greek tragedy — priv

[ÁNGEL M.]

[align=center][div style="background=transparent; bordercolor=transparent; text-align: justify; margin-top: auto; line-height: 120%; width: 500px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt;"]He'd been in this position many times before. It was beginning to bore him despite knowing that he'd walk out of the shitty trap house with an extra ten-thousand dollars to spare. Inhaling a final puff from his pearled wood, Ángel rose lazily and ashed the cherry of his blunt on the dirty floor with a yawn.

"Yo, you want it or not? I got places to be." He drawled impatiently, knowing that Coyote was waiting on his return. The chubby, stocky man sitting across from him upon a worn leather couch laughed rather nervously, placing the five pounds of weed by his side. He quickly dug into his pocket, a mistake. Ángel's two subordinates instantly cocked their automatic rifles and pointed them at the man without a moment of hesitation.

Two fully loaded rifles with 50-round drums and red laser beams would strike fear into any man's heart. Especially when the men wielding the firearms were loyal to the bone, prepared to risk the entirety of their life for Ángel who had taken them under his wing while they were all in their early teens. It wasn't simply an act from the kindness of his heart, however. Of course not. He was far too calculated to nurture just anyone, especially off the streets he grew up in. No, he knew these men could be molded into whatever he wanted them to be, so long as he was good to them; much like dogs.

The potential buyer quickly pulled some stacks of blue hundreds from his pockets and then placed his hands in the air above his head, "Ch-chill, chill! I was just taking out the bread, boss, tell 'em!" The words spewed from his mouth with a desperate urgency, seemingly on the edge of begging. A roar of laughter erupted from the towering drug-dealer, waving his hand and motioning the armed dealers to lower the rifles. "You good bro, they're just a lil paranoid." With that, lean and muscular arms snaked towards the stacks of money in a small backpack and slung it over his frame. "See you next week." Àngel called out while making his way out of the trap house and into his matte black SRT hellcat redeye. A beater daily driver to him meanwhile a distant dream to many envious men. In his mind, it was simply less flashy and intimidating to customers than his Aventador Lamborghini or Phantom Rolls-Royce as obnoxious as it sounded.

Within a few minutes, he arrived to a screeching halt outside of a complex of luxury lofts where he purchased one specifically for Coyote. The amount of stares he'd get from high-class pedestrians caused a devilish smirk to paint along his plush lips, revealing a perfect row of teeth encased by a diamond grill. Not to mention their stares were futile considering the 5% tint he placed on all the windows. Normally, Coyote would be able to hear him before she saw him when it came to Ángel's driving abilities and the loud cars he drove. He hoped today would be no exception as he placed a stack of five-thousand dollars in hundreds on the passenger seat. 'A little spending money,' as he called it which he would regularly shove into her hands every time he fucked up(which was a lot) or simply felt like it. A few thousand dollars tended to be pocket change to him after all.


[ I suck at starter posts esp rushed but here he is bae <33 ]

[COYOTE.]

[align=center][div style="width:500px;text-align:justify;line-height:1.2;font-size:9pt;"]Sweet, slow-paced pop music played in the background as Coyote sat at her vanity, staring blankly at her reflection as she perfected the curls at the ends of her blonde hair. Her manicured nails brushed through her ashy strands, softening the curls she had just set, her head tilted in focus. They laid flawlessly against her lace trimmed bustier, every tendril intentional, every hair seemingly perfected; she would not feel herself if they were not. Rising from her chair, Coyote approached her walk-in closet, ensuring her outfit was equally idyllic. The mini-skirt that adorned her left little to the imagination, and her Mary Janes shone with a sweet demeanor. The pairing was just as intentional.

She had always been a mix of innocence and vulgarity, both in appearance and temperament. Flowy skirts that challenged their extents, babydoll dresses with black lingerie underneath, sheer fabrics that barely covered what needed to be. She was a frequent target for stares and attention, a great deal self-absorbed or demeaning, but Coyote never seemed to mind this. She craved the attention, adored the stares, felt almost grateful in a sickening way for the affection of strangers. Her sweet persona made many feel welcome to approach, but Coyote, despite finding thrill in their efforts, never let them so much as touch her. Everything was ever intentional. She knew the game and played it masterfully. Despite often acting the opposite, Coyote was no fool. She presented herself innocently and sweetly, but there was another side to herself- jealous and obsessive, violent and vulgar. And she masked it well, most of the time, but it had always been hard to resist indulging, especially as she grew older.

Still, even Ángel did not fully know the extent of this. Her outbursts were limited around him, the desire to please him grappling with her easily-swayed temper. She enjoyed playing the part of the oblivious, doting girlfriend if it meant receiving his affection, however equally limited. Despite her ever calculated appearance around Ángel, she adored him deeply. Loved him even, although she would not scare him away by saying it. It had slipped out a few times, when his eyes seemed to burn into hers and his grip tightened, but they both ignored it, pretending it had never been spoken, at least not with intention. And every time he would pull away, Coyote felt herself only desperate to pull him back, even if it meant diminishing herself in some way.

But what of it? She had always been told she was too intense. This was no different.

The sound of an engine caught the girls attention, and she exited the closet after picking up one of her favorite designer handbags, courtesy of Ángel, tucking her phone into it after checking the time. He was running late, but it was no surprise nor disappointment to Coyote. She knew how he afforded the luxuries he spoiled her with, like one she currently resided in or the one upon her shoulder, and she didn't like to ask questions. As long as he returned back to her without injury, Coyote did not demand any answers from him.

Exiting her complex, she watched as the hellcat pulled up to the curb, her heels clacking upon the concrete sidewalk. A soft smile spread across her plush pink lips, and her dark eyes brightened. "Missed you," She'd chime as she slid into the passenger seat, picking up the stacks he left for her with an affectionate tilt of her head. She leaned over and placed a kiss upon his cheek, her hand brushing his jaw sweetly. "Thank you, baby," The blonde murmured as she sat back. "Look-" She paused to brush her hair from her chest and straightened up slightly to display her new Vivienne Westwood top, "It came! Do you like it?"

/ omg no worries it’s perfect! <33

[ÁNGEL M.]

[align=center][div style="background=transparent; bordercolor=transparent; text-align: justify; margin-top: auto; line-height: 130%; width: 500px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt;"]Soft doe-brown eyes would remain on the main entrance of the complex, waiting to see the dainty frame of Coyote. It felt strange to label her his girlfriend, but he supposed that she was the closest thing to a girlfriend he'd ever had. He'd never openly asked her to be and probably never would. He preferred the silent understanding they shared in between themselves. Whether he obliged by the normal qualities a boyfriend was supposed to uphold was a different story. But for the most part, he did. He tried. Perhaps that's the reason why he always found himself drawn to the immensely devoted girl, he took pleasure basking in the perception that she only existed for him in spite of all his ugly flaws.

Ángel certainly was no stranger to obsession from women however, he tended to lure out the withdrawn primal and wanton feelings buried deep inside of unsuspecting women. It was more of a childish game he took great gratification in, it didn't matter if it took him days or months to beguile a woman he set his sights on. In the end when he decided he grew bored of them for one reason or another, the look of pure desolation was a euphoric high he could never get enough of. But something about Coyote made it significantly more difficult to discard her like he had the others.

At last, he caught a glimpse of pristine ashen blonde hair curled to perfection. Many of times did Ángel's cohorts hesitantly inquire about her scantily attires so as to not offend him but he never minded on what she chose to wear. He was rarely if ever threatened by other males, especially when it came to women. If Coyote ever felt uneasy by anyone's lasting stare, she knew that he would handle it within seconds would she only ask. Besides, he relished in the desire oozing from others practically as much as she did. He knew that all they could ever do was stare, meanwhile Ángel knew that at the end of the night Coyote would be in his luxurious bed, not theirs.

Her intoxicating scent flooded his senses as soon as she stepped into the smokiness of his car, mingling with the thick smell of weed pleasantly. His warm honeyed eyes met with her dark pools of glistening brown that seemed to only shine for him. He took in the entirety of her ghostly, moonlit beauty. How the trimmed lace of her top seemed to tighten at just the right angles. Ángel knew there laid a nestled carnal darkness beneath her angelic silhouette, which he craved that much more every time they were torn from each other.

"Missed you,"
"Thank you, baby,"

He swallowed harshly, mirroring her soft smile with his own and nodding briskly in response to her gratitude. He leaned into the warmth of her silky touch and kiss. After having been around gruff, unsightly men all day, he welcomed her tender femininity. His ravaging gaze drifted over to her chest, lingering a bit longer than it should while paying little mind to the top itself. Nonetheless, he grinned, "It looks pretty, baby," he responded and reached forward to trail a section of stray hair towards her back, cold and calloused fingers brushing against the nape of her neck briefly. Vocals of rough gravel with fiery enticement spoke again, "I hope you're hungry. My boy set us up with an appointment at some fancy Brazilian steakhouse. Apparently fucking hard to get into." He then retracted his hand back onto the leather steering wheel while resting his other arm along the back of Coyote's seat. The matte black hellcat then screeched into motion, leaving a cloud of smoke in their wake as he sped down the street towards the upscale steakhouse, glancing occasionally at his lovely passenger.

[COYOTE.]

[align=center][div style="width:500px;text-align:justify;line-height:1.2;font-size:9pt;"]Her smile spread at his compliment, gaze drinking him up, ever pleased to please. Her eagerness for affection, no matter how small, had always made it easy for Ángel to gain her own affection in turn. Though they fought often, they almost always made up quickly. It was easy to do when Coyote was so easily affected in her emotions. A sweet touch and a minimal apology would often do the trick with minor issues, and usually gifts and a kiss on the forehead would resolve anything much more. It helped that Coyote had never felt especially in control of her own emotions, and had always been told they were too much. She'd often feel embarrassed to cry in front of him, pained to be an inconvenience, and as a result, would swallow her grievances to avoid this. It was only when her sadness turned to anger when they would go days without speaking, her ability to talk herself down swallowed by the fire that was her rage. Usually, it was jealousy. She had never been good with jealousy.

But they had not had such an issue for a while now, and so Coyotes eyes shone with adoration. "Mm, perfect," She murmured with a nod. Though he mentioned steakhouse, Coyotes mind wandered to their desserts as they took off. "I think I perfected my crème brûlée. Want to share some while we're there? I want to compare..." She'd think aloud as she watched the city flash by through the windows. She smiled slightly as she thought about the time Pajamas had jumped onto the counter when she was torching the top of the dessert, and she had subsequently ruined the dish in her panic to get him down.

The sun was setting, casting a rich spill of violets and orange in the sky, settling over the towering buildings like a blanket. She had always loved the city, preferring it to her quieter, suburban town she had grown up in. Coyote had always hated the routine of her childhood, hated trying desperately to fit in and keep up with the richer kids in school. It was another reason she had been so drawn to Ángel. He had luxuries at his disposal and lived lavishly when they met, he had impressed her easily with something as simple as his lifestyle. With him, she never had to worry about finances or feeling out of place. Ángel had a way of owning every room he walked into, and with Coyote on his arm, she was treated just the same. He took care of her in this regard, and she felt immensely grateful for it. When he had bought her the loft, she did not fret about living separately, instead feeling overjoyed to finally have a place to call her own- a place she was proud of and felt truly herself within its luxury.

Coyote blinked out of her reminiscing when they neared the steakhouse, scanning it and turning to watch Ángel for his approval as well. "It looks so nice," Although her eyes followed a couple who was leaving, the older woman dressed in a flattering designer dress, her red bottomed Louboutins shining under the dimly lit exterior. She hung onto the arm of an equally expensive looking man, her head tilting back as she laughed heartily at his words, her short curls swaying with the movement, her stunning white teeth glistening. Coyote felt herself smiling faintly in her wake. "Don't you think?" She asked Ángel, turning back towards him.

[ÁNGEL M.]

[align=center][div style="background=transparent; bordercolor=transparent; text-align: justify; margin-top: auto; line-height: 130%; width: 500px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt;"]There was no secret involving their volatile relationship, Ángel knew this; he just didn't give a fuck. He knew better than to expect a picture perfect romantic life. When the majority of his time was spent dictating over a clandestine empire, he didn't have much attention to spare when it came to anything serious romantically. This explained his salacious, promiscuous tendencies and a revolving door when it came to women. He was, however, striving to curb the ingrained nature in him of doing whatever he pleased without sparing anyone's feelings for Coyote's sake.

Be that as it may, when their relationship consisted of extremely heightened lows and highs, it became exceptionally difficult to remember his attempt at development during their lows. He despised being left alone with his festering thoughts, especially when his one constant, Coyote, was angry with him. So, he resorted to seeking the comfort in between the arms of other women if showering her with lavish luxuries didn't amend for his mistakes as quickly as he wanted them to. Luckily for him, there were hardly ever times when she wouldn't succumb to his sweetened, saccharine words and exuberant gifts.

At the mention of a crème brûlée, a devilish look spread across his sculpted features. Coyote's pastries and other treats were in an entirely different realm from anything he could buy at a convenience store or even a bakery. Coming home to an enormously extravagant yet empty mansion and loft when in the city quickly became mundane until she began to spend her nights with him; flooding the main kitchen with a delectable parade of aromas and gracing his eyes with her celestial, bewitching presence after suffering through rather tame days. He also adored how much effort she would put into her appearance for him. The drug lord felt a deep-seated satisfaction when she was draped along his sinewy frame among men who practically salivated but wouldn't dare act on it. She was shown as much reverence as a man like Ángel demanded, if anything less was shown, he'd make relatively quick work of the offender. The radiant gratification that shone on Coyotes face when he indulged every inch of her material desires and pampered lifestyle made it all worth it. She did not take after spoiled and petulant women he'd dealt with before, feeling entitlement to his money simply because they'd assume Ángel would court them beyond a night in bed because of their beauty or figure. They were wrong.

"Yeah," He agreed when at last the steakhouse came into view, "Order whatever you want." He then pulled the hellcat beside the valet fluidly, a stark contrast of his earlier controlled racing. Handing the valet the keys, Ángel trailed Coyotes gaze towards the couple, a small grunt escaping his lips. He wore nothing more than a crisp, plain white Brunello Cucinelly t-shirt and designer black jeans. His cotton white t-shirt suited his olive, sun-kissed complexion and sat nicely taut against his muscular and tattooed arms. An array of heavy, vvs diamond-clad golden chains and jewelry hung at his neck, wrist and fingers. He held no qualm being amongst the silently wealthy with his gaudy street-like display of affluence. Growing up, he hardly had enough to fill his belly, so when amounting to where he was now, of course he was going to brandish himself. With a certain level of finesse to his rugged appearance, Ángel moved towards Coyotes door and opened it quickly, calloused hand reaching to help her.

Inside, the steakhouse was beautifully adorned with dark oak walls and a massive selection of wines upon first walking in. He moved smoothly in front of Coyotes small frame, dainty hand interlaced with his as they made their way up to a larger second floor overlooking the bottom floor. He had to make up for keeping her waiting after all, only the best table would do. Ángel could feel the restrained stares boring into him, but the moment he made eye contact with anyone they would hastily look away in dread. Normally an affect of his brooding aura tailored by scars, tattoos, and confrontational presence. Adding onto it, if someone examined his hawkish gait, they could catch a glimpse of a pearled 1911 pistol holstered loosely in the waist of his jeans, cold metal hitting against his chiseled abdomen. There was, however, a single woman who refused to break her hungry gaze from him. A tan skinned, tall brunette who didn't much care that Coyote was alongside him. Ángel pretended not to notice and instead pulled the leather chair from their table, "What you want baby? I'm craving a kobe steak." He spoke placidly over a steak costing more than an average person's two-week check and briefly smiled when the waiter approached, "We'll start out with some sparkling waters and a crème brûlée for dessert. And some time to look over the menu."