. 

 In the days that had followed, you had cautiously cracked the ice between the two of you, hoping to assuage any awkwardness and rebuild some kind of friendly connection removed from the physical. It was probably better that way. Messaging him idly to ask about his day. Not that you had shared with Angel, but you were also texting Christopher. 

Angel had called the shop, asking if you were available to help him with something he’d wanted to do. Something special, he’d said.

“Something for Ezekiel,” Angel told you. “He’s been through alot lately, with Gaby and the club and everything … been through alot with me lately. Now feels like the right time”

You had, of course, readily agreed. Eager and honored to help Angel with a tribute to his brother. The texts between the two of you changed to exchanges of ideas, you sending him screenshots of your sketches before the two of you had decided on a design that fit. 

You accepted the cup of coffee from Angel gratefully and with a gentle smile, beckoning him behind the counter. Coffee truly was a love language. 

“You can sit in the chair and lean forward, or you can lie on the table. Both are clean. Dealer’s choice,” you said between sips. 

Angel nodded, slugging the last of his coffee and placing the cup down before slipping his shirt over his torso, baring his back to you as he sat in the chair, leaning forward and twisting his abdomen to bare his shoulder blade to you. 

The tawny patch of skin on his shoulder, above the large Mayans tribute that covered the expanse of his back, seemed like the perfect place for something for EZ, the angel (ha ha) on his shoulder and guiding influence in one another’s lives. 

You cleaned and bic’d the area, stenciling your design into the space and getting your kit ready to begin.

Angel watched what he could of you from the corner of his eye, a resonant ache blooming through his chest at the familiarity of this scene. Of you, all business, touching his skin, preparing to impart a piece of yourself that he would wear on his body for the rest of his days. 

You queued up your playlist, the sounds of motown flowing through the shop as you hummed along idly. 

In this moment, Angel knew … he was still in love with you. Likely always would be. You had been far too gracious with him, as you always were -- in the way you had treated him the other night. No mention of your “almost” encounter, for which he was grateful. And he knew he was correct in his assessment of you when you had first started dating -- it was in your nature.

“You mind?” Angel broke the comfortable silence between the two of you, gesturing at the journal-like sketchbook you had left near your station. 

You shook your head in acquiescence, “No. But it’s kind of a mess in there lately,” you acknowledged. “Shit poet, and all.” 

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” Angel barked a laugh. “I didn’t insult your poetry, Frida, you did.” 

“Ever the self-deprecating, starving artist,” you sighed dramatically. 

Angel took that as his cue, flipping through the pages of your book. One page felt particularly heavy beneath his fingers. He flipped to it, to be met with dried, pressed flowers that had been delicately glued to the pages, the page covered in a plastic slipsheet -- the dried, dusky pink of peony petals were affixed to the page next to a swath of a white, lacy-looking bloom. 

Around the flowers were sketches of hands that looked suspiciously like Angel’s own, down to the tattoos, and idle lines of poetry. 

Angel furrowed his brows as he glanced at the flowers again.

“You got those flowers for me,” you acknowledged, looking over his shoulder to see the page of your book he had settled on. “One of our first dates, when we went to the park. I’m not sure if you remember.”

Angel’s throat caught in a way that both annoyed and unsettled him. How were you always doing this to him?

“Recuerdo, Frida,” he breathed. “Lo recuerdo todo.” 

You patted his arm gently, resuming your work. 

“I like pressing flowers. It takes a while, but the end result is worth it.” 

You pinched your brows in concentration as you drew along the stenciled lines you’d previously etched into Angel’s shoulder blade, gun buzzing. You began to fill in the minimalist rising sun that was now filling the shoulder blade, stippling the interior as you went, the effect giving the sun an almost stucco-like finish that looked breathtaking against Angel’s golden skin. 

Angel allowed you to continue you work in silence, the weight of the past few days with you settling into his bones. He had pleaded with you, endeared himself to you so much that he had lost his voice. His bones filling with the words he wished he could verbalize. 

He was slowly arriving at that place of acceptance -- Santo Padre was a small town. He would see you. And it appeared that you could now stomach his presence, but he wouldn’t push his luck. Seeing you alone. Hell, even seeing you with someone else, was better than not seeing you at all. 

But once thing was clear -- you were someone who would always be in his life, his memories, his heart.

Angel was lost in his thoughts; you were focused on your work. The only thing that gave any indication as to the passage of time in the room where you two found yourselves was the evolution of your playlist passing through tracks.

Isn’t that how it always was with Angel? Time stood still. 

As you finished his tattoo, you snapped a quick pic for your work Insta -- and maybe, selfishly, for yourself, to admire, too. It’s true, what you had felt all those months ago, and again a week ago -- Angel Reyes was your muse. 

Made to be admired in perpetuity. 

You cleaned and wrapped it, pushing back wordlessly from your seat and making your way to the front as Angel gingerly tugged his shirt back over his head. Quoting the rate over your shoulder, you put Angel's aftercare bag together. But not before slipping the lime sticky in.

“Is that it?” Angel asked, arriving at the front counter, kutte once again in place..

“C’mon, Angelito, you know you get the friends-and-family rate,” you shrugged.

"And is that what we are, querida? Friends?” Angel's voice had none of the bravado it held when he had first spoken these words to you the day you'd met. Now it was cotton soft and carefully tinged with hope. He leaned over the counter.

You shrugged again.

"I guess we'll see, won't we?" You tilted the corner of your lips in a gentle, wan half-smile. 

"One day with you, and already friends again?” Angel breezed. You shrugged lightly in response, as he continued, “Or maybe the day after that? A man can hope, Frida."

“You know what they say, Angelito,” your voice was soft, but he’d recognize the teasing lilt anywhere. He’d heard it so often at the breaking dawn of your relationship. Kindness, with a hint of subtle flirtation. It was just how you were. “Hope springs eternal.”

Angel nodded, tossing a few bills on the counter and gently rapping his ringed-knuckles against the counter, a he was wont to do. He smiled gently at you, all glimmering white teeth and high cheeks. 

As Angel walked away, head down and focused on his phone now as he headed out the door and toward his bike, you watched him leave. Your elbow on the counter and head propped in your hand. 

You wondered when Angel would discover the sticky, recalling the words you had written on it. 

my stark moments of clarity between hazy and woebegone memory (thanks to spilled red wine) -- are still marked by the firm hand of your bruising ardor.

Your phone buzzed, breaking you from your reverie as you looked down at the name flashing on the screen, an easy grin blooming across your features.

“Well, hey,” you greeted. Unable to keep the happy chirp from your voice at hearing from him again so soon.

“Hey, mama,” he greeted in that smooth, throaty rasp of his you adored. “You busy later?”   

---

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[mayans-sauce]

Man-Child

Gif Creadit: @ angels-reyes

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Female Reader

Word Count: 560

Warnings: mention of dick sucking and Angel being a pouty boy

Thank you @thegirlwhoisalwayswriting for sending me this tweet and giving ideas as well: I forgot my bfs phone was dead, so when he went to the bathroom I decided to roam around Walmart. About 20 minutes later I hear “Y/N Y/L/N” your child is at register 10. I walk over there and there he is... my boyfriend... sitting there... on the bench... pouting that I left him.

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“Stay right here please, I need to take a piss,” Angel said to you as he walked into the Walmart bathroom.

You decided that you would just roam around a bit, not far away. Angel was a grown man; he could find his way back to you with no problem.

You had completely lost track of time as you were walking around, and about 20 minutes later, you hear over the store speakers someone asking for you. “Y/N Y/L/N, your child is at register ten. Please come and collect.”

Child? That’s weird… “Child? We don’t have a child… what the fuck is this?” You said with your eyebrows furrowed together. But you decide to check anyway. Maybe it was one of the kids you knew from your friends that knew you were here and got lost.

When you get over to register ten, you see Angel sitting on a bench. His arms were crossed, legs bouncing up and down, and he was pouting at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh out loud as you walked towards your boyfriend. “Child? What the fuck Angel? Are you pregnant? Why didn’t you tell me?” You couldn’t help but laugh even more at your own words. God, you were funny. “Oh no, the cashier meant you! You are the child!” You leaned down a little, holding onto your knees because it started to hurt so much from laughing.

Angel didn’t find it humorous. He was still in the position as he was a minute ago. “You left me. You left me all alone. I spent 20 minutes trying to find you.” He looked so cute when he was trying to be angry. “Aww, I’m sorry, my Angel,” you took both of his hands in yours, giving him a soft kiss on the lips.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw a Karen giving you both dirty looks, and you knew it was then time for you to go before she caused an unnecessary scene in the store.

“Come on,” you helped him to stand on his feet, “let me buy you a lollipop, and then we’ll get out of here.”

That seemed to put him in a better spirit because his face was smiling from ear to ear now at the mention of something sweet for him.

As you were walking out of the Walmart doors hand in hand, Angel was sucking on the candy you had given him. He was happy and satisfied, and it looked like he had left what happened just minutes ago out the window.

“Are you happy now, Angel? With your lollipop?” He wrapped his lips around it, sucking for a second before it came out of his mouth with a pop. “It’s not the only thing getting sucked tonight.” He gave you a wink indicating that it would be his dick in your mouth in a few hours.

“HA!”

He stopped dead in his tracks as he held his arms up by his side, annoyed, but you continued to walk towards the bike. Your head turned towards your irritated boyfriend standing in the middle of the parking place, a shit-eating grin on your face. “I ain’t no predator Angel! Now come on, let’s go home and watch the children’s network,” you almost shouted, “man-child,” the faintest of whispers.

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Thank you for reading❤️ Let me know what you think❤️

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ANGEL REYES TAGLIST: @spnaquakindgdom

[minimel-fics]

Nowhere to Go - Part 5

Angel X Reader?

I feel like I should have stopped labelling this as Angel X Reader at part 2 😂

Mamma Mia, here we go again! (The Reyes Brothers remixed version)

@withmyteeth 👀

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6

Masterlist

Warning: Labor and child birth

xx xx xx

You were sitting at the small dining room table you had purchased for the apartment you were currently sharing with Ezekiel, Soledad was sitting across from you with an intensely focused look on her face. You shuffled the cue cards in your hands, making sure they were in a completely random order before choosing one out of the stack.

"Dessert."

"D-e-s-s-e-r-t. Dessert."

“Correct,” You nodded, pulling out another card, “Schedule.”

“S-c-h-e-d-u-l-e, schedule.” Sole rested her chin on the table, sending you an almost bored look, “Can you do some harder words? I’m going to need more than the ones Mr.Chapman gave us if I want to win the spelling bee this year.”

You set the stack of cards down onto the table, using your phone to google words students would usually learn in fifth grade and up- choosing a seventh grade word to challenge her. “Chrysanthemum.”

“C-h-r-y-s-a-n-t-h-e-m-u-m.” She spelt it without any hesitation, smiling proudly to herself as you nodded your head and chose another word from the ninth grade list.

“Pandemonium.”

She crossed her arms on the table, leaving forward in her seat. “Sentence, please.”

“The length of time it is taking your father and uncle to build a crib must mean there is absolute pandemonium happening in that room.” You both paused, listening for the distinct sound of the two men bickering as they had been for the past hour.

Angel and Ez were seated on your bedroom floor, the wooden pieces were scattered around them as they attempted to build the crib by looking at the black and white picture on the box. Ez could feel his brother’s eyes constantly flickering to his face, finding it hard to concentrate as Angel clearly had something he wanted to say.

“Something bothering you?” Ez questioned, lifting his head to meet his brothers gaze.

“No, everything’s good.” Angel cleared his throat, casting his eyes down to the task at hand. “You and Y/N seem close lately."

"We've always been close."

Angel scoffed, shaking his head. "You've been missing out on club shit to bring her ice cream, bro.”

“She is pregnant, you do know that?” Ez’s questioned his brother teasingly as he turned his attention back to the crib.

“Fine, what about all those soft touches when you walk past her? Or those eyes you've been making at each other?” Angel didn’t miss the way his little bother’s hands hesitated for a split second with the screw driver, confirming his suspicions that there was something more than just friendship in this apartment.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Angel.”

“Stop tryna hide it.” Angel lightly kicked his brother in the knee, “What I am trying to say is it’s all good, she and I are just friends- it's all we will ever be so you should go for it.”

“Angel-“ Ez glanced up at his brother but was cut off as Angel sent him a small genuine smile.

“I’m serious, Ezekiel, go for it.”

-

“Pandemonium. P-a-n-d-e-m-o-n-i-u-m.”

“Dendrochronology.” You smirked at the 10 year old, there was no way she would be able to spell this one.

“D-e-n-d-r-o-c-h-r-o-n-o-l-o-g-y, dendrochronology is the field of study used to date trees by analysis of growth rings.” The smug smirk on Sole’s face was enough to make you abruptly stand from your chair, hand on your swollen belly as you attempted to adjust to your ever shifting center of gravity.

“You are officially smarter than I, how about we take a break to check on the boys?”

"No, it's this piece." Angel insisted, holding up a thicker plank of wood as Ez held up one of the many skinnier planks.

“It’s supposed to be a thin one." Ez put the board in place, reaching for a bolt before glancing up at Angel, neither one had noticed the girls standing in the doorway, “Pass the screw driver- the Phillips head."

“It’s supposed to be an Allen key,” Angel passed the tool he had been using to Ez with a warning, “Don’t strip the bolts."

You smirked, crossing your arms over your chest as you watched them in amusement, "Did you lose the instructions?"

“We don't need instructions." Angel insisted, nodding to the discarded pamphlet in the corner as Ez studied the box to decipher which piece came next. Sole unfolded the page, turning it right side up to study it before she leaned over the half complete crib, “You didn’t do this right.”

“I trust her judgment more than both of yours,” Both men looked up at you with offence clear on their faces, “Angel your daughter is a prodigy.” You stepped forward, peeking at the instructions from over Sole’ shoulder made it easy for you to spot the men’s mistakes, you pointed to the thicker boards along the end, “And she is right, these are both backwards which is why the screws are not lining up with the proper holes.”

“Shit.”

You glanced down at Angel, nudging his body with your foot and nodding towards the door, “Ez and I will fix this,” You assured him, “You have a date to be getting to.”

Angel got to his feet, taking the instruction manual from his daughter and passing it on to you before he pulled his little girl into his arms and placed a kiss to her forehead. “Be good for these two, alright?”

“When am I ever bad?”

-

Once you had taken apart the incorrectly built crib, it didn't take long for you and Ez to reassemble it with Sole in charge of the builders manual. With the crib finally tucked away in the corner of your bedroom, you felt a sense of relief wash over you- your due date was fast approaching and knowing your baby would have a bed to sleep in when you finally got to bring him home was more comforting than one might think. It was getting late, which meant it would soon be Soledad’s bed time but you were allowing her to stay up for an extra hour so she could complete her final homework assignment for the weekend. As you were brewing your final cup of decaffeinated tea, hoping it would help you sleep when the time came, Ez and Sole were sitting on the couch competing in the assigned game of grid battleship. The sound of porcelain shattering as it hit the tiled kitchen floor caused Sole to jump as Ez rushed to see what had caused the commotion. You were standing with your back toward the doorway, your body hunched as you gripped the edge of the counter. On the floor by your feet lay your favorite tea mug in about 100 pieces, your socks soaked with the hot water that had previously been in the mug.

"Shit, did you burn your feet?” Ez wasted no more time as he crossed the kitchen, walking on his tippy toes to avoid getting anything sharp stuck in his socked feet.

"It doesn't hurt as bad as the contraction I just had." Your jaw clenched as you spoke, one hand leaving the counters edge to gently rub your belly.

"What's wrong with Auntie Y/N?” Sole questioned from the doorway, fear dripping from her voice.

"Stay out there, Sole, so you don't cut your feet." Ez instructed as he turned to face his niece, “Nothing is wrong but your cousin is trying to make an early entrance so Y/N has to go to the hospital.” Ez explained to her, watching her eyes grow wider with excitement at the fact she would soon meet her baby cousin. “Can you do a few things for me, Sole? Get your bag and put on your shoes, then grab a towel and run it under the tap for me.”

Sole ran out of sight immediately, eager to be able to help out. Ez rested his hand against your lower back, rubbing gentle circles to help sooth your discomfort. “I’ll call Angel and tell him to meet us at the hospital then we can drop Sole off at Pop’s on the way.”

“No, we’ll drop Sole off and text Angel when we get to the hospital, he's on his sixth date with the same girl and we can't ruin that for him." You insisted, allowing yourself to lean into Ez as the tightness in your belly increased.

“Come on, let’s go have this baby.” Ez carefully lifted you off your stinging feet to ensure you didn’t step on a piece of the broken mug and carried you to the car with Sole close behind. Ez got you situated in the passenger seat, wrapping the wet towel Sole had retrieved around your feet to help with your burns before he ran back inside to grab shoes for both of you and your previously prepared hospital bag.

Felipe had been falling asleep in his recliner with a sports rerun on the television when Ez brought in an exhausted and already fast asleep Sole. He explained the situation to his father before he tucked Sole into Angel’s childhood bed, gently shutting the door behind him so nothing would wake her during the night. You waited patiently in your car for Ez to return, watching the clock on your phone to time your contractions and working on your deep breathing, wishing that maybe you had attended one of the Lamaze classes that Ez had suggested. You closed your eyes as a contraction hit, not noticing that Ez had returned until you felt him grasp your hand into his own.

Sometimes things didn't exactly work out as planned; your sons father refusing to be by your side as you gave birth or the fact Will suddenly refused to believe your baby was his after you had moved back in with the Mayan had been absolutely gut wrenching and the opposite of what you had planned. The fact that you were laying on an operating table awake but with no feeling from your belly down was unplanned but your poor boy had tangled himself in his umbilical cord and needed more medical assistance in his entrance than planned. You had insisted to Ez that if he was uncomfortable he didn't have to be there with you but he hadn't left your side, you had to admit seeing him in the disposable blue scrubs was a treat, it was almost as if you could see every single muscle as it bulged underneath and the disposable cap he had on was adorable. You weren't exactly sure when but something in your relationship with Ezekiel had shifted, it could have been one of the times he had invited you into his bed after you had been awake all night tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable until you cuddled up to him and slept like a baby. You had felt the shift and by all the soft touches and late night craving missions he had gone on- you knew he had felt it too, you wouldn't be surprised if even Angel had noticed it at this point. Ez kept your attention on him to distract you from the fact you were awake while literal surgery was being performed on you, the only thing that tore your attention away from him was the first cry of your son. You almost couldn't believe your eyes at how perfect he looked as he was placed in your arms, an overwhelming sense of warmth filling your chest as his tiny fist clenched the edge of your gown.

Your private room was quiet as your son slept on your exposed chest, the nurse had explained that skin to skin contact was excellent for forming bonds and bringing the newborn comfort. Ez sat in the reclining chair that was provided to him for sleeping, his eyes soft as he admired the scene in front of him. He felt honored that you let him be by your side for your C-section and let him witness such tender moments like this one.

“Thank you, Ezekiel, for being here and staying with us.” Your voice was a soft whisper to avoid waking the newborn but your smile and your eyes told Ez every emotion he missed in your hushed voice. He nodded, not trusting his voice as he felt his throat thicken with emotion, instead he reached a gentle hand out, brushing a stray tendril of hair off your sweat slicked forehead before his lips connected to your own in a tender kiss.

xx xx xx

Join a taglist here.

All Mayans: @chibsytelford @bellisperennis0 @mijop @beeroses @un-poetryy @kate-moon

Reyes Bros: @justazzi

Avid readers of this hectic, never ending story (I love you all 💕):

@est1887 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @quality-on-a-patch-of-awesome @frattsparty @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo @ticosas @mayans-fics227 @miss-nori85 @sabsunflowergirl

Also I guess I can label this as an Ez Reyes X Reader fic now, or an Angel Reyes X Reader turned Platonic!Angel Reyes X Reader X Ez Reyes fic 😂

[noladyme]

La Cuervo - Chapter 6

She is used to the biker-life, having grown into a woman in the familiar embrace of SAMCRO. A bad decision and a gun-shot later, she gets whisked off to Santo Padre, and put under the protection of another club. What is supposed to be a short stint in the Mayan headquarters just north of the border to Mexico, turns into something more; when la quervo begins to develop feelings for el angel - and he seems to return them in kind...

TW: violence, blood, drug use, alcohol, smut, fluff, angst

In the spirit of "The Crown Princess of Charming", this is a story about O.C. Nina and Angel Reyes. It is obviously non-canon, as characters who have passed on on Mayans M.C. are present in it, and others have been excluded completely. Nina is written as a cis-female, but I have tried to keep her race and looks as ambigous as possible. Should you find any of this story offensive, please let me know.

They sat for a long moment in silence. Suddenly, it was like words were coming from somewhere deep in her gut, pressing their way upwards, and into her mouth; and then she let them out.

“I never had a brother or a sister, and my family… They weren’t really around. Keeping up appearances was more important than love”, she said. “Jackson found me puking my guts out after chugging a case of wine-coolers at an SOA party I’d snuck in to. I was 15, but I’d lied about my age. He cleaned me up, and let me sleep on his couch, when my folks wouldn’t let me back into the house that night. After that, I hung around the clubhouse; kind of like Letty, I guess. They all treated me like a little sister; and Jax… He was my champion. I was pretty much a waste of space to the people around me, until I met him. Every time I screwed up… Like one time I got arrested for stealing a pregnancy-test; after a close call with some asshole I’d met. You’re better than this, darlin’…”. She smiled softly. “He got the sheriff to let me off with a warning. Then we went and got ice-cream, before he took me for a proper test at the clinic… And then he had the club throw me a no-baby-on-the-way shower…”. Angel chuckled at this. “You were really close”, he said. Nina’s smile widened. “Jax set me up at the clubhouse dorm, when I left home. He made sure I had money to pay tuition for community college. He taught me that family can be more than blood; even openly called me his little sister, whenever he introduced me to anyone. So, yeah. I loved him; and after he had his boys, I loved them… Because of him, I belonged somewhere. When he died, I was a wreck. If it hadn’t been for Filip… Chibs and the rest of the Sons, I’d have been… I don’t even want to think about it”. “They got you right again”, Angel said. She nodded. “We got each other right…”.

He took her hand, and softly stroked his fingers over the bruises on her knuckles. “So, what happened with Gael?”, he said. A shudder went down her spine, but the words were already forming in her mouth, and she couldn’t hold them back. “It was the anniversary of Jax’s… the day he died”, She said. “I was at a party; not a club party, just out with some people I knew. I didn’t let the club know I was going out; I just wanted to be someone else for the night, you know? Not the great legend’s little sister… I just heard from his kids. His eldest got an A on a book-report, and I was so pissed, because Jax wasn’t there to see that. Because he… fucking killed himself, ‘cuz he couldn’t see a different way out”. She closed her eyes, and chewed her lips. Angel gently squeezed her hand. “I was drunk – like really drunk – and I needed to get home. My friend offered to call Chibs or Happy for me, but I couldn’t deal with anyone from the club right then. I’d been dancing with this guy, and he offered me a ride”. “And you took it”, Angel muttered. “Yeah”, Nina whispered. “But I shouldn’t have”. There was another long pause. “Do you wanna stop?”, Angel said. “No…”. Nina shook her head. She couldn’t stop now; it was like a giant bubble of bile she had to get out of system. She pulled her hand out of Angel’s, and put her arms around her knees, staring straight ahead of her.

“Gael was taking all the wrong turns, to get back to my apartment. I asked him to stop, and he pulled up in an alley, to let me get out of his car. I was gonna walk home, but he got out after me”. Come on, baby. You gotta follow through now… Let me get that fine crow-eater ass… “He knew who I was. I don’t know who told him, but he figured it out somehow. Pressed me up against the wall…”. What would Teller say, if he knew I was about to fuck his little sister? “He was talking about how the club would react, when they found out… I panicked, and I fought like hell… He let go of me, and I grabbed my gun from my purse; I guess that’s when I dropped my inhaler… When I aimed at him, he just laughed”. Angel was tense. He seemed like he wanted to punch his fist through something. Nina looked down. “He kept saying; you’re not gonna shoot me… Then he came at me… and I pulled the trigger”. It was like she heard the sound of the gunshot again, and she let out a deep breath. She’d never seen a dead body before.

“Good”, Angel said finally. Nina was pulled out of something like a trance, and looked at him. “What?”. “He’s dead. He deserved it”. There wasn’t a hint of sympathy in his voice. “You don’t get it… It was my own fault”, Nina said. “No one made me get that drunk; I wasn’t drugged or held at gunpoint. I got in that car willingly. I fucked up, and a guy died… I killed him”. “He was trying to…”. Angel didn’t seem to be able to finish his sentence. “Angel, he wasn’t the first guy to try to get with me, without me wanting him to. That’s just… Fuck, that happens every fucking day to so many women… It was because he wanted to screw with SAMCRO… screw with my dead brother… It triggered something in me”. “That don’t matter!”, Angel growled. “You don’t touch a woman without her permission!”. He seemed about to explode, and looked at her angrily. “You telling me, that you normally get attacked in the back of dark alleys?”. “No… that never happened before”, she whispered. “He hurt you, and you fucking killed his ass; and that’s good. He didn’t deserve to walk away from that”.

Nina turned, and put her feet on the floor; sitting there for a moment, before getting up, and walking towards the living room. She picked up a half-smoked cigarette, and lit it; taking a deep draw. Angel had followed her, and when she turned around he stood in front of her, looking defeated and miserable. “Nina, I am so sorry”, he said. “I’m sorry I made you think I only wanted you because of your club”. Nina stepped towards him, and put a hand on his chest. “No, I know it’s not like that with you”, she said quietly. “No but you thought it was”. “Angel… you're different”, Nina tried. She went to take his hand, but he stepped back; creating distance between them. “After that… What he tried to do…”. Angel ran a hand down his face, and shook his head. “I don’t know how to touch you, without bringing that shit up in you again”.

Nina felt his words like a bucket of cold water in her face. “You… You wanna end this…”, she croaked. She stubbed out the cigarette, and scrambled to get back to the bedroom to find her shorts; fighting tears all the way. “I get it. It’s fine. Could you just take me back to the yard?”. Angel almost ran after her, and pulled her into his arms. “No, querida… No!”, he said. “I’m sorry… It’s just… What if I do something, that makes you think I’m like him?”. Nina looked up at him with disbelief. “Why do you think so little of yourself?”, she said. Angel frowned in confusion. “You’re nothing like him. How you’ve been trying to help me by talking, and how you took care of me yesterday… You’re a… you’re an angel… Angel”. A smile tugged at her lips. Angel chuckled, and grasped her face; pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You’re doing it again”, he said. “What?”, Nina asked. “Making me feel better, when it should be the other way around”. She buried her face in his warm chest. “You’ve made me smile more since I arrived here, than I have in years”.

Angel put his hands on either side of her face, and made her look up at him again. He starred deep into her eyes; searing his way into her very being. Leaning down, his lips grasped hers, as if inhaling her, body and soul. Pulling back – leaving Nina short of breath, and weak in the knees – he wrapped a strong arm under her bottom, and lifted her to straddle his waist. Her weight was nothing compared to what he wanted at that moment, and he carried her back into the bedroom; setting her gently down on the mattress. As she lifted her arms, Angel gently pulled the t-shirt off her body, before – with a hand behind her back – making her lay down under him. He pulled off her panties, and settled with his head between her thighs. Nina gasped, as his breath brushed over her folds, like a feather-stroke. “Angel, you don’t have to…”, Nina rasped. “Mami, I wanna make you smile again”, Angel replied. “Say you want me to”. His words came like an overwhelming caress. He wanted her to be completely at ease and in agreement of what he wanted to do. Nina let out a short breath, and her answer came as a rasping plea. “Yes”. Angel smirked, and placed his open lips over her warmth.

Nina’s back instantly arched. Her heart beat a million miles an hour; and only the pain in her hand from the day before kept her from digging her fingers so far into the sheets, that they ripped. Angel made long, languid strokes up and down her folds with his tongue, while running his fingertips up and down her torso. He let out what sounded like a growl against her lower lips, before sucking her clit into his mouth, and flicking his tongue over it. Nina felt her legs beginning to shake at the treatment of her most sensitive spot, and let out a desperate whimper. Angel lifted his head to come up for air, and breathed deeply for a few seconds; before – with a wry smile at her – diving back in. He moved his hands down, to put his arms around her thighs; keeping her in place, as she tried to pull away from the overwhelming sensation of his mouth. “Nah, you’re not going anywhere”, he chuckled, and took another long lick up her folds, ending up in a deep suckle of her clit. The sound of the birds outside mixed with the slick sound of Angel devouring her, and Nina soon felt a wave of earthshattering pleasure roll through her whole body. As the coil in her lower belly finally snapped, Nina lifted her head and shoulders from the bed, and cried out a breathy moan; before she fell back, with her arms spread out to the sides.

Angel made a last soft lick over her warmth, and loosened his grip on her thighs. He wiped his beard of her juices, and smirked. “How was that?”, he said. Nina looked at him in disbelief, when suddenly she began laughing. She simply couldn’t hold back. Her laughter came like bursts from inside her, that simply wouldn’t stop. Angel’s smirk became a warm smile, as he crawled up to settle next to her. He cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her deeply. “Holy… shit…”, Nina laughed between kisses. “Yeah?”, Angel smiled. “Just wait. Next time I’ll add fingers!”. He wiggled his fingers over her face, and winked at her, before attacking her mouth with kisses again. “Angel…?”, she breathed. “Yeah?”. “I think you earned the title of croweater”, she giggled. He pulled back and looked ponderingly at her. “I should get a patch…”.

---

After a while of laying in each other’s arms, they got dressed. Nina would have gladly reciprocated Angel’s pleasant treatment of her, but a phone call from Coco cut their morning together short; as he needed help with moving some goods. Nina decided against asking. When they arrived at the yard, Angel took his time to claim a deep, almost bruising kiss from her lips. “Audience…”, she chuckled embarrassedly, when she noticed Bishop, Taza and Hank looking at them from the porch. “Yeah. Audience”, Hank grunted, unable to hide his smile. Bishop rolled his eyes, but let a smile ghost his face as well. “Sorry, Bish”, Angel called out; before leaning in, and suckling for a moment at her pulse-point. “I’m not sorry”, he whispered, and squeezed her butt cheek. “You’re a horny little shit”, Nina said. “We both know there ain’t nothing little about me, querida”, Angel gloated. Nina smiled, and went to get some coffee in the clubhouse. Angel tapped her butt teasingly, as she walked away from him.

Bishop followed her inside, and went ahead of her behind the bar; pouring a mug of coffee, and handing it to her. “I know, I said you were welcome to the facilities here, but you’re taking it a bit far”, he said with a wry smile. “But they’re such good facilities”, Nina said, and took a sip from the mug. “And I thought you said I was family”. The president shook his head defeatedly, and went to grab a piece of paper. “Well, mija; family means taking on your share of the work”, he said, and handed her the note. “Shopping-list for the party. Ask the prospect to take you. We’re gonna need meat from his old man”. “On it”, Nina said, and looked over the list. Liquor, food and snacks. It looked like any list Tig might have handed her in Charming, with the addition of needing to go to a local smoke-shop to pick up some Acapulco Gold. SAMCRO grew their own weed. “No cigars?”, she asked. “We’re trying to be polite to the Vatos. Not spoil them…”, Bishop said, before shrugging. “But get me a box of Montecristos”. Nina smiled, and nodded.

EZ entered the clubhouse with what looked like pink chapstick on his cheek, and carrying yet another delicious smelling box of Tupperware. Bishop looked at him for a long moment. “You got a little something”, he said, and gestured to his cheek. EZ looked at his reflection in a decorative mirror by the liquor-bottles. “Shit… Yeah, Gabby…”, he began. Bishop held up his hands. “Don’t… This place is like puppy-love central this morning”, he said. “Just… go do your jobs”. He went into templo, and closed the door behind him. Nina bit her lips to keep from laughing at the prospect. “Ha, ha”, he laughed sarcastically. “You’re one to talk”. He pointed at Nina’s neck. She went to look in the mirror, and saw that Angel had left an angry hickey bellow her ear. “Goddammit, Angel!”, she growled. EZ chuckled at her, and went to get ready for breakfast.

It had become a nice tradition for them to begin the day eating breakfast together. Nina enjoyed spending time with EZ, and could see why Angel called him golden boy. Ezekiel was smart, and somehow managed to have picked his life back together, at least somewhat, after his stint in prison. After breakfast, they got into the scrapyard van, and went to get things together for the party the next day.

---

Going shopping for the party, and running errands with EZ for the club was a welcome distraction for Nina. Keeping her mind occupied was all that kept her from freezing in terror at the fact that the next day, she’d be in the presence of a mad-man, who wanted her dead. On top of that, she was facing at least a year in Santo Padre; away from her family – away from home. Angel or no Angel, that was still a tough pill to swallow.

Lunch was spent in front of Felipe’s shop. Nina smiled her way through a few stories about his sons’ escapades as kids, and – just as she had with his sons – Nina was beginning to grow warm emotions towards the man; in spite of only meeting him twice.

“You’re smart”, Felipe said, as EZ and Gabriella went inside to do the dishes. Nina was surprised at the sudden statement. “That’s… nice of you to say”, she smiled. “No, it’s a fact. You’re intelligent; it seems like you have every opportunity to make something of yourself, other than…”. He halted himself. Nina held her tongue for a moment, before speaking again. “You think I could do better, than spend my time around bikers”, she said. Felipe met her eyes. “It’s not my place”, he said. “You’re just being honest about your opinions. That’s ok”, she said. “But maybe slightly insulting”, Felipe said. “And for that, I’m sorry”.

Nina took a sip of her coffee, and rested her chin on her hand. “It would be insulting, if I thought you might be right about the life”, she said. Felipe chuckled to himself, and took a sip from his own cup. “The life”, he said. “Whatever you want to call it… The club… the gang. You think that it’s wrong. That the way the club works is something bad. If I agreed, you would be insulting me, by suggesting that I was settling for something less than…”. She bit her lip, and looked meaningfully at Felipe. “But to me it’s… right. I haven’t had a lot of family in my life; but the club here… the club where I come from… They’re family. They’ve taken care of me, been everything to me that I needed to become the… intelligent woman you see before you today. I wouldn’t be who I am without them”. “I would have hoped the family I provided for my boys was enough. That they wouldn’t have needed to find something else”, Felipe said. “I’m sure it is. But the club gives them something on top of that”. “And the crime? The blood…?”, the old man said. Nina looked down at her bruised hand. “That I can’t defend”, she said.

Felipe studied her face intently, as she took another sip of her coffee. “Like I said; you’re smart. I’m happy my son has you in his life”. Nina almost choked on her coffee. “Excuse me?”, she croaked. Felipe chuckled at her. “I watched you, while I told you those stories earlier”, he said. “When I spoke about EZ, you listened and smiled. Whenever I mentioned Angel, your face lit up like a candle. I might be old, but I’m not blind”. He grabbed her hand over the table, and squeezed it gently. “And then there’s his trademark on your neck”. Nina let out a guffawing laughter, and covered her hickey with her free hand.

EZ came outside then, and frowned at his father and Nina. “Please tell me you didn’t tell her the story about the petting-zoo, pap’”, he said. Felipe’s eyes lit up. “Oh, right! The petting-zoo… Let me tell you Nina. This boy is terrified of goats!”. “Ok. Time to go!”, EZ said, and pulled at Nina’s arm. “But I want to hear this!”, Nina said. “No goat-stories”, the prospect laughed, and led her towards the truck. “Pap’; the ribs?”. “And the steaks. I’ll bring them by tomorrow afternoon”, Felipe said.

Nina got in the passenger seat, and smiled to herself. EZ looked confusedly at her, as he got behind the wheel. “What’s so funny?”, he asked. “Nothing… I like your dad”, Nina replied. “He’s honest”. The prospect let out a slight laugh. “Some would say brutally so”. “He called me smart”, Nina said. EZ started the truck. “He’s kind of right”, he smiled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”, Nina scoffed. EZ turned onto the road, and took a moment to wave at his pap, before speaking again. “Well, you are sleeping with my brother”.

---

Nina sat in the doorway to the trailer, enjoying the sun a cold coke, and pretending to read a book; while smirking at EZ, as he unloaded the groceries and liquor from the truck. “It sure is hot out here”, she said. “How’s your shoulder?”. “You punch like an MMA-fighter!”, EZ groaned, and rubbed the spot where she’d punched him earlier. “That’s what you get… You dropped something”, she replied, and pointed at a bag of chips on the ground. EZ gave her a sarcastic smile, and bent down to get the bag, and put it on top of his load. “Thank you, Nina”, he said. “You’re welcome, Ezekiel”, she replied with a grin.

“Nina!”. Chucky came running up to her. He was holding out a phone. “It’s Charming!”, he grinned. “For you!”. Nina almost tripped over her own feet, to run over to him, and take the call. Handing him her book, she grabbed the phone out of his wooden hand. Chucky slipped away again. “Hello?”, she panted. “Did I catch you in something unseemely, luv’?”. “Filip! How is… everything?”, she said. “Everything is boring as fuck, without you here”. Nina smiled, and waved at Angel, who came rolling on to the lot with Gilly in tow. Coco came in behind them in his car. “Aw… Are you guys missing me?”, she said. Angel got off his bike and moved towards her. She held up a finger for him to wait; but he waved away her hand dismissively, and leaned in to kiss her. “I’m talking”, Nina chided with a smile. “So?”, Angel said, and moved down to kiss her neck; wrapping his arms around her. “Yes, we miss you like the flower misses the sun, little sister. Do you miss us, is the question…?”. Nina was wriggling in Angel’s grasp. “Of course I miss you”. Angel pulled back a bit, before moving over to lean against the trailer, lighting a cigarette. “Did you hear from Wendy?”. “Thomas is taping playing cards to his bike, to make it sound like a Harley”, Filip replied. “They’re good”. “Good. I’m happy”, Nina smiled softly. She looked over her shoulder at Angel, who was pretending not to listen in. “So, is this a curtesy-call? Checking up on me?”. “Not exactly… We were thinking it might be time to bring you back… The cops have finished their investigation. Deemed it a cold case. You’re in the clear”. Nina could hear the lie in his voice.

She went to sit down in the doorway again. “You want me back up north”. Angel looked out the corner of his eye at her, his expression somber. “We want you home, Nina… None of the girls here knows how to make a proper whiskey sour”. She chewed her lips. “No. You want me back home, because Palo is moving south… Chibs… I know”, she said. “Know what?”, Filip said. “The man I… He was El Palo’s cousin”. She heard the Scot sigh deeply at the other end. “We didn’t want to scare you”. “I had a right to know… You shouldn’t have lied”, she said. She heard the telltale sound of Filip closing the large door of church behind him. “You may be right… But now you see why you should come back”. Nina looked up at Angel again. “I can’t do that. Not now…”. The thought of going back on her deal with the Mayans, and the thought of leaving behind Angel, was just too much. “It’s better I hide here, in plain sight”. “What do you mean?”. “Palo is coming here… He’s asking Santo Padre for help in finding me. He doesn’t know who I am, and he’d never think they’d keep me out here in the open”. Something crashed at the other end, like a beer bottle against a wall. “What the fuck is Bishop playing at? Is he insane?”. “No… The club here… They have my back. I trust them”. “Put Bishop on!”. Filip was almost roaring in rage. “He’s not here…”, Nina croaked. “Filip, I’m…”. “Put someone on. Anyone!”.

Nina looked at Angel, and handed him the phone. The Mayan clenched his jaw, and put the phone to his ear. “Yeah… No, that was a club call… We’re not going back on anything. Our deal stands… Yeah…”. He frowned, and Nina saw anger rising in his expression. “Fuck, no; man! You let that shit happen to her. I’m not gonna let you take my girl, and…”. Nina got up, and reached for the phone. “Angel, stop… Please”. Angel pulled away from her hand, and she grabbed at his cut. “Please…”, she whispered. His expression softened as he met her eyes. Filip said something on the other end. “I hear you… Yeah… Look, you got my word, man. She’s safe. I won’t let anything happen to her… Yeah, I’ll let Bish know”. A deep scowl settled on his face. “Yeah, she’s here".

Angel handed back the phone to Nina. “Filip?”. There was a long silence. “Are you there?”. “You tapping a Mayan, now?”. Nina swallowed hard. “Look, I’m…”. “No, luv’… It’s your life… Couldn’t you have chosen a smarter one, though?”. Nina laughed a little, and looked up at Angel. “He’s… got a cool bike”, she said. Angel looked adorably confused at her words. “Huh… Well, make sure you get tested!”. “Filip!”, Nina cried out. “Look, we’re coming down. Had planned on it anyway, to come get you. I already told Romeo there we’ll be in San Pad tomorrow”. Nina felt her heart leap at the prospect of seeing her family. “Ok…”, she breathed with a half-smile. “I’ll see you then”. “Anything other than your impending herpes I need to relay to the boys?”. Nina rolled her eyes. “Tell them, they’re all dicks; but I love them”. They said goodbye, and Nina hung up the call.

Angel stomped out his cigarette. “Mayans… Vatos… SAMCRO…”, he said. “It’s gonna be a big fucking party!”. He began moving towards the clubhouse porch, where Gilly was waiting. Coco was sitting on the trunk of his car, smoking a cigarette and looking antsy. “What did he say to you?”, Nina asked. “They’ll be here tomorrow afternoon. I gotta go tell Bishop”, he said, his voice brusque. “What’s wrong?”, she asked. “Tell me…!”. “It’s just some shit…”, he said over his shoulder. Nina ran after him, and grabbed his wrist. “Angel… What happened?”. Angel stopped, and turned to face her again. His expression was dark, but he tried to smile at her. “It’s nothing. Really”. He leaned down, and gave her a soft kiss. “I gotta go find Bishop. Give him word on the extra guests”. “Ok…”, Nina said, still uneasy at his behavior. “Are you going out again after?”. “Yeah. I need to make a run over the border with that stuff Coco had us go get”, Angel replied. “Do I want to know?”. There was a loud thud from Coco’s trunk. The slight biker pounded his fist down on the boot lid. “Yo, shut the fuck up!”, he growled. Angel shrugged. “No, I don’t think so”.

Nina stormed over to the car, and pushed Coco out of the way. Before he could stop her, she’d yanked the lid open, and looked down at the man from the day before. “What the…”, she gasped. The man was half naked, hogtied with duct-tape; and a burlap sack with what sounded like a very angry rattle-snake was lying next to him. “What are you going to do with him?”. Coco took a huff of his smoke. “We got a doc down south. He don’t need both his kidneys anyway…”, he said, and spat at the ground. “He’s lucky we didn’t go for castración”. The man screamed through his tape-muzzle. Coco punched him over his broken nose. “I might still change my mind”. Nina slammed the lid shut. “You’re right. I didn’t want to know”. All three bikers laughed.

“What was the phone call about?”, Gilly asked from the porch. “We got reaper incoming tomorrow”, Angel said. Coco’s eyes widened. “It’s gonna be a big fucking party!”, he smiled. “That’s what I said. Sometimes I think we share a brain, mano”, Angel said. Nina bit her cheek to keep from laughing in agreement. “I gotta go tell el jefe. Then we can go”. Coco and Gilly nodded, and Angel went into the clubhouse to find the president. “I’ll have the prospect bring you by mine once he finishes, yeah?”, he called over his shoulder. “That’s sweet. Are we having a sleepover?”, Gilly asked. “Shut up”, Angel replied, and winked at Nina, before closing the door behind him.

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