#GUESS WHO MADE TEN DOLLARS THAT DAY

[incorrectplanet]

lee donggun: so what was it like being in a group with woonggi?

oh sungmin: he once referred to sand as “heterosexual glitter”.

lee donggun:

oh sungmin: it was fun.

[xneens]

three cents

you butt dial your boss during a girls night … the girls night where you told them you’d fuck aaron hotchner for three cents.

Girls' night out was wild, no one knew where you would end up. One night, you ended up on a boat and the next you were on a train to NYC. After getting thrown in jail with Emily, JJ, and Penelope during another night out, you all vowed to keep whatever happened during the night a secret from everyone, specifically Derek Morgan. Derek Morgan who had bailed all four of you out of jail, Derek Morgan who teased you relentlessly for weeks after.

After a long case, Emily suggested another girl’s night which all of you agreed on, desperately needing a celebratory drink after saving a little girl. It was around one in the morning when you got back to Quantico and though Aaron gave you the day off for tomorrow–or well, later today–all four of you decided to crash at Emily’s and drink to your heart’s content.

Popcorn and Hersey kisses lay on Emily’s coffee table, bottles of half-empty wine and jello shots litter the floor and you’re all giggling about whether to prank Derek by getting phone cases with a picture of him shirtless. You’re all on board and Penelope is getting them custom-made through a website she’s found.

“Speaking of Derek’s abs.” JJ drags the ‘s’ creating a hissing noise. She turns to you, grinning. “I’ve wanted to ask ever since you went to that Doctor Who convention with him. Do you like like Spence?”

You giggled, taking a small sip of wine, thinking about the genius. “Noooo. Spence is my friend. And he runs with his gun like it’s weighing him down. Besides, I only went to that Doctor Who convention because he went to see Barbie with me. He’s, like, too young for me, too.”

“He’s older than you.” Emily points out, smirking, knowing full well you liked older men. “He’s adorable and sweet.”

“Spencer is definitely cute and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had a sex dream about him,” you confessed, smiling as the girls burst out laughing. “But he’s too … inexperienced. I like my men like I like my wine. Old.”

Your phone had been on mute since you entered the plane, not wanting to abruptly wake anyone up if they were resting, so not a single person in the room had heard your phone ringing or Aaron’s multiple “hello’s” trying to get your attention. All of you were oblivious to your boss listening in to the conversation.

“Is Rossi too old for you?” Penelope asked, inciting another round of giggles.

You nodded, finishing off your glass of wine. “Just a bit. I’ve seen pictures of him when he was in the Marines though, and I definitely would’ve been the fourth Mrs. Rossi back then.”

Emily cackled, a bit of red wine spilling from her full glass. “Okay, I have a question. Would you guys fuck Hotch for ten million dollars? Be honest here.”

“No!” both JJ and Penelope spit out. They all turned to you, grinning like madmen.

You shrugged, filling another glass. “I’d do it for three.”

“Damn, three million? That’s–“

“Nope,” you smirked, taking a sip.

Emily paused, head tilting in confusion. “Three … hundred thousand?”

“No.”

“Three thousand?”

You shake your head, grinning at the confused woman. “Nope.”

“Three hundred?”

“No.”

Emily’s eyes widened, jaw-dropping a little further as you denied her guesses. “Three dollars?”

“No.”

“THREE CENTS?” JJ was the one to shout, mouth dropping open when you giggled and nodded.

Penelope threw a pillow at you, and you giggled, dodging it, nearly spilling your drink in the process. “Hey! This is supposed to be a judge-free zone. I’d suck and fuck Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner for three measly cents.”

“Okay, I’d understand if you said Derek but Hotch?” Emily exclaimed, shaking her head at the thought. “He’s like twenty years older than you!”

“Exactly! That’s part of the appeal,” you replied. You were sure by tomorrow no one would remember your confession–though you were positive you wouldn’t either–and that they wouldn’t tease you too much over it. “He’s the literal definition of a DILF.”

The girls laughed at your words, JJ having to clutch onto a pillow to control herself.

“And!” you continue. “I was working out with Derek once and Hotch came in the gym with gray sweats and his dick looks humongous. It was a huge fucking bulge. I think I saw it twitching.”

Penelope slaps her hands over her ears, playfully grimacing at your words while Emily chugs the remains of her glass, absolutely baffled. You didn’t mind, sex and boys were common conversation topics during girl’s night (and sometimes when Emily would catch you making eyes at someone.

The rest of the night continued the same, though less talk about Hotch’s big dick and more on whether you all should make more jello shots. By the time you’re coming up with an answer, it’s five in the morning and all four of you are knocked out from the alcohol in your system. Even in your drunk state, you knew you’d wake up to a pounding headache.

When Derek calls in the morning, telling everyone about a new case, you’re all moody and grumpy. Hotch wanted everyone in even though he had given the day off, so no one was jumping for joy especially not in your hangover state.

Despite drinking the most, Emily drives the four of you back to the BAU, mumbling obscenities under her breath on the way. When you enter the elevator, Derek is there, causing all of you to groan at his presence. One look at you and he laughs loudly, knowing what had transpired the night before.

You wish you could shoot his foot.

In the briefing room, Hotch apologizes for having you all come in on your day off, pausing to glance at you before presenting the case. Truth be told, you hadn’t paid that much attention to it, your headache taking up your attention. Fire, serial arsonist, fifteen dead, Seattle.

“Wheels up in thirty,” Hotch announces, walking across the table. As the team filters out of the room, he calls your name. “In my office, please. I want to discuss something with you.”

Confused, you follow him to his office, pushing through your headache to think about what he could possibly want to speak to you about. You come up blank, even more confused when you see him lock the door to his office as you enter. “Did I do something wrong?”

Hotch shook his head, moving past you to his desk. He picks up something and turns around. In his hands are three pennies, and he’s holding them out to you. “Three cents.”

You’re getting deja vu on the words, and it’s not until several seconds of standing in silence and confusion that it clicks. Three cents. You blush, looking at the pennies. “I don’t understand.”

“You said you’d suck and fuck me for three cents,” he smirks at your shock, placing the coins in your hands.

“What–”

Hotch unbuckles his belt, causing you to stop mid-sentence. “You’ve got twenty-eight minutes to suck my cock. Get to work.”

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Fifteen Weeks

Din Djarin x Cam Girl Reader AU

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)  Summary: It's been fifteen weeks since Din Djarin first entered your life, now you can't imagine it without him. You take a leap of faith in your relationship and visit him at his farm. Warnings: Smut, loss of virginity, face sitting, premature ejaculation, unprotected p in v sex (reader is tested and has an IUD, protect yourselves IRL), mentions of sex work, anxiety, Din is bad at feelings, farmhouse emotions, goats!, yes I made Din Djarin a schnauzer owner don't judge me. Words: 5,050

A/N: Here it is folks, the follow up to Fifteen Minutes, which I originally wrote as a standalone. Thank you to @goodwithcheese for speaking so highly about Fifteen Minutes thus making me revisit this draft and finally finish it. I also want to thank @frannyzooey for taking a look at the bare bones of this months ago. I really love these two and I’m so glad they finally get to eat soup together.

Fifteen Masterlst Masterlist

___

“So, where ya’ headed?” the Uber driver asks, turning toward the departures terminal.

“Just to see a... friend."

“Hm. Must be a special friend to catch a flight this early.” 

“I guess he is,” you smile through a yawn.

___

Waiting to board. Can’t wait to finally see you! xxxx🙂

Hitting the send button, you shake your head still finding it hard to believe you’re traveling almost halfway across the country to meet a man. A man you’ve fallen head over heels for.

Can’t wait to see you too. See you soon.

His response arrives just in time. A nervous rush of excitement courses through your body before turning your phone off for departure. 

You wonder if your seatmate can feel your leg shake as the nerves tap out against the plane floor. Sure, you’re excited, you’re ready to meet Din in person but there still is trepidation twisting inside of you. You’ve never done anything like this at all. You’ve never met a client and now you’re on a plane headed to one. You’ve known him for only four months, but the connection the two of you share is something you’ve never believed to be something you’d find. You’ve dealt with enough men wearing wedding bands who tell you they love you, that you’re the most beautiful woman they’ve seen, that you’re their whole world. Love is a ridiculous concept when you charge ten dollars a minute. 

With Din, it’s different, it’s something that can be named, can be felt, can be solved, and yet so many questions about it remain. What do you call the quiet silence that exists between the two of you, happy to be on the phone keeping each other company every night? The small laugh and head shake he does whenever you tell him he’s cute? The random texts of his life that always brightens your day? The way he nods with zero judgment when he hears the ding of your new client alert? What do you call the decision that got you here on this plane? 

You read the same page over and over in your book. Will you sleep in his bed tonight? 

You give up on reading and stare forward at the little map on the seat screen. What does he smell like?

You look out the window and watch the clouds disintegrate around you. Is he just as nervous as you?

You turn the volume up and try to drown out your racing thoughts. Will this all be worth it?

Two hours left to find out. 

___

You step off the escalator, eyes scanning the crowded baggage claim area for the reason why you’ve taken a six hour flight halfway across the country. Your hands grip the backpack strap tighter trying to calm the nerves overtaking your heart and brain.

There, right there, leaning against a column alone in the shadows is Din and the brown eyes you’ve only dreamt of seeing in real life. He straightens when you make eye contact, but makes zero attempt to move, still frozen against the column. You lose the fight to hide your smile and excitement hurriedly shuffling over to him, he smiles as you get closer, the same shy half grin he gives when he says good night. His hands slip out of his pockets as you approach. Goodness, he’s so big and handsome, he could be a heartbreaker of all sorts to anybody he sets his sights on. The phone doesn’t do his beauty any justice.

“Hi,” you smile.

“H-hey, I can’t believe you’re… here,” his voice sounds even smoother and deeper in person.

“I am,” you shuffle on your feet. Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

He tucks his hands back into his hoodie pocket, his silent rejection shoots a pang of longing through you. 

You thought it’d play out like a grand romantic movie, you’d jump into his outstretched arms and he’d never let go. Din’s rejection fills you with jealousy… screw all of the happy couples. You hate those movies now.

Touch me.

Of course he’s nervous, you’re nervous too, you’re just better at hiding it. He still leans against the column, shielded by the liminal space.

“Do you have luggage?” He’s right in front of you and yet you’re too scared to touch him, too anxious you’ll scare him away. 

“Nope, just my backpack and carry-on.” 

Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

“Oh, okay, did you want to leave then?”

“I didn’t come here to see the airport Din,” you place a hand on his hoodie clad arm. He looks down and stares. 

Did you overstep? You couldn’t have, you just watched this same man orgasm for you last night while chanting how he couldn’t wait to paint you with his cum. 

“Din,” you snap him out of his stare, “come on, I’m ready to leave.” 

You know he’s not trying to reject you, but his nervous aloofness is overwhelming when all you want is for him to touch you… just once. 

“I—uh, here, let me take your bags,” he mumbles, reaching past you to grab your suitcase. “It’s really cold, do you have a heavier jacket?” 

“No, but I’ll be okay,” you reassure. The cold won’t sting nearly as much as Din’s seemingly innocent rejection.  

“Here,” he pulls the collar of his hoodie over his head. “I’m used to this cold. You aren’t.” 

You take the bundle of black fabric from his outstretched hand, not realizing just how cold you were until you put the hoodie warmed by his body heat on. It smells of him. Faint hints of campfire, wood, leather, citrus, and cinnamon. You wish you were wrapped up in Din himself, touching him, smelling him, tasting him. Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Whatever is happening inside of him seems to be bleeding over into your mind. You’re now second guessing every decision to come here. He was excited last night, he texted you this morning how he couldn’t wait to see you, is he disappointed? 

“Yeah, of course,” he nods and turns towards the door, walking away in quick strides leaving you alone in the dark corner near that damn column he’d rather touch than you. He has your suitcase and backpack, so either this is a really expensive way to get robbed or he has zero clue how his actions are affecting you. 

He turns back to you as he reaches the automatic doors, his eyes wide with guilt when he spots you still standing in the same place he left you. Well, at least he feels bad. 

You let a deep breath out to steel yourself and walk to him.

“I-I’m sorry, just not used to ever having to… you know…”

“I know, it’s okay Din,” you gently smile. What in the world have you gotten yourself into?

“I’m just—“

“Nervous. I know Din, it’s okay. I understand this is a lot.”

“It is, but just… know that how I’m acting is not how I’m feeling. I’m really happy to have you here. You’re so… beautiful and I—thank you for being here with me.”

There it is. Everything is worth it now. The early morning Uber to the airport, the neverending TSA line, the cramped airplane seat, the nervousness you feel. You’d do it all again to hear that sentence. 

“Of course, I know. You’re okay,” you take his hand. If he’s not going to do it, you’ll do it. “Come on, let’s go.” 

His eyes stay downcast staring at your hand wrapped around his.

You clear your throat to get his attention, his eyes snap up to yours. “Din, let’s go.”

“R-right. Of course. Right.” 

He leads you out the door, gripping your hand harder when the bitter wind lashes against your skin. 

The two of you weave your way through the parking lot until you reach a large silver truck. It’s clean with a few dents and scratches. Well taken care of but old. 

Din opens the creaky door and helps you step up. The black leather seat is smooth as you slide across it.

Din places your luggage in the back before opening his door and deftly stepping in. 

You hide a deep exhale when he starts the engine.

He clears his throat and you look over. “It’s–uh nice to see you in here.”

“I’m glad,” you smile, turning and reaching your hand out to touch his cheek. Your thumb finds the little heart patch on the side of his face, you’ve been thinking about how it’d feel since you first saw it. You can’t help yourself, he looks so delicate, as if he’s aching to be touched but too scared to ask for it. You’re holding a scared fawn in your hands. Don’t scare him, don’t move too quickly, let him figure things out on his own. 

His lips part as he inhales, deep brown eyes staring into yours, the nervousness radiating off his skin fills the truck cabin. You wish you could just throw caution to the wind and force him to tell you exactly how he’s feeling, to slide across the bench seat and beg him to take you right here in this airport parking lot. You don’t. You pull your hand away and put your seatbelt on.

“I can’t wait to see your home. I’ve never been to an actual farm before.”

___

You’ve seen glimpses of Din’s home in random pictures he’s texted you or your nightly FaceTime sessions, but you never imagined just how picturesque it could be. A large white two story farmhouse situated in the middle of a vast expanse of green grass, a small tin roofed barn sits to the side with a herd of goats happily grazing. Din’s life must be so peaceful here, very different compared to your townhouse in the middle of suburbia.

“It’s beautiful,” you muse as he pulls into the driveway. “I can understand why you never wanted to leave.” 

The truck stops in front of his home, a german shepherd and a little schnauzer run down the porch steps and head for Din’s truck.

“They’ll be fine with you, but let me get out so I can control them.” 

Din gets out of the truck, you chuckle to yourself as his clipped directions to the dogs are drowned out by excited barks. 

He opens your door and reaches his hand out.

“Grogu! Boba! Back!” Din shouts as he helps you step down. His raised voice makes your heart skip a beat. You didn’t know he could ever be this loud.

“It’s okay, I like your dogs, you know I think they’re cute,” you bend down and tap on your knees to beckon them over. “This must be Grogu,” you scratch his soft ears. “He does have big ears.”

“They’re not that used to other people.”

“Hmm,” you stand up and pat the top of Boba’s head, “sounds like someone I know.”

He chuckles as he walks up the porch steps and unlocks the front door. 

Warmth fills your body as you walk over the threshold. White walls, worn floorboards, antique furniture, all of it taken care of and clean. Tidy and well kept up, a lot like his truck, aged but in better shape and made to last; a far change from your newbuild townhouse and IKEA furniture. 

“Diiin,” you breathe, “it’s beautiful in here. Like… I knew you lived in a nice house, but wow, between this and the farm… when do you sleep?”

“I sleep enough. I’ll go get your bags, make yourself… at home.”

You take a seat on his couch, it’s perfect for him. Beige, simple lines, nothing fancy, not too comfortable, but probably the height of cozy after a long day working on a farm. Grogu jumps up and sits next to you, his little bearded face panting happily next to yours. You scratch his chest and praise him as he inches closer towards you. Boba stays near the entry, waiting for Din.

“Think he likes you,” Din says as he places your bags by the steps. “Don’t take Boba’s standoffishness personally he’s–”

“Like you. I know,” you smile.

“Did– what would you like to do?”

“Can I see the computer where you first talked to me?”

“Um, yeah,” he walks down the hallway leaving you behind yet again, “it’s just in here.”

You shake your head and rise off the couch to follow, obviously he’s not used to company.

You walk into a small office, everything has a place, efficient and tidy, perfectly Din. Paperwork stacked in neat stacks, a calendar with his sharp writing all over it hung on the wall, today’s date circled with your name written in the box. 

A black monitor sits on a mahogany desk. 

“This is the computer, huh?” you ask, running your hands across the black keyboard,

“It is.”

“So this is where it all began? You sat there, clicked on my picture, and now look. I remember when I first heard your voice,” you face him taking both of his hands in yours, “it was so deep and warm, it lit something inside of me.”

You guide his arms to wrap around you, his hands rest on your lower back.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you after our first session ended. There was something so pure and mysterious about you, I knew you weren’t lying about wanting to know. It wasn’t some kink you had, I knew you needed help. I felt lucky to be the one to show you.” 

He sighs as you rest your head against his chest hearing the rhythm of his heart. “I closed that window so many times before finally agreeing and joining. I-I kept on thinking about how I could talk to someone as beautiful as you, all it would take is just a click. You were so pretty.” 

“Just a click,” you whisper, craning your neck up as Din lowers his head. His nose bumps against yours, his plush bottom lip is captured between your lips, another part of him you’ve wanted to touch since you first saw him. You finally kiss him, sweet and tender, his lips molding to yours perfectly. He pulls you in closer, his tongue hesitantly dipping into your mouth as you lick against him. The past fifteen weeks have finally led to this moment inside of this old farmhouse office in the middle of nowhere. Your Din and his soft lips, tense hands against your back, your soft coos mingling with his low groans, you could stay in this moment forever, if it wasn’t for Din’s phone beeping in his pocket. 

“I’m sorry,” he pulls away, a bashful smile adorns his face, “I need to go take care of the goats before sundown.”

“Of course.” 

He hugs you, planting a soft kiss against your forehead and inhaling your scent before leaving. He’s warming up…

___

Din loves soup. You know this by the nights you spend with him over the phone. The man eats soup almost every single night. Soup with bread, soup and a baked potato, soup and steak, soup, soup, soup. 

You can’t blame him, the stew and homemade rolls he serves you for dinner are delicious. He shyly tells you it’s his speciality when he places the porcelain bowl in front of you. 

You could get used to the farm life. A fire burns in the fireplace while the tv plays Din’s favorite movie he’s been wanting to show you, some film about a galaxy far far away and an unlikely hero. The man loves space. 

His arm slung across your shoulder lies heavily on you, warming you inside and out. Grogu sleeps on your lap, softly snoring as you pet his gray fur. Din occasionally sneaks a kiss against your hair, you don’t know if you’ve ever been more comfortable in your life. 

The movie ends, a grand symphonic score plays over the credits. 

“That was really good,” you smile towards Din. “I liked it.”

A grin slowly stretches across his face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, thank you for showing me it.”

“You’re welcome,” he gazes at you, the same look he smolders through the phone, like he can’t believe his luck that you’re talking to him. 

You attempt to fight a yawn and lose. Your eyes blink tiredly at Din when he reaches and rubs his thumb against your cheek. 

“Did you want to,” he clears his throat, “sleep in my room with me tonight?”

“Only if you want me to Din.”

“I, uh, I do.”

“Okay, I’d like that.”

___

The airplane and long day washes off and rinses down Din’s shower drain. You use his washcloth and think of his hands touching you. You smell his soap and think of inhaling the scent as he holds you close. You don’t know what’s about to happen once you leave this room. If you’re this nervous, how does he feel? 

Din looks up from the book he’s reading and watches you step out of the bathroom shyly padding over and getting into bed.

“What are you reading?” you whisper.

“Some book about a cowboy warrior in space…”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It’s good.”

“You know,” you look around the simple bedroom, “I see this room all the time, but only the wall behind your bed, hardly anything else. It’s been really nice seeing more of your life.”

He nods, blinking back to his book. 

The night can’t end like this. 

You grab the book from his hands and place it on the table.

“What are you thinking about Din? I never know what’s going on inside of you.”

“H-how pretty you look wearing that.” 

You look down at the pink silk tank top and shorts and swallow down a smile. You specifically wore it because you know how Din’s eyes light up whenever you put it on. “It’s my favorite because it’s so soft. Do you want to feel it?” 

He turns to you wide-eyed and gives you a solitary nod. 

“Go ahead Din.”

His tan hand splays across your stomach, golden toned skin rests against the blushy silk of your tank.

“S’soft,” he murmurs to himself.

“Here,” you place your hand over his and press down, “really feel it.”

His eyes angle down watching your hand navigate his around your stomach to just below your breasts. His mouth sits slightly agape, thick brows furrowing in concentration as you slip his hand underneath the fabric, his trembling calloused fingers making contact with your skin. 

“Am I soft here Din?”

“Y-Yes,” he stammers. 

“Touch me, as little or as much as you want. Wherever you’re comfortable doing, okay?” you remove your hand from his. “I came here for you… whatever you want… I want..”

“I want to,” he gulps, “I want to touch you all over.”

“I’m all yours baby.” 

His shoulders deflate with a groan, he trails his hand higher to cup one of your breasts. The tips of his fingers peek out of the top of your tank. Tan, well worked strong hands lay against your smooth skin. The sight makes you moan, your teeth gnawing at your lip, trying to qualm the temptation to touch him further. 

“Take it off Din.” His dark brown eyes beam up to yours. “Go ahead baby.” 

He grabs the hem of your tank top, softly bundling it in his hands and lifting it over your head leaving you bare chested. 

“Kiss me and touch me baby,” you gently will. 

His lips form over yours, his hands return to your skin, petting and caressing your breasts before you cover them, pushing them farther down your stomach. His breaths quicken against your mouth when you slip his hands underneath the band of your shorts. 

“Fuck,” he pants against your lips when his hand meets the wetness seeping from your pussy. “Fuuuuuck.” 

“You feel me baby? That’s how wet you always make me, ever since the first time we talked and all you were was a black square with a sexy voice. It’s like we were destined in the stars.” 

“God damnit, you’re so soft,” Din’s hips buck into the air, his head thuds against the headboard when his thick finger slips in between your folds. “I-I-I oh god, I’m– I think I’m going to cum. I’m sorr–” 

“It’s okay baby, I’m here, cum for me.” Your hand reaches down and grips his hard cock through his black sweatpants. “Cum for me Din.” 

You feel a warm wet spot spread against your hand, pulling a moan from you.. 

“I’m--agh– sorry,” his big eyes stare at you, a hint of shame rounds them. “You feel so amazing.” He pulls his hand out of your shorts.

“No,” you whimper at the loss of contact. “I like it baby, I like that you like me so much that happened. Please don't apologize. Keep touching me if you want to. Do you?” 

“God,” his eyes shrink in determination, “yes I do.” 

“Okay baby.”

You sit in between his stretched out legs, lifting your hips to take off your shorts, spreading your legs wide, much the same way you do for your clients. 

He stares at your exposed skin, eyes mapping every dip, curve and dimple of your body. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “I can’t believe you’re here… for me.”

“Of course I am baby.” 

His fingers trace the plains of your legs, moving their way up to your thighs. His face set in a determinative scowl, eyes fixated on your core as he inches closer to it, now aching and soaked for him. 

“I-I’ve never done this.”

“I know baby, you remember our first call?” 

He nods.

“Remember what I told you what I liked?”

Another nod.

“Do that for me baby, touch me. Make me feel good.” A thick finger meets your lips, tracing a line up from your entrance to your clit before softly rubbing a circle around your sensitive nub. He remembered.

“You’re so wet for me,” he breathes out, his eyes staying planted staring at your pussy beguiled by his own actions.

“I am Din, only for you. I think about you every time. I-I,” you moan when he sticks a finger inside, slowly pumping it in and out, “I only want you.” 

“Only want you too, baby. C-can I taste you?”

“Ye–oh my god, yes Din, I’m yours, do whatever you want to me.” 

“I’m yours, anything you wa–”

“Sit on my face,” he growls. 

“O-of course.” 

You crawl towards him, leaving a chaste kiss on his lips before straddling his face, your dripping cunt hovers right over his mouth. He grips your ass and pulls you down, smothering himself with all of your slickness. You cover him like a mask, he worships your taste like a religion, moaning and groaning into your sweet pussy. Your praises about how good he’s doing and how amazing you feel incant out of your mouth as he takes you to paradise. Plush lips suck and savor you, your hands grip the bed frame like a precious artifact, his devotion to you and your pleasure pulls a melting orgasm from you. 

“Din, Din, Din,” you pray at his altar, knees bowed and quaking against his ears as he drinks your offering down. You’re shattered, everything you’ve ever believed in replaced by Din and his idolatry of you. 

You move your lust drunk body off and lay down next to Din. His face shines with a gloss of you, his tongue peeks out and licks his lips, before sending you a shy smile.

“You’re amazing,” he incredulously mutters. 

“You are too,” a doting grin lights your face before pulling him in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on him, a moan leaves your throat at the realization. 

Strong arms envelop you, pulling you closer to him, his hard cock juts against the soft skin of your thigh. 

“Already?” you pull back and tease. 

“C-can I feel you?” 

“Feel me?” 

“Yes, c-can I… can we….?”

A rush of anticipation thrums through your body at the implication of his nervousness.

“Yes Din, we can. Are you sure this is what you want tonight? We can wait.”

“N-no. I want you, I-I want this,” he moves his sweatpants down, kicking them off. 

“Okay baby, okay,” you kiss him, grabbing his face, petting the soft hair of his sparse beard.

He rolls on top of you, cradling your head between his strong forearms, a heated kiss licks into your mouth as his naked weight covers you. Your legs open in a silent offer for Din to take everything you have. You can just feel the heft of his cock ghosting against your entrance. 

He looks down at you, brown eyes wide, plush mouth parted, brows softened with adoration. 

You send him a silent nod and smile when his cock enters you, feeling a sense of honor that you’re the one Din has chosen for this. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The green accept button, the reserved man dressed in all black, the deep voice, the connection between two screens. Now, you’re here with Din, moaning and rolling your hips to accept the length of him.

His neck strains when he sheathes his cock fully inside of you, panting and groaning as he slowly rocks back and forth.

“You … feel … like … heaven… I love your pussy… I love your body…. I… love you.”

He freezes at the divulgence, body locked in shock at his slip. 

Your face lifts in a reassuring grin. “I love you too,” your hand grabs his chin, bringing his lips to yours. 

You love him, you’ve known it for so long, but here in this farmhouse bed you can hear it, you can feel it. 

Your bodies meld, hips meeting, lips locked, he gives you everything, you give him everything. Your pussy clenches around his slow, full strokes. This is making love. 

“Baby, I-I.. I’m going t–” he strains. 

“Go ahead Din, I got you.” Your hands trail up and down the expanse of his smooth back. He grunts, burying his head into the crook of your neck, fevered breaths hit your skin as his cum fills you.

He rolls off, pulling you to his side and kissing the top of your hair. 

“Wow… I.. are you okay?”

“What?” your head perks up.

“You didn’t… uh–”

“I did when you fucked me with your tongue Din, I’m very happy and satisfied.” 

“Oh, I just… I want to make sure you’re good.”

“Baby, I am very good. Trust me.” 

“I love you,” he breathes.

“I love you too Din…” you rest your head against his chest, the exhaustion of the day settling in, quickly lulling you to sleep. This is the way to go to bed.

___

The faint sound of running water gently rouses you from the most peaceful slumber you’ve had. The sun has barely peaked over the horizon, the room’s still shrouded in a lazy darkness. 

Din’s long sigh echoes against the tiles of the shower like a siren song. 

You pad out of bed toward the bathroom, pushing the door wide open. 

Your mouth drops at the sight ahead of you… Din’s muscular, toned golden body shines underneath a glistening sheen of water. He runs a gray wash rag across his stomach, the mop of dark, curly hair right underneath his hand beckons you to look farther down. You’ve seen him so many times before, almost every night, but this is the first time you’ve been able to see all of him in person. Din is a big man, his cock matches his stature. Just as long, just as broad, just as golden. God, he’s gorgeous. 

You knock on the doorframe catching his attention, surprise tensing across his whole body. 

“Good morning,” you purr, “can I join you?”

He nods, his cock grows visibly hard when you walk over and get in. The warm steam, Din’s naked body, and the smell of Din’s cedar body wash engulfs you, this is the way to wake up. 

“Mmm, the hot water feels good,” you sigh, leaning your head against his chest. Din’s cock rests heavily in between you, tempting you to touch it. “Want me to wash you?”

He groans a yes. 

“You can wash me too,” you propose, squeezing a dollop of body wash onto your palm, running it across your chest before leaving suds on your hands. “Go ahead Din.”

Drops of water land against your skin as his trembling hands slowly reach for your breasts. He massages and kneads, both palms laying against your tits, his touch turns more searing when your hands land on his chest, rubbing in the soap along the dusting of hair stretched across his broad body. 

Your nipples pebble under his nervous, firm touch and undivided attention. He hisses when your hands slink farther down, running across the damp curls of his happy trail leading you to his cock standing between his thighs, thick and dripping. You wrap a fist around his length, his knees weaken causing his body to smash against the wall, his face grimacing in pleasured agony.

“Fuck,” he pants, water rains down into his wide open mouth, splashing out with every exclamation of your name he repeats as he cums all over your stomach. 

Your tongue runs up the column of his neck to his mouth, swallowing his rapid breaths. 

“You feel so good against me,” he gasps against your lips. “I can’t believe you’re here.” 

“I am baby, I am,” you coo, wrapping your arms around him, wishing you could live in this tiny shower forever. This is the way to wake up.

___

Din settles on the porch swing next to you, pulling your blanket wrapped body close to him. 

“Is this what you do every morning?” 

“Just about,” he says before taking a drink of his coffee. 

“It’s nice,” you yawn, “early but nice.” 

He chuckles, “You get used to it.” “Mm,” you rest your head on his chest, smelling the fresh dew and hay on his flannel jacket. 

“I really like you being here,” he softly says.

“I really like being here too.”

“You know,” he gulps, “you can do your job here… with me.”

___

A/N: Thank you for reading! This ending makes me feel:

[probablyintensemuses]

Dating Armando Aretas Would Include:

Grumpy x Sunshine Edition

🎧- Enchanted: Taylor Swift

pairing: Armando Aretas x black fem! reader

themes: grumpy x sunshine w/drabble

warnings: mentions of trauma & abuse, strong language, and a bit of gore.

authors note: I saw Bad Boys 4 again last night and it’s really refueled my Armando obsession, so more headcannons, drabbles, and fics on the way.

✨First Encounters✨

You and Armando meet in the worst of circumstances.

He, his father, and Marcus were on the run as wanted men, and you were the first person Mike thought to turn to after the attack at Tabatha’s.

Which he wasn’t wrong, you’d give your left kidney to Mike he’s saved you so many times.

You had let them into your small apartment, offering them clothes, food, and shelter until they could get in touch with the rest of the Ammo team and sort this shit out.

Armando had taken an interest to you then. Your house was warm and cozy, lived in. A small, plush couch, next to a coffee table littered with medical books. A kitchen stacked with teas and espressos , a dresser with vintage vinyls and a record player beside it. This was the kind of house he’d like to live in if he lead a different life.

You remember walking over to him, a picture of your parents and you when you were young in his hands.

“Those are my parents,’ you say. “I was ten then.”

Armando’s gruff exterior takes over though, and he doesn’t give you as much as a word back, let alone a thank you for feeding and housing literal fugitives.

You figured it was just him though and let it roll off you back like water.

You all got some sleep and the next day Mike asks you to drive them out to Dorn’s house on the dock. You agree and begin to load up the truck with guns, water, food, and extra clothes for the drive.

This is when Armando starts to question who you are and the legitimacy of your actions. Last person Mike trusted fucked them over, and he wasn’t having that shit again.

So he pulls his father aside and confronts him on the situation: you.

“How can we trust her?” Armando says, not far out of earshot of you.

“She’s good for it, trust me.”

“Didn’t you say that the last time and we got sold out. Don’t forget there is fucking five million dollar bounty on our heads. We can’t trust no one!” He whisper-shouted.

Mikes shoulders dropped. “I saved her life when she was younger, and I used to work with her parents. Trust me, she’s not going to pull a fast one. Because if she was, she would have done it already.”

Armando looked over at you, you’re dressed in a tank top, and that’s when he notices the cuts and burns littering your left arm. He sucks in a deep breath eyeing Mike who looks at you with sympathy too. There’s a story there, he’ll piece it together later, but for now he guesses you’re his only hope of getting out alive.

✨Post-fallout ✨

After you didn’t screw them over, and got them safety to Dorn’s, Armando found himself limping towards your apartment, blood trailing behind his feet.

Mike had sent him, and for some reason, at that moment, your place felt like exactly what he needed.

With the last of his energy, he banged on your door. Shortly, you answered and immediately went into panic mode.

The moment you let him inside, Armando crashes to the floor, passing out.

You screech and get every first aide equipment you have on hand and begin to bandage him up and stop the bleeding.

It took two bloody, sweaty hours, but you eventually got him all closed up.

Armando woke the next morning in a bed he didn’t recognize. This sent him into a frenzy. He went to shoot up out of the bed, but the soreness of his injuries knocked him back down.

“Fuck,” he moaned, grabbing at his torso.

From the living room, you turn down your headphones at the sound of movement. Armando must be awake.

Two days of rest, not bad.

You move towards the microwave and reheat the breakfast you had made him, pour some orange juice, and bring a whole heck of a lot of water and pain-pills.

Tray in hand, you kick open the door and slip inside your bedroom.

“Good morning.” You smile, setting the tray on the bed by his side. “How do you feel?”

“What the fuck did you put in this.” Armando asks, eyeing the food.

“Eggs, bacon, and toast.” You snicker.

Armando lifts a piece of toast, taking a bite. “If I die from this, I’ll kill you.”

“Noted, Sarg.” You salute.

You watch Armando eat his food with a smile on your face.

Eventually he looks up at you scowling. “Why are you staring at me.”

You shrug. “I’m just happy you’re okay.” You say truthfully.

“Well,’ Armando takes a swig of water, downing the pills. “Go be happy somewhere else.”

Your shoulders drop and you let out a sigh, you knew Armando was tough, but geez, you practically saved his life. Would it kill him to be a little nice?

But still you smile when you say, “okay, well if you need me, I’ll be out in the living room studying. Feel free to roam around, I don’t mind.”

It was a couple hours before Armando had come out of your room, limping over to the kitchen and rummaging through your fridge.

“I’m making dinner right now,’ you say, pausing your television show. “It’s a roast with veggies.”

“I want a beer.” He grumbles.

“Well I don’t have beer, but I do have wine.” You say, pointing to you collection of reds and whites.

“ I don’t want wine.”

“Okay, so what do you want me to do?”

Armando comes over to you, cornering you into the tiny space between your sink and the counter. “Get me a beer.”

“Let’s start over,’ you stick out your hand for a shake. “I think we’re at a misunderstanding of our situation.”

Armando frowns at your response, grumbling Spanish curses under his breath and walking away, slamming your door like a toddler.

The roast was done, and eventually you got Armando to come and have dinner with you…kind of.

He sat on the couch and watched the news, for updates on the status for his search, and you sat at the table, contemplating what to do with him next.

✨Enemies, Friends, Roomates✨

Mike had told you harboring Armando would only be for a short while until he could figure something out with the D.A’s office….that was three months ago.

Eventually you got your bed back, Armando taking the couch, but not your sanity.

Living with Armando wasn’t easy. He was brash, stand-offish, stubborn, and mean.

You did everything to try and form some kind of bond with him, even buying him gym equipment offline, but it just never clicked for him.

Not until one night when you’re studying late for an exam and happen to fall asleep at the kitchen table, books all around you.

That’s when you fall into a nightmare. The man who ruined your life the star of the show, again.

It always starts the same. You and your parents living happily at the park. Your parents watch you as you swing higher and higher, giggles filling the air. Then a man appears at the edge of the park, beckoning your parents over. You scream and shout for them but they never turn back, they keep going to the man. And when he has your parents in his grip, he brandishes a knife, slicing them open.

You let out a blood curling scream, slamming awake and falling to the group. Sweat sticks your curls to your face as you cry and gasp for breath.

Armando’s up in a second, swarming you.

“Estás bien?’ He pats you down, checking you out. “What’s happened to you?”

You can’t do anything but cry. The man who’s ruined your life, he’ll never leave you…he made sure of that in many ways. His latching to you is so deep that you can’t even escape him when you sleep.

You finally are able to get some words out, tell Armando, “I had a nightmare. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,’ he helps you stand. “Maybe you should get some sleep in your bed.”

You’re shocked by his response, but you’re even more shocked by the way he helps you to your room.

“What are you doing?” You asks, confused.

“You just flew out your chair from a nightmare, what do you mean what am I doing? I’m helping you.”

“Yeah, I get that…but you never help me.”

Armando sighs, holding his hands at his hips. “You gonna tell me what it was about, or should I leave.”

You sigh. “When I was younger, my parents worked for the Miami Police Department. They were detectives and before I was born they ended up helping catch this serial killer. His name was Gunter Bennett but the media called him “The Gutter” because that’s how he killed. Years later, somehow he escaped prison. That’s when he came for my parents. He killed them in the middle of the night.’ You take an uneasy breath, finding birth relief and shock when Armando’s hand slips into yours. “And I was sure he was going to kill me too, but he didn’t…he did worse. He kidnapped me and kept me at some shithole for three years. Three.”

You rile up your sleeves and show all your burns and cuts. Armando remembers them from the first day he met you.

“It’s how I got these. That sadistic bastard,’ you cry. “He tortured me.”

Armando feels something in him snap hearing your story and seeing the ways it’s effected you, even now. He knows what it’s like to be harmed and loose the people closest to you.

So he shocks even himself with what does next, scooping you up like a wounded bird and nuzzling under the blankets with you.

You whimper and sniffle in his arms and he just hushes you, stroking your curls.

“It’s going to be alright, niña bonita, he’s gone now.”

Slowly, the exhaustion of work, school, and your tears overcome you and you both drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.

✨My Lover✨

Armando was jealous.

You two had just spent the day out shopping, laughing and talking. Hell, you two live together! And yet you’re grinding on another man at the bar?!

The glass in Armando’s hand shakes and chips as he squeezes it further.

“Relax, muscle milk. You’ll break the glass.” Marcus says.

Armando scowls at him.

“I’m just saying, if you love her, tell her.” Marcus shrugs, walking away.

Armando scoffs. Love? Yeah right.

Did he feel close to you, yes.

Want to spend every breathing moment with you, yes.

Touch himself in the shower thinking about you, yes .

Oh fuck…he did love you.

Fuck! He loved you and you’re grinding another man!

Armando pushed out of his chair, it clattering to the ground in his wake.

He stalked over to you, grabbing your wrist and putting room between you and the man you danced on.

“ ‘Mando, what are you doing?” You stumble, clearly drunk.

“Let’s go.” He grabs you, chest heaving.

“Hey, wait!” You swat at him as he drags you through the bar and out the exit. “Why would you do that?” You whine.

“Because you’re drunk.” He rolls his eyes, slinging his leather jacket over your naked shoulders.

“I’m not!’ You whine, stumbling, luckily Armando catches you with ease. “I am.”

“You are. Let’s go.” He says, slinging you and carrying you bridal shower.

“Ah,’ you say, wrapping your arms around Armando’s neck and snuggling into him. “My knight in shining armor always takes such good care of me.’ You lean over, smacking his butt with a giggle.

“Shut up.” Armando says, resisting the urge to crack a smile.

Home, Armando tucks you into bed. He’s just about to walk away when you snatch his wrist, pulling him on top of you.

“Let’s play a game,” you whisper.

Armando rolls his eyes. “What kind of game?”

“Truth for truth. I tell you a truth and you do the same. “I’ll start.” You giggle.

“Tonight went exactly how I planned.”

Armando pulls back. “What do you mean by that?”

You shake your head and pout. “Uh uh. You’re turn.”

Armando sighs. “I don’t actually find you that annoying…anymore.”

“Ah, I knew it!” You laugh.

“Knew what?”

“Game over.’ You slump and snore, pretending to sleep.

“Stop it, you knew what?” Armando lifts you.

You bop his nose. “I knew that you loved me.”

Armando’s eyes get big. “What?”

“Me and kelly paid that guy to dance with me. We knew you’d get mad and that was all the proof I needed.”

“You’re a dick.” He starts to walk away, but you grab him by his belt loop.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You pull him back. “But you don’t have to be shy.” You hiccup.

Armando grumbles, nuzzling his face into your stomach. “And why’s that?”

You lift his head, angling it to face you. “Because I love you too.” You lean forward, placing a firm kiss onto his plump lips.

Armando reciprocates, opening his mouth turning the kiss fierce and hot. He climbs on top of you, mumbling against your lips. “And I thought you were supposed to be the nice one.”

You giggle. “Feels good to be bad for a change.”

[incorrectbatfam]

Yoooo Gooners play videogames with batfam?

Can we get more of that?

[online Poker]

Bruce: I fold. Again.

Kate: Great, so we're both down. Guess it's just up to you, Selina.

Selina, taking a deep breath: Alright, we have two thousand dollars on the line. Be quiet so I can focus. I think I have a pretty good hand.

~ meanwhile ~

Rob: So Poker is just professional lying?

Gene: There is a certain bluffing element to it, yes. But it's more than—

Rob: I'm going all in. Take that, @kittycentral, whoever the hell you are.

———————

[livestreaming]

Dick: Welcome to our first citywide Mario Kart tournament. In just a little bit, we're gonna tweet a code for you all to join online.

Jason: I swear, if we get Rainbow Road—

Dick: Well now you've jinxed it.

~ meanwhile ~

Blaise, stoned out of his mind: Yooo that dude looks like Nightwing.

———————

[battle royale]

Cass: Stashed weapons. Need shelter.

Cass: *finds an empty shelter*

Cass: Mine now.

~ meanwhile ~

Kellin: Now that I've built a shelter, I need to arm myself.

Kellin: *finds a weapons stash*

Kellin: That works.

———————

[online trivia]

Host: Question ten: Where was salmon sushi invented?

Steph, typing: Japan.

Steph: This is too easy.

~ meanwhile ~

Molly: Seems like a trick question.

Molly, typing: USA.

Host: Incorrect! The correct answer is: Norway.

———————

[online chess]

Alfred: My opponent has left his queen wide open. Rookie mistake? Maybe. Or, perhaps, he is two steps ahead of me.

~ meanwhile ~

Otto: I'm naming these horses Bread and Bagel.

———————

[Minecraft]

Tim: Where'd these tracks come from?

Bruce, gently knocking: Son, it's getting late. You should head to bed.

Tim: Five more minutes, I promise.

~ meanwhile ~

Milo: *building tracks*

Rob, barging in: Alright, pipsqueak. Lights out.

Milo: The fuck are you, my dad? Loser.

———————

Barbara: Finally, my inventory expansion mod is complete. Figures I have to do the developer's job.

~ meanwhile ~

Mac: Guess who made a cheat code to steal from other people's inventory? It's the alpha version, but it should work well enough. It's not like I'm playing against Oracle or anything.

———————

[Discord voice call]

Duke: It's our turn to write the next campaign.

Booker: Seems like a problem for tomorrow.

Duke: Yeah. So anyway, what's your day job?

Booker: I go to Gotham U and I'm in a criminal internship program.

Duke: I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that.

———————

[Animal Crossing]

Damian: Who just called my island stupid? When I find the middle-aged, basement-dwelling, mouth-breathing, Reddit-moderating—

~ meanwhile ~

Jackie: Gunner, did you call my Animal Crossing friend stupid?

Gunner: Who cares? Dad says it's probably an old man still living with his mommy.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

A Daughter's Plan

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Female OC

Warning(s): Pure Fluff. Single Dad. Girl Dad energy. Terry's POV. Low angst.

Summary: Terry Richmond is a lonely single dad caring for his ten-year-old daughter, Pilar. When Pilar's mother re-marries and moves overseas to start a new job and family, the pre-teen thinks her dad needs to find someone for himself, too. Unbeknownst to Terry, his clever daughter has her sights set on the new neighbor, Allegra, who might be the perfect match.

Word count: 7,481

"Isn't she pretty

Truly the angel's best

Boy, I'm so happy

We have been heaven blessed"

Stevie Wonder—"Isn't She Lovely?"

Terry Richmond heard the familiar rolling sound of his ten-year-old daughter's skateboard crossing over into the cul-de-sac of their gated townhome neighborhood. He could always pick out the unique sound of her board's ka-kump, ka-kump, ka-kump rhythm compared to her school buddies as they raced each other home.

Pilar always did a few kick flip tricks by Mr. Rhea's property before she jumped the curb and circled past a speed bump near Mrs. Purdue's home. While hand sanding a rocking chair, that he made for his pregnant sister, Terry paused.

He didn't hear Pilar's skateboard anymore.

Her crew of three friends whizzed past his open garage door toward their homes, but Terry didn't see his only child roll up to greet him with her angelic smile and chaotic energy. He lifted his protective goggles and wiped his hands on his work apron. Still no sign of her.

He strode out of the garage to take a peek and he noticed her lingering by their mailbox, still wearing her protective helmet and staring across the wide street. A furniture van blocked the driveway of the townhome facing across their property. A Black woman in her late twenties or early thirties directed two burly movers to carry a brand new sofa covered in plastic through her front door. The cute bob and conservative pastel colors of her sweater and pencil skirt had him guessing she was a teacher, or worked in corporate.

He glanced at Pilar who kept her dark brown eyes laser-focused on the recent addition to their quiet corner of the world. She chewed on her lip and rolled her board back and forth with her left foot. The new neighbor bought the house of Pilar's best friend since kindergarten. Little Leslie Gardner left Ville Broussard, Louisiana a year ago, and her old house stood empty for nine months until the For Sale sign finally came down three months ago. Terry knew that Mr. Gardner put a pretty penny into renovating the place before putting it on the market, and the expense of the renovation drove the price up.

The woman across the street probably spent over two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the two-bedroom property. Pilar pretended to dig in the mailbox, knowing he had already gotten the mail, and stared at the woman. From that distance, he couldn't tell if Pilar was still upset about Leslie moving or if she was upset that a stranger was moving into her bestie's old home.

"Pilar," he called out.

His daughter looked his way, and so did the woman across the street.

Whoa.

Terry never got a full view of the neighbor before. He always caught sideways glances or the back of her head. But the full frontal turned out to be something else. She looked like a gorgeous Black Barbie doll. He peeped her figure a few days ago when she first showed up in form-fitting pale green sweatpants and a matching hoodie. The fall weather brought out the layers, but she must've ignored the forecast because she walked around double-cheeked up in sportswear not designed for cooler temperatures.

Miss Neighbor turned her attention back to the interior of her home and Pilar ambled over, carrying her skateboard. She pulled off her skateboard helmet.

"Hey munchkin," he said, ruffling her thick two-toned curls pulled back with a light blue scrunchie. From the roots to just above the tips, Pilar's hair was dark brown. The ends had turned their annual summer-in-the-sun reddish brown that matched her skin tone. She looked exactly like his oldest sister Brianna and had her spirited personality, too.

Pilar's down-turned lips reflected a little 'tude.

"I don't see any kids," Pilar said.

She sounded bummed.

"Checking out the neighbor, huh?"

"She's pretty. Do you think she's pretty, Dad?"

"She is very attractive."

"Very?" Pilar said with a smug grin.

"Don't read anything into that."

"We should go say hi."

"She's busy with furniture. Let her get settled in."

He guided Pilar into their home through the garage, and she dumped her board and helmet by the dinette table. She washed her hands in the kitchen sink and he pulled a PB&J sandwich on a plate and a Capri Sun from the fridge, placing them on the table for her after-school snack.

The landline rang, and he answered it.

"Hi Terry, is Pilar in yet?"

His ex wife's voice sounded perky and happy.

"Yeah, hold on.'"

He carried the cordless from the living room into the kitchen and handed it to Pilar.

"It's your mom."

Pilar's face brightened, and she chatted away on the overseas call. Terry returned to the garage and began sanding the armrest of the rocking chair. He swept sawdust on the ground and closed the garage door after he finished.

Back in the kitchen, he rinsed his hands. An uneaten sandwich remained on the kitchen table without Pilar in sight. He looked in their living room and didn't find her there.

"Pilar?"

Terry climbed the stairs to the second floor and found his daughter weeping on her bed, her face buried in a yellow Big Bird pillow.

"What's wrong?"

He sat his big body on her twin bed, and she shook her head on the pillow. He laid a hand on her back.

"Babygirl, what is it?"

"Mom isn't coming back for Christmas. She eloped with that man in Italy and they plan on flying me out there for a boat cruise instead of coming to the lake like she promised. They'll have a big party in place of a wedding in Rome next July."

Pilar never addressed her new step-father by his name, Bryson. It was always "that man" despite her mother dating him for two years. Bryson was east coast respectability. A Black Archon Boulé with a prestigious prep school background and long family money. The complete opposite of Terry's country boy/military roots. He drove a 2015 F-250 truck and drank beer. Bryson drove a 2025 Jaguar and sipped Chardonnay.

Yolanda leveled up to the Black bougie life she always wanted. Terry knew in his heart that Yolanda would never be happy building a life with him. They were both twenty and naïve, getting married the moment they found out Pilar was conceived. He quit college and joined the marines to support them. Yolanda worked as a flight attendant after their daughter was born, so Terry stayed the primary caretaker, training other marines and not deploying out of the country.

Yolanda wanted more out of life than he could provide financially and asked for a divorce when Pilar turned six. Both their families had been shocked when she granted Terry primary custody of their only child. Yolanda wanted to travel the world and her career let her do that. She eventually settled in Atlanta, working for Delta. Pilar adjusted to being shuttled back and forth for holidays and summers.

Then Bryson popped up, freeing Yolanda from the working class. He was older, established, and child-free. Also very generous with his money.

Terry had made arrangements to send Pilar abroad for a lavish wedding the following summer as her mother's flower girl. She and Bryson had planned to spend the Christmas holiday with the entire Richmond family so that they could all meet the new man who would be connected to them through Pilar. Christmas was going to be the rare treat of being with both her parents for a holiday. The Richmond clan had reserved fancy cabins by a lake for a week and planned on turning it into a family reunion of sorts. Yolanda offered to arrange her Christmas plans for the reunion so Pilar wouldn't miss out on seeing all of her cousins from all over the states. Now she eloped and switched up on their child three months in advance.

Terry kept his anger in check in front of Pilar. He'd call Yolanda when his daughter was back in school and give her a smooth cuss out. He offered to switch Thanksgiving for Christmas because it was important for Pilar to experience a big reunion for the first time on his side of the family.

Pilar turned her head from the pillow. Big, wet eyes stared at him. Her bottom lip trembled and his heart squeezed in his chest. His daughter was the light of his life. Watching her expectations crumble hurt his soul. Pilar came first before anything, and that was the difference between him and Yolanda. Their daughter became a secondary consideration with her. His ex wasn't a terrible person. He loved her once a long time ago. She was ambitious, energetic, pretty, and gave him a perfect child. Yolanda just wasn't cut out to be a mother saddled with the responsibility of putting her daughter's emotional needs first. To Yolanda, whisking Pilar off to Rome probably sounded like giving her child the best in life. Bryson was an American Express Exec for their Italian branch and lived in a lavish home with staff and chauffeurs. Yolanda shopped, dined, and played tennis every day in luxury. She wanted Pilar to experience that lifestyle. In his own way, Terry wanted their daughter to have that chance, too. But without pulling the rug from under Pilar. She set her heart on having them all together for once since their divorce.

"Tell you what…I'll talk to her and try to convince them to come for Christmas."

"She said the cruise is their early honeymoon and they want me to go so we can bond as a new family. I already have a family!"

Pilar buried her face in his chest, and he stroked her hair.

"How about we go to Cholly's Burgers for dinner and you can mope over a double cheeseburger and a big chocolate malt?"

Pilar sniffled and wiped her nose.

"Okay, I'll go…but I can't guarantee that I'll feel better."

"Deal," he said.

He left her alone in her room and went down to the kitchen and put her sandwich and juice away. Checking emails on his smartphone, he spent the next couple of hours watching TV and then ironed Pilar's clothes for school. He showered and called his daughter down for their dinner trip. Outside, their new neighbor carried some things from her cream-colored Mercedes S-Class in the driveway.

"Excuse me," the woman called as Pilar jumped into his truck's passenger side.

"Yeah?" he called back.

"Hi, I'm Allegra…new neighbor…um, can you tell me what day the trash and recycling go out?"

"Thursdays!" Pilar called out.

His daughter had her head stuck out of the window with a big grin on her face.

"Yeah, Thursdays. They normally roll through around eleven a.m.," he said.

"Great, thanks."

"I'm Terry, and this is my daughter, Pilar—"

"Are you married? Have kids?" Pilar asked.

Allegra smiled politely, holding a small box. Her eyes bounced from Pilar's to his, then back to Pilar.

"I'm not married. No kids."

Pilar whipped her head around to look at Terry. He ignored her.

"Have a good evening," he said.

He climbed into his truck and started it up.

"You're really not good at finding a date, Dad."

"What are you talking about, little girl?"

He backed out of their driveway and headed toward the main road that led to the highway.

"A single, beautiful woman with a fancy car asked you about trash day. She could've called her realtor or looked it up online."

"We were right there in front of her. It's quicker to ask a neighbor. That woman is not looking to date people she lives around. Besides, she saw me with you, so she'll think I'm married with a family already."

"She'll know pretty soon that it's just you and me."

"I don't think most upwardly mobile Black women are interested in men that already have children nowadays."

It took them twenty minutes to arrive at the burger joint, and Pilar's mood lifted considerably. They talked about her upcoming soccer game and she slurped down her chocolate malt content with life once again.

Back home, he washed and braided her hair in two cornrows, tying it down with a black satin hair scarf so he wouldn't have to do her hair in the morning. Their evening bedtime routine went off without a hitch and he allowed her to watch a cartoon before she went to sleep in her room.

The next couple of weeks were normal in the Richmond household. He'd ride his bike in the morning to take Pilar to school, following behind her as she skateboarded ahead of him with her classmates. Later, he'd ride his bike over to check on the restaurant he invested in. He spent a few days with his financial advisor and moved some money around that he received from a police settlement. His current financial status allowed him to enjoy not having the worries of steady employment until he found something he wanted to do. He put funds in stocks that did well, paid off the townhouse, and Yolanda's monthly child support covered the rest for Pilar. His woodworking kept him busy during the afternoon while Pilar was in school. But once she was home, he went straight into daddy mode. Soccer Dad duty, carpooling to games, checking homework, cooking and cleaning, fixing things at his parent's house and running their errands…they all filled his time.

Once a week he went bowling with friends and drank at bars, chasing a little tail, but not really trying to catch much. His three older sisters rotated keeping Pilar with their kids so he could have some adult time. The last few "dates" he had were with single moms who complained about their ex-husbands or ex boyfriends. He thought one woman named Michaela would be a long-term situation, but she reconciled with her boyfriend and moved to Dallas.

After a Saturday soccer practice, Pilar came to him and asked if she could bake some cookies for a school party. It was nearing Halloween. He pulled out some easy to bake pre-made Tollhouse cookie dough from the freezer. All Pilar had to do was place the small chocolate chip cookie dough squares onto a baking sheet and use the stove timer to keep them from burning.

He kicked up his feet to watch the news and when the stove buzzer went off, he trotted into the kitchen to make sure Pilar didn't burn herself by taking them out of the oven with the oven mits. She only baked a dozen.

"Shouldn't you bake more for your class?" he asked.

"It's a potluck, so people are just bringing whatever to share."

After they cooled, she used a spatula to scoop them onto a decorative plate of pumpkins and fall leaves. He covered them with plastic wrap.

"Maybe you should put them in some Tupperware," he suggested.

"No, this is good."

He left her to handle her party business.

Terry didn't think anything about the cookies until three days later when Allegra showed up at his open garage door. His electric sander and earplugs prevented him from hearing her approach. He turned toward the street and almost jumped, not expecting someone to be standing near his truck watching him. Shutting off the sander, he pulled out the earplugs and stared at her with his goggles on.

"Sorry to startle you…Terry…right?"

He nodded.

"I came over to bring you back your cookie plate. That was such a thoughtful housewarming gift. I ate every single chocolate chip cookie. Perfectly gooey in the center the way I like! The note you wrote was really sweet, too. Thank you so much."

"I'm sorry?" he said in confusion.

Terry pushed up his goggles. Allegra handed him the plate that wasn't empty. On it were slices of banana bread. He looked at the baked goods, then back at her.

"To show my appreciation for the cookies…I just made it last night. I didn't put nuts in it because I don't know if anyone in your family is allergic to nuts."

"No, we aren't."

"I'll remember that."

Allegra's pretty eyelashes curled over naturally, and her lips had just enough red lipstick to give her plump lips a rosy tint. She was dream girl material, and the cut and style of her bob reminded him of something the old Black starlets wore in the sixties, but it looked contemporary too with a soft flip on the ends. Terry became lost in her face and she seemed equally lost in his, her gaze never leaving his eyes. That was one of the physical traits that women always said they loved about him. The green, lion-like eyes. She looked up at him and their size difference was quite obvious. She was petite-chic, the cut and color of her clothes making her seem taller far away. Allegra was shorter than his ex wife. He felt like a big giant standing next to her. She smelled so good. Her perfume hinted at jasmine in the summer.

"My daughter and I will enjoy this. Thanks for bringing it over with the plate," he said.

Allegra smiled and his chest caved in. Was it possible for her to be even more attractive with a smile on her face?

She glanced around his makeshift workshop.

"Woodworking? You do this for a living?" she asked.

He stepped aside to let her see the dining cabinet he built for another neighbor.

"Actually, it's a hobby of mine."

"Hobby? This is true craftsmanship."

He touched the side of the cabinet.

"I learned it from my dad and kept at it in highschool."

"If I paid you, could you make me a couple of custom bookshelves?"

"What type of wood?"

"Not too expensive."

"I can make some maple wood shelves and stain them to look expensive.'

"I like your way of thinking. When I get the time, I'll measure my walls and let you know what I need."

"Still settling in?"

"My god, I haven't unpacked all of my boxes. I'm still eating takeout because I dread unpacking everything in my kitchen. My new job keeps me busy and I'm usually too tired by the end of the day. I should be unpacking right now, but I have to leave for an event soon."

She sighed and pushed back a flipped curl on her forehead.

"I better let you get back to work. Again…thank you for the sweet welcoming gesture."

Allegra left him alone in the garage and he watched her walk back across the street to her place. She had a little sway in her hips as she walked in her well-fitted navy blue dress pants and structured white button-down shirt. The light pink cardigan sweater tied around her shoulders was such a classy touch, along with her chunky blocked-heeled pumps.

He looked down at his dust-laden ripped jeans and brown work apron. Not too shabby, but he almost wanted to spruce up. He took the plate into the kitchen and checked the time. Pilar would be there in half an hour. He wanted to know what she wrote in that note to Allegra.

Running a hot shower, he cleaned his body and stared at his reflection in the mirror afterward. Time for a fresh line-up. His facial hair looked a little ungroomed. He took time to shave and then changed into better jeans and a fitted long sleeve shirt. He waited at the front door, peeking out of the screen.

Allegra stepped into her Mercedes wearing a pastel coral cocktail dress with an upswept hairdo, looking like Diahann Carroll with a smidgen of Grace Kelly. She drove off to wherever she needed to go and he imagined how breathtaking she'd look, stepping into a crowded room with all eyes on her beauty.

Ka-kump. Ka-kump. Ka-kump.

Pilar glided onto the sidewalk near their house and headed for the garage.

"I'm right here," he said.

She looked at him through the screen. He opened it and stepped outside. Folding his arms over his wide chest, he gave his daughter a questioning look.

"Am I in trouble?" she asked.

Her friends Caleb, Trudy, and Aisha waved at her and kick-pushed their skateboards toward their houses while yelling hello to him.

"You baked those cookies for Miss Allegra. Not a school party."

Pilar gave him a sheepish grin.

"What did you write in the note?"

"I just said something like…welcome to the neighborhood. Enjoy these homemade cookies. Then I put your name on it."

"Just my name?"

"Yes."

"She brought the plate back and made us some banana bread."

"Ooh!" Pilar said, rubbing her hands together. "My plan is set in motion."

"What plan?"

"Dad…c'mon. Miss Allegra is the best-looking woman around here. I think you should ask her out on a date."

"I don't need my ten-year-old setting us up."

Pilar put a hand on her hip.

"Well, Auntie Brianna and Auntie Sloane said she's gorgeous and they think you should get to know her. She might be your perfect fit."

"How would they know? They've never seen her."

"I snuck a picture of her on my phone and sent it to them."

"Why the sudden interest in getting me to date?"

Pilar's gaze dropped to the ground.

"No reason. She's new and you don't go out as much anymore."

"That's because I have to take care of you. You're my priority. Dating can always come later."

He stepped aside and let her come in with her skateboard.

"It was a nice thing you did…giving her the cookies," he said.

Pilar grinned.

Terry was an adept father and took pride in keeping a meticulous home, and his child put together well when she exited the front door. Two weeks before Thanksgiving, Pilar started coming home from school with wildly disheveled hair. Even if he put protective styles in with twists or high buns with little curls framing her face with cute tendrils, his daughter returned looking like her head went through a blender.

She'd claim it was the weather. Bad rainfall, or the wind messing it up, but for ten school days, she rolled back home with her hair every which-way, rubber bands busted, barrettes missing, and knocker ball hair bobbles vanished into thin air. She'd roll through, and each time, their neighbor Allegra would be outside collecting her mail. Pilar would wave and say "Hi!" really loud and Allegra responded in kind before stepping back into her house.

He assumed she wanted her hair out, craving to wear hairstyles like her older girl cousins. Rather than make a big deal about it, he started putting a headband on her.

One Saturday afternoon, Pilar played outside on the curved part of the cul-de-sac with her friends, kicking a soccer ball into Caleb's two netted goal posts. A typical loud day of children freely running around screaming and playing in the street. Pilar rocked a bushy 'fro and had the loudest voice out of the bunch.

He kept an eye out for them while watching a football game by leaving his livingroom shades open. Snacking on some chips, he turned his head to check on the action outside.

He quickly ducked his head down low.

Allegra played outside with the children.

Terry hid behind the couch and secretly watched Allegra interact with the neighborhood kids doing soccer ball tricks with her knees and sneaker'd feet. She kicked the ball to Pilar and his daughter charged her, heading for a goal post. Allegra wasn't shy about her defensive moves and easily swiped the ball away from his daughter, kicking it with a curved arc into the opposite goal post. All the children squealed in delight and high-fived her. She stepped aside to let the children continue their boisterous match up.

Terry's back ached from being hunched over spying. Pilar spoke to Allegra for a long time, ignoring her friends, and her bouncy energy kept a smile on the woman's face. Allegra glanced toward his open window and Terry dropped to the floor, hiding his body.

He waited five minutes.

"Why are you on the floor, Daddy?"

Pilar stood above him with a quizzical expression. She'd come in the house through the garage door.

"Stretching my back out," he said.

"But you're on your stomach."

"Can I help you with something?" he said, standing up.

Outside, Allegra stood watching him through the window.

"I asked Miss Allegra how she kept her hair so pretty and she told me her hair care routine. I'm coming to get a pen and paper for her to write it down so you can take care of my hair."

"What? I know how to take care of your hair! I've been doing it since you were born."

Pilar grabbed a Bic pen and tore a piece off some junk mail envelope sitting on the coffee table.

"Daddy, please. Work with me here. I've been looking raggedy for two weeks to get her attention. She finally asked about my curls and I asked about her hair."

Pilar dashed out the front door before he could stop her. She handed Allegra the pen and paper. Terry became flustered. His daughter pretended to be unkempt to fool a grown woman into having sympathy for him.

Allegra scribbled on the paper outside and he felt exposed for something that wasn't true. Pilar ran back into the house through the front door and handed him the half envelope. Most of what Allegra listed, Terry already had in his bathroom for his daughter.

However…she wrote her phone number down, too.

"Boo-ya!" Pilar said, flinging her fingers open like an explosion going off.

"Come into the kitchen with me," he said.

Pilar followed him.

"Sit," he commanded.

He stuffed the half envelope in his back pocket.

"Pilar…babygirl…I know you mean well, but please…stop the antics."

"But Daddy—"

"I mean it."

His voice went down an octave, his baritone sounding harsh. Pilar ran from the kitchen table and stomped loudly up the stairs. He closed his eyes in frustration and waited fifteen minutes before going upstairs.

Pilar cried on her bed. Her loud bawling startled him.

"Munchkin…I'm not mad…I just…you don't have to do this."

"I do!" she wailed.

He sat in his usual spot and let her get her emotions out. She eventually calmed down to gaspy shudders and sad moans of pain. He brushed her hair back, and she threw her arms around his neck.

"I don't want you being alone. Mom married somebody and now she gets to be happy. I want you to be happy, too, Daddy."

"Munchkin, I am happy. I have you…grampy and grandma, your aunts, my friends—"

She shook her head against his neck.

"It's not the same as having someone for yourself. I'll grow up and go to college and you'll be here by yourself. Everyone in our family has someone. Grampy has Grandma, Auntie Brianna has Uncle Mitch…Auntie Sloane has Uncle Kenny. Even Auntie Monique has her boyfriend Gordon. I'm scared for you, Daddy. You're such a good, kind person and you deserve what Mommy has."

Pilar burst into more tears and his eyes grew blurry. He wiped them and pulled back from his daughter.

"It's not your responsibility to worry about me. My job is to worry about you, hear me?"

Pilar kept crying. Her nose ran, but she nodded at his words.

"When the time comes for me to find my special someone…it'll happen. Naturally. Understand?"

"Y-Y-Yessss," she blubbered.

He kissed her forehead and used his thumbs to wipe away warm tears.

"Can I tell you something that will make you happy?"

"O-O-Okayyyy," she choked out.

"Your Mom and 'that man' agreed to change their plans back to coming out for Christmas. And, I don't have to trade Thanksgiving."

"For real?"

"For real. In fact, Bryson urged your mother to reconsider, and he rescheduled the cruise for next year. He's not so bad, huh?"

Pilar sniffled, and her swollen red eyes pained him.

"I guess not."

"Let's make a deal, okay? You don't worry about hooking me up and just enjoy being a little girl with a happy father."

"Are you happy?"

"I am. I have you and a very full life. Promise. Go wash your face and get back outside with your friends."

"Okay, Daddy."

She jumped off the bed and ran to the hall bathroom. He went to her bedroom window and peeked out from the blinds. Allegra went back into her home. He pulled the scrap of envelope from his back pocket and stared at her phone number.

Saturday afternoons were usually Terry and Pilar's time to decompress and watch movies together. Sometimes there was a slumber party with her cousins at their house or one of his sister's. But on this particular Saturday, it was football fever on the flatscreen TV with his buddies while Pilar was at her grandparents' house.

Terry had plenty of pizzas and beer, and his sound system blasted the play-by-play of the game. He enjoyed the company of his buddies, all Black men with families, and very little free time except for the small moments of respite at Terry's place. The Steelers beat the Commanders and the guys talked shit, then they played his AuxGod Hip Hop Edition game. He rapped his ass off while playing Nas's "One Mic" on his smartphone and got his friends hyped to share R&B music. They all howled when someone messed up playing the wrong songs based on cards they pulled, thinking they had the perfect jam. Good clean fun.

The afternoon wound down into late evening and he cleaned up pizza boxes and empty beer cans. His friends bumped fists and gave each other dap as they left out the front door. Rain started falling, and he noticed Allegra pulling into her driveway. The late hour had him guessing she had a night out again. Her job didn't keep her from a busy social life. He often caught sight of her coming and going on the weekends. One time, another car brought her home and stayed overnight in her driveway.

He waved his friends away and pulled out his cell to call his father.

"Hey Junior," his father said.

"Hey, Pops. How's it going over there?"

"Good. The girls are playing and your mama is letting them stay up late to watch some Godzilla movie on Amazon Prime."

"I wanted to say goodnight to Pilar."

"No problem, hold on…Pilar! Your Dad is on the phone!"

Terry waited for his daughter, and soon enough, her voice rang in his ear.

"Hey, Dad."

"Being good?"

"Of course. What time are you picking me up tomorrow?"

"After you get back from church."

"Aw man. You can't get me early, so I don't have to go?"

"I had to suffer through it. It's your turn now."

"But they take forever. Even God goes to sleep by the time that preacher gets done."

"Hey, don't blaspheme, and don't you two keep Grampy and Grandma up too late, okay?"

"We won't. Night, Dad!"

Terry swiped his smartphone and noticed Allegra's car lights were still on. She hadn't left her driveway. He guessed she was talking on her cell phone.

His house smelled of cigars, pepperoni, and Budweiser. He finished cleaning up and sprayed the dining room with air freshener. Rolling his neck muscles, he climbed up to his bedroom. His blinds were open, and he checked the street again.

Allegra stood near her car in the rain looking up at the sky. She stuck her tongue out, tasting the droplets, and spun around in a circle with her arms outstretched. He smiled. She looked like a big kid having fun.

The rain drenched her hair, and she swiped it back, her tresses turning into slick ringlets. The playfulness she exuded cracked something open inside of him. Maybe Pilar was right. Maybe he did want someone to share his life with. He and Allegra barely exchanged enough words in passing for him to sense that she would be open to going out for a coffee or dinner. She never got back to him about the bookshelves, and he never called her phone number to ask about the hair care products she suggested for Pilar.

His confidence in asking women out had waned that year. Each time he thought he might want to spend time with a woman, schedules didn't match up, or he didn't feel that pull to pursue a relationship. The spark wasn't there. Part of him was afraid to put his heart back out there. His ex, Yolanda, had been a heartbreak he finally let go of two years ago. It frightened him into not wanting to be vulnerable with another woman again. Romantic love was for the brave, and Terry was not feeling brave anymore.

But Allegra?

After shaking her arms, she finally went inside her house, not caring that her snazzy outfit was soaked clear through to her skin. He looked at his dresser. The envelope with her number sat next to his hairbrush.

He texted her number.

Hi, Allegra. This is your neighbor, Terry. I was going to pick up some lumber at Home Depot tomorrow and wanted to know if you were still interested in getting bookshelves made? No rush to answer. I'm always going there every other week. If you changed your mind, that's cool, too.

He sent it off, and seconds later, she rang him up.

"Hello?"

He sounded breathless.

"Hi…Terry? It's Allegra…from across the street. Got your message."

"Oh, great. Sorry for texting so late. I was about to turn in and wanted to ask you before I forgot and left tomorrow."

He winced. His words came out in a rush of nervous energy.

"I do want the bookshelves made. I've been so busy I just never got around to measuring anything. Could you come by tomorrow before you leave and take a look at my floor space? You'd have a better idea of measurements than I would."

Terry stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes turned into saucers.

"I can do that. I've got to pick up my daughter from church tomorrow at one. I can drop by with my digital tape measure before then and then go to Home Depot."

"Can I go with you? I'd like to see the wood you're considering besides the maple you told me about."

"Uh…sure."

"What time should I expect you over here?"

"Let's say ten?"

"Great, see ya then."

"Goodnight."

He hung up, stunned.

She wanted to go with him to the Depot?

"So, what do you think? Two shelves here and then two more in my office room?"

Allegra watched him make final calculations on his phone. He surveyed her living room set-up one more time to ensure efficient use of her space. They'd spent a good twenty minutes upstairs in her stylish office and he made a quick sketch on his notepad of the shelving unit he could make for her in there. She would pay for the wood and any extra supplies he needed, and he insisted on doing the work for free.

The layout in her house was roomy and leaned toward a mid-century modern styled interior. She liked rich and luxurious wood furniture with mustard yellow and avocado-colored accents. Her home fit her personal style the way he imagined it would. It had a timeless quality. He told her a little about the family that lived there before she bought the place, and the conversation meandered into her own hobbies of painting and gardening. She showed him her patio space in the back and he offered to build her plant containers to grow her favorite flowers. Those were easy to put together and would be cheaper than her buying them pre-made online.

He learned that she had been a highschool soccer star, and that talent landed her a full-ride scholarship to Brown University where she almost landed a spot on the Olympic team. But a skiing accident ruined her shot. She still liked to watch the game and play occasionally.

Allegra worked from home mostly as an In-House attorney for a legal firm with document heavy cases, thus the need for bookshelves to hold all her law books. She did contract reviews, legal research, and dealt with a lot of intellectual property research for her clients.

Terry listened to her talk about herself, and her warm personality gave him the courage to open up about himself. Of course, he bragged about Pilar, and on their way to Home Depot, he pointed out places of interest to her.

"I always wanted to live in a small town," she said. "I grew up in New England, but my grandparents were from here, so I had annual trips for holidays and always liked it. Now that I can work remotely from home, I put stakes in the ground and live here full time. Getting away from the east coast has been a relief. This place makes me happy."

"We love it here. Excellent schools, nice people who look out for each other."

"It's just you and Pilar?"

"Yep. My ex remarried and moved to Europe."

"Co-parenting overseas must be rough."

"Yolanda…my ex…she recently moved there. It's going to be a change for sure. I'm used to Pilar flying a quick hop to Atlanta. Now, she'll have partial summers there and I don't know if I can handle her flying so far away where I can't get to her fast, y'know?"

"I had to do it when I was young. My parents divorced when I was twelve. I hopped from Boston to England to stay with my dad and his new wife on my school breaks. My mother was a nervous wreck at first, but you adjust."

"I hope so. I try to be stoic for Pilar, but I know I'll be in shambles when she flies out there next year."

Allegra laughed and the sound of her voice so close comforted him.

"I'll help talk you down when those nerves kick up," she said.

They walked up and down aisles at the Home Depot, and since he was a regular, the workers there were quick to help him because he didn't waste time. Terry explained the different type of wood options and they compared prices. He did his best to keep costs down for her, and she went along with whatever he thought was best. She'd seen his work output and trusted his skills.

He loaded up the truck bed, and they swooped over to his grandparents' church to pick up Pilar. His daughter's eyes widened when she noticed Allegra sitting in the truck. She ran past Terry and chatted with Allegra. He soon introduced his parents to her, and they invited her to attend a church service in the future.

Pilar hopped in the seat behind Allegra, and he drove them back to their home.

"I'll unload this and start working on your shelving units tomorrow," he said.

"Great."

Pilar watched them interact. She wore the goofiest grin on her face.

Allegra took off across the street and he watched her leave along with Pilar. When she was outside of earshot, Pilar grabbed his arm.

"You hung out with her?" she enthused.

"We talked about her bookshelves."

"So you went inside her house and spent time with her, right?"

"I did."

"Isn't she cool? She plays soccer, and she likes monster movies…"

Pilar stopped gushing about Allegra.

"I forgot. You told me not to interfere."

"I might've been wrong about that," he said.

Pilar's face lit up.

"Oh, yeah?"

"I like her. She's really nice and smart."

"My work here is done," Pilar said.

She skipped into the house, and he unloaded the truck.

Making bookshelves and planter boxes was the beginning.

Next came inviting Allegra over for football game gatherings with his family.

He introduced her to his oldest sister who gave birth to a baby boy, her first, and he watched Allegra nervously hold the newborn with trepidation in her eyes.

"You got it…just hold his head like this and keep him close to you…yeah, see, you got it," he said.

Terry's new nephew was a little chocolate drop.

"He's so tiny and adorable," Allegra said.

All of his sisters liked her, and his mother took the grand gesture of inviting her to join them on their family Christmas trip. Allegra looked genuinely receptive to the idea, but she already had plans to fly out to Boston to spend the winter holiday with her family. Terry felt bummed about it and realized that he was catching feelings for her.

He kept their budding friendship platonic, but by the following spring, it was clear to everyone around them that something was blooming past friendship. They hadn't been physical with each other yet, not even kissing. He liked the slow, easy pace. It gave him time to know her before jumping into anything serious, especially since he had Pilar to think of.

His daughter was crazy about Allegra.

He was too.

As time ticked on and it grew closer to the time that Pilar would have to fly overseas, his anxiety spiked. He was not planning on attending the celebration. His former sister-in-law, Zarah, was going to fly the long distance with Pilar to Rome.

The day his daughter was to leave, he paced in his living room, going over Pilar's packing list several times. Allegra hung out with him, reassuring him that all would be well. Zarah was on her way in a Lyft to pick up Pilar. They all thought it best that he say his goodbyes from home and not go to the airport.

"Go to the restroom one more time before you leave," he told his daughter.

Pilar ran upstairs to her bathroom.

"I'm going to put the roast in the oven for our dinner tonight," Allegra said. "Be right back."

He walked her outside of his home. When Allegra reached the sidewalk, she turned around to face him. For the first time, she slid her arms around his waist and looked up at him.

"You're a great Dad, Terry. Pilar is so lucky to have you…and so am I."

Terry locked eyes with her, and any fears he had about taking a chance on finding love melted away.

"May I kiss you?" he asked.

Her eyes twinkled like she'd been waiting her whole life to hear him say those four words.

"Yes, you may, Mr. Richmond."

He placed his forehead against hers first and savored the moment before the moment. Yes, he deserved someone for himself. His wily daughter had been so correct in her assessment of him. Forever grateful for Pilar's push to get him out into the world with the special woman in his arms, Terry lowered his head and kissed Allegra.

His full, lush lips were nothing compared to the soft place of comfort he found pressed against her mouth. Her lips coaxed a passion out of him he hadn't felt in years. He kept the kiss a little below chaste…she gave him a little teasing of her tongue to entice him for more later, when they would be alone. His grin broke their physical contact and the butterflies in his stomach told him she was the one to take a chance with.

He pushed a fluffy bang away from her left eye and Allegra glanced up toward his second floor. Terry followed her gaze, and they both glimpsed Pilar looking down at them from her bedroom window. She fist-pumped her right hand, and the expression she gave them was pure joy.

Her little plan worked.

Author's Note:

I wanted to write something fast and fluffy to put out the day after the horror of that anti-Black orange menace being put back in office by racist white people and their non-Black PoC racist minions. Black women need soft, joyful things to get us through. We all we got. Remember that.

[fairycrackhead]

𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 | toxic fuck boy Gojo x toxic reader

pairing: toxic fuck boy.ᐟGojo x toxic.ᐟreader

summary: Halloween night is now engraved in your memory which you can only assume it will be for the rest of your lives. When you two should have been trick or treating as normal 14 year olds would do, you instead opt to take each others virginity’s. Now you two are stuck in an endless cycle of toxic bad romance.

warnings: mention of abuse, drunk people, porn, minors watching porn, minors having sexual Intercourse, slight degradation, having unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy, hair pulling, mentions of murder, toxic relationship.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this was a random idea i thought up of when i heard the song ‘bad romance’ by lady gaga on the bus the other day! anyways this is my first fic i hope you sluts enjoy :)

⎜ 11:32 pm My Bitch (y/n) : your seriously a dick yk that?

⎜ 11:37 pm My bitch (y/n): i fuckin despise u

⎜ 11:45 pm Mr. Cock (Gojo): and your telling me again, y?

⎜ 11:47 pm My bitch (y/n): bc your w/ another girl like it’s clockwork, do you not see the problem here, Gojo? i asked you to stop the bullshit.

⎜ 11:49 pm Mr. Cock (Gojo): ur not my gf. im in for pussy that’s it. yk im not a relationship guy

⎜ 11:52 pm Mr. Cock (Gojo): and yet you continue to come back to me. pathetic honestly

⎜ 11:56 pm My bitch (y/n): fuck you

⎜ 12:00 am Mr. Cock (Gojo): already needy? 😂

You should’ve known what kind of man Satoru Gojo was when you lost your virginity to him on Halloween night, 2011. It’s not like it was forced upon you, besides the occasional talk in the middle school hallway that ‘girls who were virgins were prudes’ or ‘how pathetic is it that there’s still virgins in the 8th grade’. Looking back at it now, it sounds really stupid…like really fucking stupid. All those supposed ‘women’ they would call themselves, ‘women’ who just now learned how to correctly put a tampon into the pussy that they just mercilessly shaved, (more like butchered), were all still scrawny, pathetic little girls inside. Of course hearing all the chatter about everyone’s virginity losses, the stories that were so horrific it made you wanna vomit and change schools, made you insecure on the inside. It’s not like you hadn’t thought of sex before, it just wasn’t your current desire to have some undeveloped boy’s dick in one of those…holes down there. Which also brought up another concern for you: how to even do the act. You assumed that the other person would lead (which was a bad guess because Gojo was a fumbling inexperienced idiot as well).

And it was almost nothing like the old pornos your dad had playing on repeat on the old box tv. He’d spend all his off days (which were more than days he actually got his ass up and went to work), drinking, belching, an occasional scratch of his ass, and watching naked women dance around on the grainy tv. You guys never got the money to buy a new one, maybe if he went to his job down the street at the local corner store he could afford more than the crappy ten dollar pizza down the block.

But who knows, you’ve seen those disgusting scenes, at an age way too young to even comprehend, so did you really have any knowledge? You were a curious kid, not a dumb one, you could easily depict whether or not the porn on the screen was realistic or not. Most the time it was the latter. The overdramatized moans and screams made you wince, on more than a few occasions, but it’s not like the paper thin walls separating the living room and yours did much to help. From having no mother figure to really correct your behavior, and a father that couldn’t give a fuck less, it started your one of many issues. Discovering sex at a really young age, not the act itself but any form of porn an eight year old could get their sticky, grubby hands on. The noises from the tv haunted your mind in a chilling way, making you want to stay as far away from it as possible, yet were still so fucking intrigued.

Until it was the start of the 9th grade, and surprisingly the comments the ‘women’ made in the locker rooms were still present in your mind, not surrounding your every thought, but still there deep down in the back of your mind. ‘Girls who are virgins are lame prudes’. If only you knew that those girls were bluffing about the whole virginity loss thing, but it seemed convincing enough at the time. The way they described how their ‘mans’ bent them over countless times over their granite countertops, or on the elementary school playground. It sounds absurd now, but they had big boobs, and horny teenage boys liked big boobs, so it must of been true, right?

And now here you are, at an headache inducing party, or rave, whatever you wanna call it, watching Gojo talk to yet another girl, more like plain on flirting. She seemed like one of those girls that wouldn’t know if a forty pound dumbbell hit her right in the forehead, so just Gojo’s usual fuck of the night. All he did was stare at her boobs which were spilling out the corset of her trashy costume, and make very poor conversation. What a man whore. You could see Gojo’s shit eating smirk on his lips even from far away and in the almost completely pitch black room, only flashing lights that could cause seizures giving you any sort of seeing ability.

His eyes move from her lips to her tits. Lips—tits—lips—tits. You just wanted to knock the red solo cup out of his overly large fingers and put them somewhere useful. (Such as your aching cunt just dripping in anticipation.) You wanted to go to the nearest open bedroom, drag him by is weirdly hot silver chain, and let him have at you. But you hold back your desires, trying not to let into another spiral of emotions with this man, the same cycle that’s been happening forever now.

You practically crush your phone with your bare hand after receiving that last text, but you refrain and shove it back into your bra since your day to day purse didn’t match your outfit. You take a long deep breath, one you often had to take due to Gojo’s infuriating cocky persona. Walking over to the kitchen, a mini bar was set up in this random kids house, which wasn’t even his you assumed by the family pictures propped up on basically every flat surface.

You hated the parties your friends dragged you to, you felt too old to be in the scene of just barely legal adults blacking out and throwing up so much to the point of you having to look around before walking to avoid stepping in someone’s chunky puke. But to your surprise you actually enjoyed the noise, not making it, but watching others create it. It gave you some sort of distraction from your thoughts which seemed to consume and take over your life since the 9th grade. You wouldn’t call it trauma necessarily, it’s not like you knew you had a fucked up home life until you were fresh out of high school. People on the outside saw your drunken father, crappy rundown home, and the rotational three outfits you wore each week to school and saw it has straight abuse. On some level, the lack of care you were given could be seen as abuse by default, but you were a happy kid. Sure, you were exposed to porn by the time you were eight, but it was just normal to you…in some kinda depressing fashion.

Gojo came from a completely different background, whenever you stepped into his gated community it felt like you were in some other world, an insanely futuristic environment. He was rich, but he wasn’t cocky like those spoiled brats you see on those UK television shows like Super Nanny. At least not when you two had met. It wasn’t a close friendship necessarily, but you two enjoyed each other’s company’s to the point of having sex with each other, so maybe you were closer than you originally thought.

⎜12:08 am Mr. Cock (Gojo): don’t forget you made me like this. don’t get pissy abt what u created.

You dig your phone back out of your lace bra and scoff when you see the message, your hand threatening to go find this piece of shit and chuck your phone at his big head instead. You don’t answer, stuffing your phone back where it came from. You gently push other drunks out your way, reaching for a beer from the ice chest. Using your mouth (one Gojo would call very useful and efficacious), popping it open with your canines.

One thing you loathed about Gojo (not to mention the other 52 things written in your notes) was he thought you were the reason for his ‘fuck boy’ qualities. Yes, you both took each other’s virginity’s, it’s not like he didn’t want it, in fact he wanted it more than you, judging the throbbing of his cock when he first showed it to you. It always comes flooding into your mind every night, more so each Halloween. You came to resent the holiday since it only reminded you of that night 13 years ago. Despite it being over a decade ago, you still recall the nervousness and excitement that you felt when he finally came inside you. It makes you laugh when you remember how totally freaked you were, how you thought you’d get pregnant with his baby.

At that moment you repeated over and over again how ‘this was a terrible idea’ and ‘i hate that you let us do this’. It was an all around shit show for a good twenty minutes before Gojo finally snapped and yelled at you to get over it. Besides it not being the most calm way to handle your panic, it worked. Who could blame him, he was scared shitless too. You both ended the night by trick or treating, it was a kinda dud of a night considering typical trick or treating hours ended two hours ago during your private fun. Luckily Gojo spotted a house on your near midnight walk, a load of halloween candy left in a bowl on some old lady’s porch.

“We shouldn’t-“ but of course, he didn’t let you finish, pressing a shy brief kiss on your lips instead. He had a subtle blush on his pale cheeks, a blush you would only see now during your angry make up sex sessions. Grabbing your hand, and practically dragging you to the house. “Just grab the fuckin’ candy, ya scaredy cat.” He laughs, looking around the dark streets before snagging the candy bowl with a big orange pumpkin face plastered on the front, running off.

“Gojo! YOU FUCKIN’ THEIF!” you giggle, suddenly the porch lights flicker on like some horror movie, and your heart drops into your ass. The door swung open to have your neighbor, Mrs. Miller standing there seething, her mini chihuahua perched in her arms like it was her newborn child. Gojo stopped in his tracks, still heavily breathing like some out of shape forty year old.

“Why you little!” Mrs. Miller reached out to grab you, only for you to duck her failed attempt of dragging you back. Gojo jumped up and down with an amused smile on his face, calling out for you to run faster, which you try to comply as best as possible. You run over to Gojo as fast as your legs would carry you, locking arms and running to who knows where, you can’t quite remember each detail. After that point the rest of the night was a blur to you, still thirteen years later. The sound of Mrs. Miller’s feisty chihuahua, later identified as ‘FeFee’ chasing after you being the most exciting part of the whole ordeal. Gojo and you laughing your way home, still heaving from running so fast from the tiny animal, a ‘disgrace’ to the dog community as he called it.

You both promised that after the scare of possibly having to raise a baby at the ripe age of 14, (and almost having bloody ankles due to FeFee) that fucking each other would be a one time thing.

But it wasn’t.

“F-fuck..! mhmph—God!” He continuously rammed into you from the back, his hands gripping your waist so hard it felt like you had broken bones. Your halloween costume was now thrown somewhere in the corner of this bedroom, who’s bedroom? You had no idea, but at the moment you couldn’t give two shits.

“Yeah? You like that baby?” Gojo thrusted harder, making a broken cry fall from your lips like water. “Knew you c-couldnt…resist my cock any longer, bitch.” Possessed grunts come from him at each thrust and movement he makes. Vibrations from the music of the party travel through the walls, Gojo going deeper and faster to the sound of the horrible rave music downstairs.

If it wasn’t a party, people might of thought a murder was going on by the sounds of your wails of pleasure, but it was normal to fuck at a party, no matter the location.

Tears seep into the pillow that the side of your face was squished down onto, mascara running down your face as you sob from a mixture of pain and pleasure. “Gojo!” you sob, the pleasure becoming too much to bare, yet you couldn’t get the established safe word (which you two only made in 10th grade because you overstimulated him by riding his cock to the point of him passing out) to come out. His dick was that fucking good.

The sound of his heavy, cum filled balls coming in contact with your plush ass make you clench around his length, causing an animalistic moan from Gojo. A room echoing SMACK comes in contact with your ass, making you thrust your back into him, fucking him right back. The burning of the stinging sensation leaves you wanting more, the feeling of his hand still lingering on your left cheek.

Gojo begins going at an alarmingly hasty pace, his whole body aching for more of you, all of you, every single cell. The sound of your sloppy pussy squelching each time he pulls in and out, makes the heat in the pit of his stomach rise. By now you can’t see clearly, eyes welled up with tears and the remains of gooey eyelash glue. One of his hands leave your sore hip, grasping into your messy locks, giving it a good tug “MHMP! ….F-f—fuck!” This only causes him to yank your whole head back, you look up through your lashes, which are stuck together with a mixture of glue and sweat.

“Y-yeah,” he huffs, gripping your roots to a point of it being just downright painful. “keep looking at me….yeah mhmph—j-just like that.” The intense eye contact makes his thrusts even quicker and more efficient, his fat, squishy balls hitting your puffy clit over and over. “So fuckin’ tight for me.” Another hard spank wipes itself across both of your cheeks, the jiggle of them causing yet another guttural moan from Gojo’s throat.

Your soppy wet cunt drips all down his cock, his balls picking up the reminisce of your warm, flowing juices. Gojo’s fingers unravel themselves from your now frizzy hair, the thought of having to wash it later tonight makes you internally groan. His fingers make a slow, tantalizing path up and down your back, the contrast evident between his soft, gentle touch and his monstrous rock hard cock going in and out of your folds. Your face plants back down in the tear-drenched pillow case, the bed creaking from the force of your two bodies going at it.

His slow paced, soft finger touches come to an abrupt end when it meets your soft breasts. An aching cry sounding from your lips as his pointer and thumb mesh together around your now hard nipple. “Mhm…look at you…all whiny for m-me.“ He thrusts harder, your cervix feeling almost numb and incredibly bruised. At this point, your slobbering at the mouth like a dog with rabies, eyes rolling to the back of your brain each time his cock hits every delicious spot.

Gojo’s movements start to get sloppy, as well does the kisses he starts to place on your neck, back, and shoulders. The quick erratic pace starts to slow, forearms trembling from the strength he’s used to hold them on the side of your head all night. His thrusts are slow, long, almost like he’s grinding in slow motion, yet it’s not any less effective. Your thighs begin to shake with overwhelming pleasure, the pressure your body is holding in making you wanna scream it all out. “Mhmph g-gonna cum!” You practically scream a moan out, making Gojo’s lips turn upwards in a smug grin. His lips make their way from the left side of your neck to the middle, and then to the right, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses in their wake. Dark red and purple bruised hickeys are now spread all down your body, surely to be left there for weeks to come.

“Nuh uh…not yet,” Gojo grunts as he feels your warm cunt clench around his throbbing cock for the millionth time that night. “This is my pussy…I g-get to tell you when to cum.” You almost wanna roll your eyes at his statement but your too drunk off his cock to care. You attempt to protest, the knot in your stomach becoming too hot to handle, but you get shut up right away when his fingers twist around your sensitive nipple once more, letting out a deep moan from your soul. Your hands grip the silk sheets in desperation, needing to grab something in order to keep you stable. “Mhm, tell me baby…who’s pussy is this?”

You cry into the pillow, pain, pleasure, and the feeling of being absolutely turned on in your whines. After not answering right away, Gojo grabs you by the hair again, yanking your head back, causing your neck to stretch to lengths you didn’t even know you had the flexibility to do so. “I asked, who does…this pussy belong to?” He says through gritted teeth. You feel every 8 inches of his cock in your stretched out pussy, every inch filling you up to as much as you could take. Each vein, the pounding pulse that acts as a second heartbeat, every thick, gurthy inch. When you don’t respond for the second time, too delirious to even understand what’s going on, he throws your head roughly back into the pillow, picking up his pace again.

Everything able to clench on your body does, gripping the pillow with such force that your knuckles turn white. Drops of sweat patter onto your back from Gojo’s forehead, the warm salty liquid making you squirm. Another sudden spank lands on your fat ass cheeks, and you couldn’t help but let loose. “FUCK—GOJO!” Strings of loud breaking moans and screams escape your mouth, sounding like a real murder now.

Gojo throws his head back once he feels your warm, sticky cum surround his palpitating cock. He pumps his dick back into you, pushing your cum back into your dripping wet cunt as far as his cock would let it. He himself finally let’s go, the thin string in his body snaps as his warm liquids mix with yours, in all too familiar feeling. His deep moans rush right to your core, the thrusts becoming inconsistent and sloppy once more. You hear the big analog clock from the entry way downstairs, giving you a slight reminder where the hell you were. Some random persons house, where his parents would probably be any second, and maybe you were even fucking in their bed. You bite your lip, slightly turned on by the fact of possibly getting caught, like you were a teenager back home, sucking Gojo’s cock before his father returned from work.

You whisper moan Gojo’s name over and over like a mantra, in other words, thanking him for finally giving you what your aching pussy had needed. You can tell he’s grateful too, being more gentle as if he had not just fucked your lights out. Caressing your back, like he did the first time this toxic relationship began back in 9th grade. Any memory loss from him talking to that girl just an hour ago was completely thrown out the window, even though you knew deep down you were just like her. One of his play things, the only difference was you weren’t oblivious to his motives. In fact you played into them, driving the toxicity just as much as he did. It made it fun that way. No matter how many guys you fucked, the number of cocks you sucked, the lips you kissed, none of them compared to his, and it made you feel sick in the most pleasurable way possible.

Gojo eventually pulls out, after speaking strange sweet nothings into your ear, which you haven’t heard since he was fifteen. You hated how it made your heart feel so warm, unlike the feeling of the cool air hitting your cunt. The cold air makes you wince, missing his cock already despite still feeling it’s outline in your folds. Fingers leave your hard, tender nipples, bringing them down to your dripping cunt, wiping the access off your thighs.

You start to come back to reality from the moment, the room still filled with humid sticky air caused by the amount of hot breaths and touches made throughout. The only sounds now being your heavy breathing, reminding you of the night you two ran away from FeFee, and slurping from Gojo, licking away at his fingers coated with your sweet salty release. Your folds still leaking with a mixture of your cum, trickling down your painfully sore thighs.

Gojo looks at the syrupy goodness leaking onto the silk sheets, a liquid you would only expect to see on waffles at the local cafe down the street. He finally collapses on top of you, softly massaging your right side, face pressed into the crook of your sweating neck. Placing gentle kisses on your sticky skin, bodies molded into one by your muggy bodies. You savor the moment, knowing deep down in your heart that things would go back to how they were in just a couple hours, fighting, screwing other girls and guys, and all together, a toxic romance.

You sit on the curb, voices from the party still able to be heard as you wait for your cab. You sit there like you’ve been through hell and back, you were if it meant having the best sex you’ve had in a good long while. Sitting on one cheek, the other still too sore to have pressure applied to it, you hear a ding from your phone. You wait a minute, trying to calm your pounding headache from both the alcohol and the amazing sex you just endured. The cool fall air blowing past you as you open the text you received, a small smirk tugged up your chapped lips.

⎜1:34 am Mr. Cock (Gojo): had fun. see u next halloween baby 🫴🏻🍑

[mcflymemes]

THE SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS MOVIE (2004) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary

my eyes!

pull up your pants, [name]. we're going home.

did you see my underwear? did you want to?

i love being purple.

his chops are too righteous.

you don't need a license to drive a sandwich.

it's some kind of wall of psychic energy.

you two dipsticks wouldn't last ten seconds over the county line.

we paid nine dollars for this?

who turned on the ac?

i suppose i can't execute you.

that's it! i'm through with messing around!

are men afraid of anything?

hey, you know, i actually feel a little better.

i don't even remember why i was sad.

wow, the pressure is already setting in.

your life is in our hands.

hey, look! free ice cream!

i'm making a complete what of myself?

wait, how did you know my name?

eww, i think i stepped in something.

you know, david hasselhoff was a great artist.

stalling? i'm not stalling anything.

are they laughing at us?

don't worry. this'll only hurt a lot.

after going on your life-changing journey, you now realize that you don't want what you thought you wanted. what you really wanted was inside you all along.

are you crazy?

i was just going to say that your fly is down.

this is the greatest day of my life!

i haven't felt this giddy since the day you agreed to be my wife.

lord knows i've tried.

all bubble blowing babies will be beaten senseless by every able-bodied patron in the bar.

i'm supposed to get a toy with this.

i am 100% man!

there. i think i made my point.

you said it yourself, this is man's country. and let's face it. we're just kids.

we don't belong out here.

we do not worship him!

oh... it's evil. it's diabolical. it's lemon-scented!

i got you right where i want you.

can i help you with something?

i've been hired to exterminate you.

you caught me and my friend here in a good mood today, so i'm gonna let you off with a warning.

they were fake?

of course they were fake!

uh, perhaps i've said too much.

that's a big boot.

hold on there, baldy.

oh, grow up. what, you think this is a game of kickball on the playground?

you never had a chance to defeat me!

i'm an evil genius. and you're just a kid.

i guess you're right.

you know, i've been through a lot in the past six days, five minutes, twenty seven and a half seconds.

if i've learned anything during that time, it's that you are who you are.

that's great. now get back against the wall.

i did what everyone said a kid couldn't do!

all right, we get the point!

okay, settle down. take it easy.

too bad [name] isn't here to enjoy [name] not being here.

i couldn't agree more.

there's something i need to say first. i just don't know how put it.

[ladykailitha]

Sweet Home Indiana Part 10

The last chapter my lovelies! It has been a long road to get here, but we made it. Thank you to everyone who comment, liked, or reblogged. I read and appreciate each one.

Chrissy and Robin get their wedding and Steve and Eddie get their happily ever after.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

****

Eddie, Steve, and Robin waited at the airport, just outside of security waiting for Chrissy’s plane to land.

“This is ridiculous,” Robin huffed, crossing her arms and looking down at her feet. “I hope you know that.”

Eddie and Steve just grinned at each other.

She rolled her eyes. “I forgot how disgusting you two could be when you got together.”

“That’s homophobic,” Steve said with a sneer.

Robin sputtered and flailed her arms about. “What! I can’t be homophobic! I’m a lesbian!”

“No, no,” Eddie said tapping his lips thoughtfully, “he’s right. That was homophobic!”

Robin, who had been expecting Eddie to agree with her, started sputtering again. But before she could really lay into him, he started jumping up and down.

“Chrissy!” he called out, waving his hand high in the air. “Over here!”

Robin froze and gulped loudly next to him. “Um...I’mma faint now, okay?”

Steve poked her in the ribs. “No fainting and absolutely no dying.”

She jumped away from his finger with a shriek as Chrissy reached them. Chrissy gave Eddie a kiss on the cheek.

“I missed you,” she murmured as Eddie picked her up and swung her around.

“I missed you, too, Chrissy poo!” he replied planting a large, messy, wet kiss on her cheek. “This is the indomitable Robin Buckley and the ever perfect Steve Harrington.”

“You make me sound like a cartoon dog!” Robin protested.

Chrissy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know I always thought Jenna was pretty smokin’ for a dog.”

Robin’s jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. She turned to Eddie slowly, like a creepy doll in a horror movie.

“Shit, she’s perfect.”

Chrissy and Steve laughed as Robin dug out ten dollars from her pocket and slammed it in Eddie’s hand.

“I told you not to bet against him, Bobbie,” Steve cackled. “Anyone worth Eddie faking straight for would have to have our sense of humor.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You just want them to hurry and break up so you can make out with your husband again.”

Eddie and Chrissy turned to look at Steve who had not refuted said claim, but instead was a very dark shade of red and refusing to look anyone in the eye.

Chrissy decided to take pity on the poor guy and ask, “What’s the news on Gareth?”

“Gareth will be getting into town on Wednesday and can only take a few days off before he has to go back. He has a huge meeting with some investors wanting a stake in his vineyard.”

“How the hell Gareth became the rich snob, I’ll never guess,” she replied, shaking her head.

“So we’ll have the wedding on Saturday,” Robin said, quickly interrupting before they went down a rabbit hole neither she nor Steve could dig them out of. “I understand you brought your wedding dress.”

Chrissy held up the large white garment bag and unzipped it. “It’s black!” she said cheerfully.

Robin’s eyes went wide again. “I’m in love with you.”

Steve bumped her with his hip with a wide grin. “She always wanted to wear a white tux to her wedding.”

Chrissy’s eyes went wide with amazement. “That’ll be perfect! Me in a black wedding dress, the other bride in a white tux, we’d look fantastic!”

“We’ve got a photographer already lined up,” Eddie said brightly. “And Stevie is making the cake.”

“Now all we need is place to have it,” Robin agreed.

“Oh, I’ve got just the place,” Eddie said grinning from ear to ear.

****

The place turned out to be Jeff’s parents’ backyard where they had just had their fiftieth wedding anniversary. It was beautiful garden with a little brook and a gazebo in the middle. Chrissy fell in love with it immediately.

While Chrissy was talking to Mrs. Sinclair about the floral arrangements, Wayne came up to Eddie and clapped his hand on his shoulder.

“See?” he said with a grin. “There’s the sparkle I was talking about.”

Eddie, who had been writing down all the things they would need on Saturday, snapped his head up.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he huffed, crossly.

Wayne sat down next to him and leaned on the table. “Boy, you haven’t stopped smiling since you announced your fianceé was marrying someone else.”

Eddie blushed and ducked his head. “You make it sound so tawdry. I told you why I was gonna be the one to do it.”

Wayne nodded solemnly. “And I’m proud of you for wanting to do the right thing, but the right thing wouldn’t have made you happy.”

Eddie lifted his head to see where Steve was talking to Jeff and his mom about where the cake should go and soft, fond smile crept over his features.

“And there it is,” Wayne muttered. “The smile I haven’t seen in over a decade. The ‘I am hopelessly in love’ smile.”

Eddie’s cheeks darkened further. “Hopefully in love. Hopefully in love, Uncle Wayne.”

Wayne patted him on his shoulder and nodded. He couldn’t help but agree.

The whole town was coming together to get this wedding off the ground, Claudia Henderson was doing the food, Sue Sinclair was doing the flowers, Jonathan was doing the photography, Steve was making the cake, and of course Kendra and Dwayne Laurence were hosting the event.

Karen Wheeler had even offered to do Chrissy’s hair and makeup for the day.

Eddie was loving every moment. Especially getting to watch Steve in his element. He couldn’t wait until Saturday.

****

The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear, not cloud to be seen at all. It was like even Mother Nature herself was blessing their day.

Everyone had gathered, but there was huge swath of seats unfilled.

Steve frowned. “Eddie why are there so many seats on Robin’s side? Only her parents and a couple of her community college friends were coming.”

Eddie smiled sweetly at him. “Just trust me, okay, sugar?”

Steve bit his lip, but nodded tersely.

Eddie cupped his cheek and leaned down to look him in the eye. “Hey, hey, baby. It’s okay if you don’t trust me yet. I’ve got the rest of my life to prove I’m not gonna do a runner again.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath and then another.

“You promise it’s going to be okay?” he whispered, tears appearing at the corner of his eyes.

“As much as I can without factoring in that there are a lot of things outside of my control today,” he whispered back.

Steve nodded as Eddie wiped away his tears. “Now let’s get you all prettied up so you look perfect for the photos.”

Steve let out a water chuckle. “I can’t believe I was talked into this suit.”

He was in a clean, white suit to match Robin’s tux with a black dress shirt and white neck tie. Eddie was smartly dressed in white button up that was unbuttoned to the bottom of his ribs with a black leather jacket over that and clean black tuxedo pants and leather boots.

“You look so pretty, baby,” Eddie murmured back. “No offense to Chrissy, but you take the cake.” He stopped for a moment. “Please don’t take the cake. I just realized that that is a very real thing you can do. Please don’t. Chrissy would kill me.”

Steve burst out laughing. “I have no intentions of taking their cake. It’s fondant.”

Eddie grinned right back. It was almond paste fondant which meant it didn’t taste like chalk, but it was still something Steve the beautiful bitch he was would turn his nose up at.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, pulling Steve in for a kiss.

Steve smiled back. “I love you, too.”

****

They all walked down the aisle to stand in front of Jim Hopper, who was officiating as a justice of the peace. But before he could greet the attending guests, the doors to the house burst open.

Dustin, Max, Elle, Lucas, Will, Mike, and Erica with their families and plus ones came piling through muttering apologies for being late.

But judging from Jim’s grin, their lateness was planned. Steve looked over at Eddie who had an even bigger grin on his face.

Elle handed Eddie a microphone and went to sit down between Joyce and Will.

“Hello, everyone!” he greeted the crowd. “Don’t worry, I have full permission from the brides to do this, in fact it was Robin’s idea to begin with, so if this goes south, we’re blaming her!”

“Hey!” Robin protested hotly.

“So for those that don’t know,” Eddie continued, ignoring her completely, “Steve and I ran off to get married when Massachusetts made gay marriage legal. Then we did what stupid kids do when they don’t realize how good they have it and threw it all away. Then I met Chrissy and she is the most wonderful woman who needed a friend and someone to rely on. We thought it was me; turns out lesbians move fast.” He winked at Robin who took Chrissy’s hands with a laugh.

“But long before all this,” he said, his voice breaking from the emotion, “there were two boys with dreams. I got to live mine. I traveled the world, I got to play stadiums. I have actual fans. But that was never Steve’s dream.” Steve let out a watery chuckle as Dustin hugged him tight from behind. Steve reached up to hold Dustin’s wrist and give it a squeeze.

“His dream was a garden wedding surrounded by all his friends and loved ones, pledging himself to the man he loved,” Eddie croaked. “I told Steve last week—” he let out a breathless laugh. “God, was that really last week? It feels like such a life time ago. Shit. Anyway. I told Steve that I once thought that the man on the other side of the aisle would be me, but that I didn’t it see that way anymore.”

The audience let out a long “Awwww.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie said coming over to take Steve’s hand, “that was the biggest lie I’ve ever told and I’ve told some whoppers in my life, just ask Wayne. But I’ve always wanted it to be me. Your dream became mine and I had to see it through.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed.

“So in addition to wedding these two lovely ladies,” he concluded, “we are also having a renewal of vows between Edward Munson and Steve Harrington Munson today, as well.” He brought Steve’s knuckles to his lips. “If that’s okay with you, Stevie?”

Steve nodded. “Of course it is! I can’t believe you guys did all this without me knowing. I love you all so much.”

A cheer went up.

Chrissy and Robin got married first and then they moved to stand next to Eddie and Steve as their best matrons.

“You deliberately kept this from so I wouldn’t write the sappiest speech, didn’t you?” Steve accused as Eddie took his hands.

“You caught me.”

Steve kissed his hands.

“Eddie,” he began. “Though the path to happiness was rough and long, there is no one I would rather spend the rest of my life with. We’ve already had the hard times and things can only get better from here. I’ve loved you through you chasing your dreams and learning to live mine. I didn’t realize I had lived life half asleep until you came back into town demanding a divorce. Which you still won’t get from me.”

The attending guests laughed.

“I burned the papers, babe,” Eddie replied. “No takes backsies!”

“Then I promise to love you for the rest of my days,” Steve finished, he pulled a ring out of his pocket. “I carry this around for good luck, I never thought I’d see the day where it would bring you back to me, too.” He slipped on Eddie’s finger as if it had been made for it.

Which it was. It was Eddie’s old wedding band, the one Steve had had specially made for them after the got back to Hawkins.

“My darts and my ring?” Eddie said with a chuckle. “You ole romantic, you.”

Steve just smiled warmly at him.

“Stevie,” Eddie said after taking a deep breath. “When I first came to town, everyone kept telling me I’d lost my sparkle. My joy in living. Even growing up in the harshest of homes until I landed with Uncle Wayne, I kept my sunny disposition. Even when people would mock me and call me freak, I leaned into it and made it a part of me. But since leaving Hawkins for fame and fortune, I lost that. I thought it was because my dream ended earlier than I wanted. But that wasn’t it.”

He choked back tears. “I’ve been talking to my friends, my brothers, my bandmates, since I started planning this wedding between Chrissy and Robin and I realized that it wasn’t just the touring and recording and all the shit that went with fame that caused the band to break up, it was my anger at losing you so easily. At not being able to have both and in the end it just became too much for the rest of the band to bear.”

“I’m not blaming them, or Steve for the record,” he told the crowd, holding up his hand. “And they’re aren’t blaming me either. It’s just the way the cookie crumbled and now, I’m standing here across from this beautiful man who was once my beautiful boy and realizing that this is my dream now. Him and him alone. I love you so much, sweetheart. I promise the only running I’ll do, is back to you.”

Then they leaned forward sealed their renewed vows to each other with a kiss.

****

Six months later:

Eddie stumbled forward with Steve pressed against his back, his hands over Eddie’s eyes as they waddled forward together.

“Why couldn’t we just have used my bandana?” Eddie groused, not for the first time.

“Because this is more fun for me,” Steve teased. “Now, shush and open your eyes.” He let go of him and stepped back.

They were standing in front of the building right next to the bakery that had been rundown and in disrepair for years. But now it was cleaned up with a metal aesthetic and big red neon sign that said “Hellfire Ink” in cursive font.

Eddie gasped out loud and covered his mouth with hands. He turned around to face Steve. “You can’t do this, honey. You should put the money back into the bakery.”

Steve shook his head. “No, baby. This was always the plan, you just sped it up a bit. I was building this for you to come home to. I thought that if I could just show you that you could tattoo and live in Hawkins, that you might want to come home to me.”

Eddie threw his arms around Steve’s neck and kissed all over his face. “I love you so much, sweetheart. More than anything, but this is too much.”

“Too late,” Steve said with a smile and held up the keys to the shop. “Come on, let me show you everything.”

Eddie grabbed the keys and Steve grabbed his hand to lead him to their future.

It was better than any dream teenage Eddie had ever hoped to have and if Eddie could go back in time and meet that stupid teenager, he’d tell him to not lose hope, even on the darkest nights, because at the end would bring his brightest days.

“Just wait until you see the inside!” Steve was saying and Eddie just smiled back.

Yeah, he could have wings and roots, too. Because this fit, too.

****

One thing that totally happened but didn't make it into the story was that Joyce and Claudia got together and made Steve his own cake with everything he wanted in a cake. It was much smaller than Robin and Chrissy's, more like a groom's cake, but it had Eddie and Steve figures on top.

Tag List: COMPLETE

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @ravenfrog @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi

3- @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @mac-attack19

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95

7- @blackpanzy @amazing-spiderkeys @oldpinghai @raisedbylibrarians @kultiras

8- @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steddie-as-they-go @captain--low @micheledawn1975 @thespaceantwhowrites

9- @blondie1006 @stripey82 @w1ll0wtr33 @mcenziehughes @sadisticaltarts

[enmstorytime]

The Contract

I put it in the introduction of my book, a promise that was tongue in cheek, that was meant in good fun, that would never, never, never actually have to be upheld: If I make $50,000,000 on this book, that's the last day I wear clothing. And to prove it to my fans, anyone who sends me the receipt for their purchase of this book has the right to host one party that I will attend in my new clothing-free life. I'll serve the drinks for the whole night.

When my editor looked over my introduction, he cocked his eyebrow, and simply said, "Bold."

"It's not like it's going to happen," I said. "Besides, with fifty mil in the bank, I could buy a house far enough from the public eye that I'd live my life in privacy. It wouldn't be too bad. Groceries would be delivered, and I guess it would be a good reason for me to never talk to my parents again."

"What about the book signings?" My editor asked, like this was a real conversation. "What about the promised parties."

"I don't know," I said shrugging. "It sounds kind of fun to me."

"A naked book signing sounds fun to you?" My editor said, sounding surprised."

"Once i earn that kind of money, I think my fans deserve whatever they want from me," I said, laughing. "But you've seen the sales on my last book. I barely made $10,000."

"You're writing is good though," my editor said. "It's a problem of marketing. And a naked book signing might just get the marketing up."

"No naked book signing until the fifty million," I said, surprised that my editor was even considering this.

"Okay, okay, no naked book signing... yet," My editor said. "But I think this promise of living forever naked and of becoming a free, naked bartender might be what we need to help your writing career really take off."

"I'm not a free, naked bartender," I said. "To get my services they have to buy the book."

"Fine, fine, whatever you say," my editor said. "But really, I think this is a stroke of marketing genius. We could make a website where people can buy your book, which would automatically submit the receipt, and then they'd be taken to your calendar where they could schedule your bartending services."

"It's never going to happen," I said.

"We could also get you on talk shows," my editor said. "No one is that excited to hear from any old writer. But the old cliche, sex sells, is really true."

"It won't sell $50,000,000 worth of books," I said.

"Of course, no one will believe you'd really go through with it," my editor said. "Unless... Would you be willing to sign a notarized contract agreeing to this deal? You'd sign for yourself, obviously, and we, the publishing company, would sign on behalf of your readers."

"I don't think that will be necessary," I said, laughing, even though my editor still looked more serious than I expected him to. "It's fifty million dollars."

"If it's never going to happen," my editor said, steepling his fingers and looking me up and down, "then why not sign a contract."

So, I did.

I went on talk shows before my book's publication, where late-night hosts made jokes about shrinkage, and workouts, and courage. One host even promised to have my contractual naked bartending party on his show. I laughed, and grinned, and leaned into the humor, enjoying what I assumed was my fifteen minutes of fame.

My friends all winked at me when they promised to buy my book, or they made me promise to not forget the little guys when I made my millions.

My parents were less understanding. My dad told me I was a shame to the family. Everyone at church kept telling he and my mom how they'd seen me on the TV, and how sorry they were that my parents had raised such a desperate, sinful, greedy child. My mom told me she'd never look at me again if I actually went through with becoming a nudist.

When the original sales numbers came in after my publication, I started to sweat. I made ten million. Every copy that had sold within a week, and my publishing company was preparing for a reprint.

"You better start looking at private jet," my editor said over the phone as he was sharing the numbers with me.

"You don't really think it'll happen do you?" I asked, my stomach performing somersaults. "It's just a temporary media hype, right?"

But it wasn't. As the initial reviews came in, my book was receiving praise, and there was buzz that I would be nominated for a few awards ("No matter what happens with this next print, you're contractually obligated to attend those award dinners, if you're nominated," my editor reminded me again over the phone).

The publishing company put me back on the media tour to talk about the writing. At each stop I was given time to plug what inspired the book, to talk about the process, and then the teasing started. Hosts asked if I was nervous. Hosts called me brave. The host who had promised to have me bartend on the air rolled out a drink cart that could be wheeled through his live studio audience.

My friends started asking for previews. "I'll see it all soon enough anyway," was said to me almost daily.

My dad called to tell me he'd written me out of the will, since I was already rich enough anyway. My mom stopped speaking to me.

At the second printing, my book sales landed at a crisp $42,000,000 in my bank account. Every copy sold. I had assumed that this printing would give me the answer on whether or not my life was going to change more drastically than it already had. I don't know if you've ever realized that everyone who meets you is actively picturing you naked, but I was now very aware that that was what was happening to me. All anyone wanted to talk to me about was my body. And my company was almost literally edging me, printing just enough books that I'd have to wait one more round before finding out whether I'd be allowed clothing again.

"You've got your private jet, right?" My editor asked. "If not, check your email, I've sent you a few listings for some small, cheaper jets. But you'll definitely need one."

Out of caution I bought myself a secluded cabin in the woods, far enough from civilization that I could still go outside and enjoy the sun, even if I had to go out sans all my clothing. I told no one where my cabin was.

I was back on the talk show circuit. This time we weren't talking about the writing, we talked about the printing details, we talked about the number of books that would need to sell before I had to honor my contract. My publishing company sent copies of the contract to each host, and I heard the stipulations read over and over again while audiences wolf-whistled and jeered. The website to buy my book and schedule my bartending services was posted at the bottom of the screen. Each talk show ended with the host promising that I would be back once my next printing had sold out.

Some fans started a website that had one of those thermometer charts that people often use for fundraising events. The visual of 42/50 hit home harder than anything else had. Under the chart were pages and pages of AI renditions of what I looked like under my clothes.

"Listen, it's over," my editor said over the phone one night. "The pre-sale numbers for your next printing put you at $75,000,000."

My heart plummeted.

"I gotta say, I don't envy you," my editor continued. "The publishing company wants to have a recorded event where we break the news to you, and where you turn your clothing over to us."

"It's not in my contract that that would be recorded," I said. "I'd prefer to just ship everything, and then probably never come back into your office, thanks."

"Believe me, I get it," my editor said, and I could hear the grin on his face. "And you're right, it's not in your contract. But I think you should do it. We're drafting a new contract that I think you'll like."

"Will I get my clothes back if I do the recording?" I asked, allowing myself a second of hope that he immediately squashed.

"God no," he said, chuckling. "You're our gold mine, and we aren't just going to give that up. But, we'll censor you on the recording. The minute there's full frontal, blurring effects will go on. You'll also be given a guaranteed five more printings of this book, and a contract for five books of your choice, plus a memoir deal that you'll write after five years all about your first five years as the world's most public nudist."

"I don't think so," I said.

"I would reconsider," my editor said. "This allows you to ease into your exposure. Sure, the live studio audience won't have the blur, but the world at large will. Eventually, you'll end up somewhere online, and everyone will see everything, but this buys you a little more time. Plus, the company is throwing in a private jet, since I know you haven't bought one yet."

I hadn't bought the jet. But now, I knew I needed one, otherwise I'd be pushing my way through busy terminals, the only naked person getting pressed up on by the hundreds of people hauling their luggage.

"It's tempting," I said.

"You're alternative is that we will send our enforcement team to collect what is ours," my editor said. "And you know how hard it is to schedule things as a company of this size. It's likely we'd forget to send you warning, so you could be out in the street, and our big, burly enforcers could show up and tear the clothes right off your body, in front of everyone, and those beautiful camera phones won't give you the same guarantee of a modesty blur."

"Fine," I said, understanding that my publishing company would be getting what they wanted.

The printing came and sold. My editor was right, my bank account now had over $75,000,000, and that was with the cost of my small, private cabin in the woods taken out. I signed the new contract the day of the recording in my editor's office before I was escorted to a filming studio. I had packed up every piece of clothing I owned, and had given the publishing company's enforcers keys to my home and my cabin so they could ensure that I was living up to my end of the contract. I hadn't withheld any clothing.

In the filming studio, my editor called me up on stage. Surrounding me on stage were at least fifteen mannequins, each dressed in something that had been mine. One was dressed in my talk-show suit. One was dressed in my favorite jockstrap that I used to wear on dates when I hoped to get lucky.

I wore my normal clothes: t-shirt, jeans, tennis shoes, baseball cap. I wanted today to feel as normal as possible, even though I had barely slept the night before, even though I knew today would not be a normal day.

The program wasn't long. I sat across from my editor, both of surrounded by mannequins, the jock-strap clad one framed by the two of us. He asked me about each outfit that was displayed. I told him the stories of where I got them, why I picked them, what I would miss about them.

"And which outfit will you miss the most?" my editor asked.

"The only answer to that question is the one that I have on right now," I said, and the audience chuckled appreciatively. Hungrily.

"I'd miss that one too, if I were you," he said to more laughs. "But the time has come to say goodbye."

The blood rushed to my face and to my crotch.

"I've been instructed to give you one last choice," my editor said. "Would you like to hand over your clothes or have them taken from you?"

Without giving me time to respond, two burly men appeared out of nowhere. Their hands groped and grabbed at my clothing, and my arms and legs moved at their command as I was shucked of everything.

In seconds, almost as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone, and with them every stitch of clothing I had worn today. There was no ceremony, no gentleness, no gradual removal to acclimate to new levels of nudity. I was fully clothed one moment. Completely naked the next.

And I stood there, hands at my sides, processing that I didn't even say goodbye to my clothing, that I would never again feel denim on my legs, or cotton sleeves against my arms. It took me nearly a full minute standing in front of my editor and my live audience to realize that I hadn't reached down to cover my cock.

[so-long-soldier-writes]

drabble #13 - the massage

kai parker x reader

summary: kai's sure he'll win the bet. you're positive he won't.

tags: massage, teasing, clingy!kai, minor mention of murder (bc it's kai)

word count: 835

a/n: idk why i'm in my cheesy fluff era of writing, but here's more

“Relax,” you giggle, feeling his muscles tense. 

“I’m trying! It’s weird.”

“It’ll feel so much better if you stop moving around.”

“What are you even doing?”

“Trying to help you relax.”

Kai sighs, clearly unsatisfied with your answer. Nevertheless, he stops adjusting his position and takes a deep breath.

“There you go.”

He mumbles something incomprehensible, but you don’t respond. After a second, you start again. The massage tool in your hand makes a slightly squeaky sound as you run it up his back. You make circles on his shoulder blades, then inch up to his neck. He shrugs his shoulders uncomfortably.

“Kai!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No! Yes! I don’t know!”

“Pick one. Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Don’t stop. I like it, it’s just weird.”

“I can be more gentle.” You do, but he only mumbles more.

“Now I can’t feel it at all.”

“Well then you’re going to have to sit still.”

“I just… what are you even holding?” Without much warning, he flips around to face you. The massage roller in your hand receives a weird stare that makes you laugh. “What even is that?”

“It’s a little tool that helps you relax by easing the knots in your neck and back. Now do you want me to continue, or not?”

“Where do you buy something like that?”

“Literally anywhere. Dollar Tree. Target.”

“I’ve never seen that in my life.”

“Your life has never lived in this decade, Malachai. You lived in the nineties for twenty years.”

“Rude.”

“I’m just saying! Things are different now. We have massage rollers.”

“Weird.”

“Unless you’d prefer to go to an actual massage person, but I bet you’d chicken out.”

He gives you a look. “Me? Chicken out? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Um, yes, actually. I’m talking to someone who would absolutely chicken out if anyone but me was touching them.”

“Bet you twenty dollars you’re wrong.”

“You don’t even have twenty dollars.”

“Yes I do.”

“From where? You-”

“Borrowed some the other day.”

“Borrowed?”

“Stole,” he corrects.

“You- Kai!”

“It’s okay! He was using it anymore!”

“Now why’s that? Is he dead?”

“...Maybe.”

“Kai, you can’t-”

“He shouldn’t have made that comment about you within my earshot. He had it coming.”

“Good lord, boy.”

“So twenty dollars I can get through this message-”

“Massage.”

“-thing you’re talking about. I win, you owe me.”

“Probably won’t happen.”

“Guess we’ll see.”

You’ll admit, Kai being anywhere without you gives you an extreme amount of anxiety. Not only because he’s a sociopathic serial killer, but also because you’re overprotective of him almost to a fault. Despite his bully-like attitude to many, he’s a child at heart. He’s gone through so much to make him the way he is, starting in early childhood, and you can’t bear for him to have anymore trauma. It’s probably toxic, thinking of him in such an endearing way, but you can’t help it. You love him. 

“It’ll be one hour, okay?” The massage therapist says as she takes him back. You nod your head at her and Kai’s little wink, then she brings him to the back. 

He bonded to you immediately. Maybe it was because you could see past the bad boy persona he donned on to gain respect. Maybe it was because you were the first to give him a second chance after the merge. Regardless of the reason, he learned you were a person he could trust, so he did. And even though all your friends tell you you’re brave to be friends with such a dangerous person, you’re there for him anyway. He’s pretty sure he loves you, even though he’s afraid to admit it. 

You pull out your phone to pass the time with a game, but no more than ten minutes later, the therapist returns to the waiting room. She catches your attention with a cough, to which you look up questioningly. 

“He’s asking for you,” she says. “I think he’s nervous.”

A little smile creeps on your face at the knowledge that you’ve won. You were right, and he was so determined he could beat you. “Okay.”

She brings you to the room where he’s lying down on the table. You can’t see his face until he pops up slightly to look at you. 

“Hi.”

“Hi there.”

Neither of you bring up the bet. Boy, he does look nervous. A non-joking Kai is a worried Kai, and for a split second, you wonder just how bad of an idea this is. 

“Can you just stay here?”

“Of course.”

“I’m gonna need you to relax,” the woman says, seeing the tension in his muscles before even touching him. 

You take his hand in hopes to reassure him. A little squeeze elicits a deep breath, and a lot of the strain drops. 

“Good. Let me know if you need anything.”

He shakes his head despite the awkward position on his stomach. “No,” he mutters, rather muffled, “just them.”

[youunravelme]

NEW FIC?? RATTHEW???? im SATTTTTTTT do u have any sneak peeks for us 👀👀👀👀 cant wait!!! <33

hmmmmm, well i guess i could give you a sneak peak rn since you're being so nice :)

the fic is split into two different timelines, before and after, so that's why you'll see "before" at the beginning of the sneak peek.

anyway, here's wonderwall

before

you were incredibly aware that you didn’t quite fit in. your mom drove you to school in a beat up 1997 toyota camry which looked incredibly out of place among the bmws and audis. your mom offered to walk you in, but she was wearing her scrubs from her night shift and her face looked tired, so you declined the offer and got out of the car yourself.

it shouldn’t have been as daunting as it was, but your old school wasn’t as prestigious as this one. your previous schools in cedar rapids had been public schools. no one was wearing a uniform, and most of the backpacks worn came from the same walmart in your old neighborhood. 

but your parents had decided they wanted a better education for you, even if neither of them had the money to fork out thousands of dollars for a private school. your mom’s parents, however, were loaded. they were more than willing to fork out a small fortune for your schooling under the conditions of your family uprooting your lives to missouri. you were too young to realize what a sacrifice that was, you didn’t notice the snide comments your grandparents made about your father’s choice of career or your mother’s choice in husband.

you didn’t see your grandparents any more than you usually did since you’d moved to missouri two weeks ago. they’d been out of town on a trip to rome up until three days ago and hadn’t reached out to have dinner or hang out at all.

not that you cared at the age of nine, you were more focused on unpacking your room. but now that you were standing in front of the giant school alone, you felt like you should’ve been more concerned with how nice your school supplies were.

a kind woman greeted you at the entrance of the school. she smiled and introduced herself, though you couldn’t hear her over the roaring in your ears. she stood next to a blond haired blue eyed boy who was your height.

“are your parents here?” you weren’t sure how you heard her over the noise in your head.

you shook your head. “my mom had to go home and my dad is at work.”

the woman blinked. “is today your first day?”

“mom, it’s everyone’s first day of school,” the boy groaned.

“i wasn’t talking to you, matthew,” she said, though her eyes never left your own.

“i just moved here,” was all you said, albeit a bit quietly. 

“well, you can walk in with us.” She placed a warm hand on your back and ushered you inside next to her son.

you took notice of her nicer clothing compared to your mom’s scrubs or your dad’s tattered khakis, though the woman’s clothing wasn’t as ostentatious as other parents’.

“do you know your teacher’s name?” the woman asked.

you nodded and showed her the crumpled paper in your hand. the night before, you were wracked with nerves and wrote your teacher’s on a blank sheet of paper and doodled around it. even at nine years old, you were concerned that you’d somehow forget. you couldn’t be more grateful for it now.

the woman’s face lit up. “oh how lucky! matthew look! you’re in the same class.”

matthew for his part, tried to look happy about it, but his eyes kept wandering to the hallways, like he was looking for people he knew. you felt bad for even being in this situation. you missed your friends from iowa and the light up shoes you used to wear before you were given a uniform.

matthew’s mom pointed out the classroom that was supposed to be yours and walked both you and matthew into the room. unlike her son, who immediately found his friends to do elaborate handshakes with, you stayed by her side. she was a stranger, sure, but she was more comforting that the classroom of fifteen other nine and ten year olds.

the woman sighed and bent down a little to look you in the eyes. “it’s gonna be a good day, sweetheart,” she said. “mr. terry is a great teacher, he’s really kind.” you weren’t sure how she would know that, but you weren’t going to call her a liar. “and if you need anything, ask matthew. he’s been going here since kindergarten, okay?”

you nodded.

mr. terry walked over and introduced himself. he had dark skin and a bright smile, showing you to your seat. your name was on a card with fun stickers on it. next to your seat, you saw matthew’s name. now it wasn’t necessarily an unpopular name, there were three matthews in your third grade class, so you weren’t holding out hope that it was going to be the matthew you walked into class with. but two minutes later, he was plopping down into the seat to your left.

matthew looked almost startled to see you sitting next to him, but when the shock wore off he gave you a crooked smile and stuck his hand out. “i’m matt,” he said, like you two didn’t walk into class together.

you shook his hand anyway and gave him a shy smile and told him your name, just in case he didn’t see it written on your desk.

if it was even possible, his smile widened. “pretty name,” he said.

[kosmokai]

okay wait.. LEMME COOK. (this is a lil snippet of a fic i was thinking of.. lmk if u want me to make a full thing to it cause idk if i like it) alsoo thought of this while listening to chase atlantic’s tidal wave, so that’s probably what it’s gonna be called ‼️

nsfw under the cut, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

so, beomgyu is at the beach with a few close friends, just for a casual outing. his friends wandered off to do something, surfing if he heard correctly, but he couldn’t be bothered to learn so he eventually found himself at the bar.

as soon as he walked in, he caught a glimpse of the prettiest girl he had ever seen… cute little two piece, skirt at the bottom, crocheted bra at the top, make up and hairstyle cute with a few accessories to top it all off was what she had on.. she— no, you, were beautiful.

of course, after seeing you, beomgyu chose to walk over to where you where, and sat a few seats away so it wasn’t… weird or anything. you saw him soon after and said hello, taking his order.

“you guys have anything interesting? something i wouldn’t find somewhere else?” you’re usual response got caught in your through as your pretty, pink lip gloss covered lips closed. “mm… well, we have a new cocktail we made a few days ago, but it’s still known beta so i’m not sure it would taste the best-” “i’ll have that. what’s it called?”

you smiled, really getting a good look at who was in front of you. his blonde locks, fluffy and covering his eyebrows, relaxed and calm expression.. he was handsome. pretty, even. but that’s besides the point. “tidal wave. cause it’s blue and stuff, and it has a kinda beach-y taste, if that makes sense. just wanted to tap into the environment, i guess!”

you smiled, taking the crinkled ten dollar note from him, smiling even more when he refused to accept the change. after a few minutes, you placed his cocktail in front of him, and he was speechless.

to sum it up, it was blue hue at the top and clear at the bottom, in a shallow like glass. there was a lemon and a little yellow striped umbrella inside, with some— uh, peach coloured shaved ice at the side of the top to resemble sand. on the opposite side along with the lemon and umbrella, was a piece of ice, somehow shaped like an ocean wave.

“it’s pretty..” he muttered a little loudly, not noticing your smug smile. pretty drink served by a pretty girl? that’s probably the first time he’s gotten the best of both worlds in one night. but little did you know, he was about to rock yours.

“thank you. enjoy!” as you were about to walk away, he shouted a little loudly. “keys! your keys.” you had left them on the counter next to him, after having to unlock the ice room for his drink. “oh my god, thank you! thanks for you i won’t get fired today.” he smiled, more of a smirk, and spoke. “don’t mention it,—“

he stopped, realising he didn’t catch your name. “oh, _______.” “pretty name for a pretty girl.. who serves pretty drinks.” you turned back to him, stopping your attempt at walking away so you didn’t have to stare into his eyes again. only because you’d find yourself staring.

“you are..?” “beomgyu. or gyu. both work.” he started sipping at his drink, a satisfied look on his face that set ease at yours. “cute. call me to clean up your drink, we can talk more.” you paused as you walked away, “gyu.” a wink flashed against your eye as you finally walked off, leaving him to smirk dumbly.

if he wasn’t feeling flattered, he would’ve been thinking about all the ways he could have you, take care, or rather, fuck you so well that you’d flush out, creating a tidal wave of your own.. right between your pretty thighs.

but oh well, guess he’ll think about that after finishing his cocktail.

THOUGHTS?? might make a whole fic abt it if u guys want :3

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for stalking a grifter even when everyone else let it go?

I’m a writer of fanfiction. I write a lot of short fics for different fandom zines and sometimes run zines myself. I have worked with a ton of different people, all with their own ways of running zines. I never had a problem with any of them until a few years ago when one zine organizer started getting called out for shady behavior. At this point, I had already worked with them on a dozen zines, and because I was always working on multiple at a time I never noticed that some of these Zines never went anywhere. I was busy and I just figured they were sorted.

So, when this started going down and call out posts got made I checked back in to the discord servers and blogs for the zines. Half of them collected money for the zines, and never delivered. Some just stopped production because she’d vanished and stopped replying to anyone. It’s at this point I found out that this person had hundreds of zine projects running at once, and most of them not completed or sent to the people who paid for them. All off of our FREE work.

There was a big blow up. People picked sides. A lot of us creators left and removed our work from the unfinished products. People demanded refunds. The scammer’s supposed mother made an appearance in one server saying she was just stressed and to be nice to her. It was insane. People were scammed out of thousands of dollars. It was really shitty for about ten minutes before everyone on the creator’s side shrugged and moved on. Meanwhile, there are still people out there genuinely upset that they lost pretty big chunks of money and no one could help them.

The thing is, I’ve had experience with this type of scammer before. They don’t want to stop, and they’re notorious for rebranding and starting all over again. So, I kept a causal eye out. I didn’t really spend a lot of time on it, because I’m still busy, but when certain styles of zines popped up on here I would do a quick look over at the mods and check a few profiles. Nothing in the past two years really caught my eye. Until a few days ago when I found a new zine that had her style of promotional stuff, typing/grammar, etc. I almost left it because it wasn’t really my business, but it pissed me off so much that she came right back and would probably scam thousands more out of people in different fandoms. So I triple checked a few things like profiles, etc. and was 85% sure one of the mods for this zine is her. When I mentioned this to a friend who also did work for her zines and got scammed, they acted like I was super weird. Not exactly for looking into it, but explicitly that I “still cared about all that.”

I guess everyone else just kind of moved on, and forgot about it. I thought it was pretty normal to be wary of scammers after being scammed, but the fact that they’re saying I’m weird for still caring that it happened is making me feel like maybe I did something wrong? I haven’t done anything about it yet because I wanted to run it by my friend who shared that experience with me, and now I feel like I’m the crazy one for doing something I thought was pretty normal if not a little wary.

AITA?

[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

prompt request: older malec 😬 (second chance romance veryyy much accepted )

I know you’re fishing for that BTLIO happy ending that you’re never getting from me nsnsbsmsksskjs

_________

High school reunions are kind of overhyped, in his opinion.

It’s a frivolous attempt by one at pretending that their teenage years were not as miserable as they remember it to be.

Magnus’s quite over it, if he’s being honest.

He never wants to meet most of the people from his high school ever again.

But he’s back in his town after 10 years and Catarina forces him to attend the event.

“Magnus, this is a great way to show up all those assholes that made you miserable.”

“Show up how?” He asks.

Catarina raises an eyebrow at him and he relents.

“Fine. I guess my million dollar worth could be a way.”

“You think?”

He sighs. “But is that it? Financial success? Is that all that matters in this world?”

Catarina side eyes him, “Wow, this town really brings out the angsty teenager in you.”

Magnus rolls his eyes at her. “I just don’t like these people. And I don’t think showing my wealth is a way to prove that I’m better than them.”

“But you are better than them.”

His face breaks into a smile. “And that’s why I love you, my dear.”

His teenage years in this town were to quite simply put it—a nightmare.

They were filled with homophobia, racism and everything in between.

Magnus remembers nothing but being sad in most of them.

Most of them. Not all of them.

Some of them were good memories. The best ones of his life.

He knows those memories had nothing to do with this school or the town but something else.

Something angelic.

Someone angelic.

He puts on his most flamboyant and dramatic outfit, now that no one can hurt him with words about how he chooses to dress up like.

Magnus puts on a purple sheer shirt, with a deep, very deep v neck cut. Half of his chest was visible, with seven necklaces laded on it.

There’s one small necklace still on his neck, it doesn’t match his outfit but it was given by his mom , fixed by his Rafael, he doesn’t know how and he kind of misses them both terribly today.

It’s something about this town.

At least one of them, he’ll get to see again after two days. Rafael wanted to come with him but too but Magnus didn’t want to bring him here. There’s too much sadness here. And he always wants to keep his baby away from all that sadness.

Two hours later, they reach their high school. The event is happening in the gymnasium, even ten years later.

With huge letters, the banner reads- “Class of 2012”.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Magnus goes around the room, meeting people he’s forgotten by now. Some he remembers like yesterday.

“Magnus,” A beautiful woman with curly hair approaches him. “Magnus Bane?”

Magnus thinks for a second before his eyes widen in surprise—good surprise. “Maia?”

“It’s been so long,” she smiles and pulls him in a hug.

“Too long.”

“You disappeared from here.”

“I didn’t disappear,” he says, not without a flair. “I just made a grand exit.”

They both know he’s kind of lying. Magnus had disappeared. More accurately, he’d run away.

It had been too hard. Breathing had become too hard.

If he’d stayed here a minute longer with all the painful memories, Magnus would have died.

Leaving this town had saved him.

He meets a few other people after that. It’s not half as horrible as he’d expected.

“Magnus?”

He recalls that voice as clear as a day. He turns to find the most beautiful woman in front of him.

She was always beautiful but right now, she looks a hundred times prettier. He also knows that it’s nothing to do with her physical appearance but everything to do with the huge smile on her face.

The visible happiness.

She’s never looked freer.

None of the Lightwood siblings ever did.

“Isabelle?”

She jumps in her arms, still with all the love and joy like they’re sixteen again.

Like the little girl who used to help him climb up her house so that they could play housie at night.

Or after a particularly horrible night when they needed some cheering up—thanks to the Lightwood parents.

If it wasn’t for the warm hug, he would have been scared to hug her back. But there’s no such feeling anymore as he wraps his arms around her tightly.

“Oh, darling,” he breathes. “It’s so nice to see you.”

“You too,” Isabelle says happily and he knows she means it.

Isabelle was a two years younger than them so technically she shouldn’t be here. There’s only one reason for her to be here and considering that Simon is lurking not five steps away, with a giddy smile on his face, he has to be right.

“You being here, I can only assume you are still with Sherman,” he grins, the old joke falling easily from his lips.

“I do.”

“Hello, Magnus,” Simon waves excitedly.

They talk for a while but Magnus is a bit distracted throughout.

“He’s here, you know,” Isabelle says.

His brows furrows, “Who?”

Isabelle rolls his eyes. “You know who.”

He does.

Magnus didn’t want to come to the reunion for the following reasons:

1. He dislikes most of these people.

2. He ran away ten years ago and it’s weird to explain to everyone why that happened.

3. Alexander Gideon Lightwood.

The first two reasons ignite a strange anxiety in him. But the last one, it stirs up feelings and emotions he’s tried to kept hidden for years.

If Magnus tries to open the Pandora’s box, he might never be able to shut it down.

“I—I don’t know if—” he stutters, slightly annoyed but not surprised that Alec lightwood can still bring out the teenager in him, “I don’t know if he’d want to see me.”

Isabelle gives him a small smile. “It’s been ten years, Magnus. I think it would be okay.”

He wonders if she knows. If she knows why he did what he did.

Out of all his friends, he had only ever confided in Catarina and Clary at the time.

“Okay.”

He roams around the room, trying to find the man. Then he spots him. It’s not difficult. Even though the last time Magnus saw him was a decade ago, when they were teenagers, still not fully grown into their bodies, still with a bit of acne and awkward smiles on their faces.

But Magnus knows. He knows the man standing in front of him, with his back to Magnus’s face, in a navy blue sweatshirt, amidst a crowd of people fully dressed up in tuxedos and dresses has to be none other than Alec Lightwood.

He musters up all the strength he can, but the air closes up around him, his feet freeze on spot and he finds himself unable to move or speak.

All he can recall is the last time he was infront of Alec.

The last, horrible, horrible words he had hurled at the man who was his entire world.

But it’s been ten years and if anyone deserves an apology or hundred from Magnus, it’s him.

So, he shoves inside his pain, the guilt and everything he’s feeling right now and has been for the past two decades and opens his mouth.

“Alexander?”

It’s the easiest thing in the world to notice the man’s body tense up at the name. There’s a full few seconds of absolutely no movement before Alec moves—oh, so slowly.

His heart stutters inside his chest, rapidly beating inside.

From the ages of twelve to seventeen, Magnus had only felt two emotions in the world. Pain, at everything happening inside his house and love—for Alec.

His life had space for nothing else at the time.

Then slowly, and then very instantly, only pain had remained as he had pushed all the love away.

“Magnus?”

He’s still as beautiful as ever; Magnus thinks. But somehow more so. There’s that teenage shyness missing from his face, replaced with the handsomeness of a grown man.

Alec looks breathtaking, with his wild hair, dark and gorgeous. His eyes, as blue and shiny as ever.

A hundred emotions flicks over his face and it breaks his heart to realise that he understands none of them, having lost the privilege to read Alec years ago.

Then, his face settles on a small smile. A tight lipped one. Not Alec’s real one.

Alec’s real smile, that’s something one can never forget.

It’s a special privilege, to be able to see Alec Lightwood smile.

“Hi,” he says, carefully, not knowing the kind of reaction he will get.

If Alec tells him to fuck off and never show his face again, he would understand.

He would deserve it.

He had broken Alec’s heart in the worst of ways.

But Alec doesn’t yell, doesn’t tell him to fuck off. He smiles. Only if a bit careful.

“It’s been a minute since I have seen you.”

He chuckles, “Yeah. Been a minute.”

There’s a few minutes of silence afterwards. He doesn’t want what he’s supposed to say. What either of them could say after the shitshow everything was the last time they saw each other.

They stand awkwardly before it gets too difficult for Alec and he excuses himself. “I think someone is calling me.”

Magnus sighs dejectedly as Alec leaves, his heart breaking inside his chest.

This is why Magnus didn’t want to come back to this stupid, fucking town ever again. It brings nothing but pain and disappointment.

Catarina has asked him through the years if he regrets his decision. And the answer is always a resounding no.

He needed to choose someone at the time, and he chose Alec.

No one will ever know though and he’s quite okay with that choice.

Alec and he cross paths a couple of times in the next two hours but they don’t talk, Alec still avoids him like the plague. Or just because there’s nothing to talk.

He’s a little angry at Alec; if he’s being honest.

It’s not right, he knows. But he wants Alec to be angry at him right now, yell or shout about why he did what he did. But Alec does none of those things and it hurts more than he would like to accept.

Maybe, for Alec, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

It was just a break up after all.

People break up all the time.

They weren’t special.

Even the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth because he knows with everything inside of him tjay to him, it meant everything.

Alec Lightwood was everything.

“So, guess what we’re about to do now?” One of the organisers, Michelle announces.

“Leave?” He mutters, only loud enough for Catarina to hear; who chuckles in response.

“Shut up. You love a party.”

“Not this one.”

“Remember when we all put a time capsule under that big tree in the campus?” Michelle screams. “We’re about to open them.”

Oh.

The time capsule.

He recalls early senior year, everyone giggling and laughing, putting their hopes, future plans into the time capsule.

He remembers his ambitions. Plans. He had a lot at the beginning of senior year.

By the end of senior year, he had none left. Not a whole lot of hope either.

“What did you put in your time capsule?” Catarina asks.

He frowns, trying to recall. “I don’t really remember. You?”

Catarina thinks for a moment before her eyes widen in embarrassment, “Oh god. I put something very embarrassing.”

Magnus chuckles, “What?”

“You’re never finding out, Bane.”

There’s too much chatter then, everyone discussing their capsules, asking about others. For a second, it feels like he’s back to being seventeen again.

“Come on, let’s find out.”

“I don’t wanna,” he whines but then he sees Isabelle, Jace, Simon and Clary all run in the direction, dragging a grumpy Alec and he follows.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

“Ask Clary out. Go Pro,” Jace’s time capsule notes and he hurrayed, kissing Clary on the mouth.

Clary finds a photo of all six of them, huddling on top of each other and they all warm up inside at the memory.

They had all been at Magnus’s house that day, the one in the photo.

They all tear up a little.

Isabelle finds a small bottle of alcohol that she had stolen from her dad, pulling a chuckle out of everyone as she chugs it in one go. “No regrets,” she screams.

“Simon?”

Simon finds a small picture of him and his dad. “I lose things all the time. I didn’t want to lose this picture.”

Isabelle pulls him in for a hug and kisses his temple.

A little excitement simmering up, Magnus opens his box. There’s a single note inside, and when he reads it, his heart breaks for the thousandth time.

“What do you have Magnus?”

His voice breaks, “Excuse me,” and runs away from there.

Tears stream down his face as he runs towards the terrace. It’s an isolated spot, entry restricted to students but long back, Magnus and his friends have found out a way to break that lock. Almost a decade, and the lock is still not fixed.

He sits on the ledge and cries his heart out.

It angers him so much, being here. It’s like suddenly he’s transported back to ten years ago, with his fragile teenage heart.

After a while, he doesn’t know how long, there’s footsteps on the terrace.

“Hi.”

He chuckles dryly. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Comfort me. I’m just having a moment.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

They stay silent but Magnus has been never been a fan of silence so he asks, “How did you know I was here?”

It’s a stupid question, really. But atleast it’s a question. Atleast they’ll talk.

Because Magnus doesn’t know how long he can go on without Alec talking to him.

Ten years was too long.

“So,” he drags his words, “What was in your time capsule?”

“A list,” Alec chuckles, but it’s weak.

He knows that as well. They had written put their time capsules together. Right next to each other. But they hadn’t shown each other what they had written.

“Stop peaking,” Magnus recalls Alec squealing as he tried to peek into Alec’s list.

“Come on, show me.”

“No.”

Magnus had dragged his finger along Alec’s neck then, as he got closer and purred against his ear, “Please darling. It’s me.”

Alec’s body had shivered under his touch. “Stop. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“And what would that be?” He grinned.

He had tried some more but Alec had not shown him.

That day, it had felt impossible that there would come a day when they would actually get to open that. Ten years had felt too long at the time.

Right now, he can’t even recall where the past ten years went.

“You want to see it?” Alec suggests.

Magnus’s eyes widen. “You will show me?”

“Why not?” Alec shrugs. “We’ve got nothing to lose.”

The words sting, burning a red and angry feeling inside of him but he tries not to show it at the surface. “Okay.”

Alec passes a piece of paper to him.

Magnus takes a deep breath and turns it.

Alec’s scrawny handwriting brings out a smile out of him.

1. Leave Idris.

2. Come out to everyone.

3. Become an archery player.

4. Get Max and Izzy and Jace out of his parents control.

5. Marry Magnus.

A choked sob leaves Magnus’s mouth. And still, he can find in himself to be incredibly proud that Alec was able to fulfil four out of the five things.

“Four out of five isn’t bad,” he tries to keep lightness in his voice but fails miserably.

“I guess,” Alec says, his voice tight.

Before anyone says another word, Magnus takes out the piece of paper from his pocket and passes it to Alec.

He avoids his gaze as Alec reads the words.

Magnus’s list wasn’t really a list. It contains of only one thing and Magnus couldn’t even fulfil that.

There’s just words that he knows will mock him for an eternity.

Mama is sick. But don’t worry, stay with Alec. He will make everything okay. He will make you okay.

A hurt noise leaves Alec’s mouth this time and he feels his own heart splintering. He wants to hug the man and tell him that he’s sorry. That it wasn’t his fault. That he’s good. But he does none of that.

“Magnus—“ Alec says brokenly.

He knows what Alec is asking. Magnus didn’t plan to ever tell anyone—especially Alec about this but he is tired—so tired of the pain, of the weight of the secret paining him for a decade.

For all the love he doesn’t know what to do with.

For their hopeful teenaged selves that believed nothing could come between them but something—Magnus, did.

“You needed to leave.”

“What?”

“If you had stayed in Idris, you would have died. You were dying here under the weight of your parents expectations and you needed to leave this town. I could not be another thing between you and your freedom,” he says hurriedly, the air around him closing.

“Magnus, what are you talking—?”

“You had that scholarship in your hand, Alexander,” Magnus breathes harshly, almost gasping. “I couldn’t let you stay for me.”

“Your mom was dying, Magnus,” Alec says harshly, and the words hurt but they’re true. “Of course I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay for you.”

“I couldn’t let that happen,” he admits. “You had a whole life, a whole career ahead of you. I couldn’t stop you.”

“You didn’t have to ask. I would have done anyways,” Alec all but screams and it feels almost cathartic, that the other man is finally screaming.

He’s positive Alec hasn’t screamed in a decade.

“You think I don’t know that?” Magnus exhales. “That’s why I had to do what I did.”

There’s silence then. Just their loud breathing audible.

Before Alec speaks, as tired and pained as he feels, “You broke my heart, Magnus.”

Tears stream down his face and he wipes them off harshly. “I’m sorry.”

“All I did was love you,” Alec whispers. “And then I didn’t understand.”

“I did not want you to understand, Alexander. For that, I am incredibly sorry.”

They stay silent then. Not knowing what to do with all of this.

At least now, Alec has all the answers.

He thinks it’s time for him to leave. He told Alec everything there was to know. Now he needs to leave this town and these people again.

It’s the most unexpected and magical thing in the world when Alec speaks after a few minutes, “You want to go for a walk?”

————————————————-

As they talk; Magnus will find out about Max, Alec’s three year old son. Alec will show him a picture and it would be the cutest kid in the world.

Five years later, Magnus will make sure that Alec crosses off the fifth thing off his list too.

And in his vows, he thanks Alec for making him okay.

————-

[oskea93]

✦ It Had to be You: Three (part one) ✦

John “Bucky” Egan x OC Gale “Buck Cleven x OC

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and not associated with the real people mentioned from the show. This is simply based on the portrayals of the actors playing these characters. ⚠️ Warning for this chapter: Cursing, mention of death, suicidal ideations, drunkenness. ⭐️ Taglist: @alanadetigy

● If you would like to be tagged, just comment below ●

I visited Gale’s grave every day for a month straight. I guess wishfully thinking that he would rise from the grave like Lazarus – taking me back in his arms and whispering that it was only a dream. The winter haze was starting to turn warmer – a clear sign that spring was on the horizon. Springtime was Gale’s favorite – just sitting on the porch – plowing the garden that he swore would turn out 50 pounders. I could still see him sitting atop the tractor he was so proud of – buying it from an old timer at the local auction for ten dollars and a gold pocket watch.

He was able to work one full season in that garden before he went off to join the war effort. He promised that as soon as he returned, he would have me out there helping, learning the tricks and trades of being a farmer’s wife. We both knew deep down that would never happen – my hands never meeting the touch of dirt in my 22 years of life. I wanted it to happen though. I wanted to break out of the debutante shell – learn to be self-sufficient and not have to rely on my husband to do everything. Gale was the one that was gonna show me the new world I craved – the new world I needed to survive.  

“Figured I’d find you here.”

I rolled my eyes as John made his way over to where I sat, his presence being one that I could live without. Even after the little incident of me throwing his belongings off the deck, he still stuck around. He had set up house in the dilapidated barn that Gale planned to fix up. If it was anyone other than John Egan, I would have insisted they stay in the comfort of the house, but he deserved the cold rain to fall on him during the night.

He took a seat on the grass next to me, his hand touching the mound of dirt that was still settling on Gale’s grave. His throat clearing as his emotions began to get the best of him.

“Your mother called – wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.” My gaze steadied on the plaque in front of me. “Told her that you were out here.”

“I don’t need you talking to my mother for me.”

An exasperated sigh slipped past his lips as the air around us became tense, “You know I’m just trying to help, right?” His eyes setting on my side profile as my eyes stayed glued on Gale’s grave. “If it wasn’t me here –“He paused for a moment. “You’d be in a world of hurt.”

“You wouldn’t have to be here if you were there for Gale when he and the other men jumped over that wall like you told him to do, Major.” Our eyes connecting. “I’d have my husband at my side, but instead I have you.” I hastily removed myself from the ground. “And I have my husband buried six feet in the ground where he’ll stay forever, but I should be so flattered to have the Major John Egan to make sure I’m not in a world of hurt.”

“Carolina-“ He started to speak as he stood.

I raised my hand to stop him, “No-“My tone stern. “I don’t want to hear another word from your sorry mouth, John.” Tears starting to dwell in my eyes. “You can go to the pits of hell and rot for eternity for all I care.”

My feet started to move across the growing grass – signs of life at every turn – except the one I longed for. I was in my own world of hatred that I didn’t even hear John’s heavy footsteps behind me, my body being jerked into his as his fingers wrapped tightly around my arms.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” I fought against his touch. “You’re the one who should’ve died! That bullet was meant for your head – not Gale’s.” My voice screeched with anger and agony.

John's grip tightened momentarily before he released me, the pain in his eyes mirroring my own anguish. "You think I don't know that?” his voice raw and broken. "Do you think I don't live with that every single day?"

I turned away, wiping the tears that had begun to stream down my face. "Knowing it and feeling it are two different things, John. I can't just forgive and forget. Not when my life has been torn apart."

He took a step back, giving me space, his hands falling limply to his sides. "Carolina, I can't change what happened. I can't bring Gale back. But I can be here for you, whether you want me to be or not. I owe him that much."

I scoffed, my heart a storm of emotions. "You owe him more than that. You owe him your life."

For a moment, silence hung between us, heavy and suffocating. The world around us continued to move, indifferent to our pain. I wanted to scream, to make it stop, to rewind time and change everything. But I couldn't. All I had was this reality, this grief, and the man who stood before me, a painful reminder of what I had lost.

“You ruined my life, John. You ruined the life that I was supposed to have with Gale – all the promises and dreams we had. “ I paused. “All that’s gone and now I have nothing to live for.”

“Killing yourself won’t bring him back.” His tone straight forward. “Killing yourself would be the selfish option. Trust me, I’ve thought about it too, but I know Gale wouldn’t want that.”  

My breath hitched as his words cut through the haze of my grief. "Selfish?" I echoed, incredulous. "You think I haven't thought about what Gale would want? He was my husband, John. My everything. I know him better than anyone, and I know he wouldn't want me to be this miserable, but I can't help it. Every day is a struggle just to breathe."

John's face softened; his eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored my own. "I know, Carolina. I know it's hard. But giving up won't honor his memory. Living, even when it hurts, is the only way to keep his spirit alive."

Tears streamed down my face, and I felt a deep, aching void where my heart used to be. "It's not fair," I whispered, my voice breaking. "We had plans. We were going to start a family, travel the world, grow old together. How am I supposed to do any of that without him?"

He took a cautious step closer, his presence a tentative offer of support. "You don't have to do it alone. There are people who care about you, who want to help you through this. I know I'm the last person you want to hear that from, but it's true."

I shook my head, frustration and despair warring within me. "You don't understand. Every time I look at you, I'm reminded of what I've lost. Of what you took from me."

John's expression tightened with pain, but he didn't back down. "I understand more than you think. I lost a brother that day. Not just a comrade, but someone I cared about deeply. And yes, I was responsible for the mission, but I never wanted this outcome. I never wanted to hurt you."

"You never wanted to hurt me?" I scoffed, a bitter edge to my voice. "You're the one who pressured Gale to go with you to England – writing him letters and painting a picture of how exciting the missions were." Each word dripped with resentment as I laid bare the betrayal that had festered in my heart.

I took a moment to collect my thoughts, the memories of happier times with Gale now tainted by the presence of the Major. "I wish Gale had never met you at that training facility," I continued, my tone laced with regret and anger. "I wish you had never come into our lives, John Egan."

The air fell silent, the weight of my words lingering between us. John's gaze flickered, a shadow of guilt passing over his features before he attempted to muster a response. But no words came, the truth of my accusations hanging heavy in the space between us, a rift that seemed impossible to bridge…

“Okay ladies, so I was thinking that the theme this year be focused around new beginnings. Something pure and wholesome,” Victoria announced, her voice carrying a sense of authority that demanded attention.

The room fell into a hushed silence as the other women seated around the table nodded in agreement. The debutant ball, an annual event that had become a symbol of prestige and philanthropy in the community, was a significant undertaking that required meticulous planning and flawless execution.

Sitting beside me, my mother beamed with pride, her hand resting gently on my leg as if to anchor me in my seat. “Oh Victoria, I think that is a fabulous idea,” she chimed in, her enthusiasm palpable.

I stifled a sigh, accustomed to my mother's unwavering ambition for me to shine at the debutant ball. Ever since I was a young girl, she had envisioned me as the belle of the ball, clad in a perfect white gown, with hair styled to perfection, and a date handpicked from the cream of society.

As I glanced around the room at the other debutantes and their eager mothers, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Many of the young men who had once vied for the chance to escort a debutante to the ball were now mere shadows of their former selves. Some were confined to wheelchairs, their once-vibrant spirits dimmed by tragedy, while others had met untimely ends, their promising futures cut short.

As the planning for the debutant ball continued, I couldn't help but notice the sea of young faces around me, each brimming with anticipation and excitement. Most of the girls who had signed up to participate seemed to view the ball as the pinnacle of their young lives, a chance to be the center of attention and bask in the admiration of others.

However, my own perspective had been irrevocably altered by recent events. The tragic loss of my husband had shattered my illusions of a fairy-tale existence, leaving me adrift in a world that now seemed hollow and insincere.

When Victoria turned to me, her voice cutting through the silence, I felt the weight of everyone's eyes on me. The women around the table, who had initially regarded me with pity and sympathy, now looked at me with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"Do you have any suggestions, Carolina?" Victoria's question hung in the air, waiting for a response.

I hesitated, unsure of how to navigate this unfamiliar terrain. The words felt stuck in my throat, a jumble of conflicting emotions and unspoken truths that I couldn't bring myself to articulate.

"No," I finally managed to say, the word coming out more curtly than I had intended. Victoria shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the tension in the room palpable as the other women exchanged uneasy glances.

As Victoria smoothly transitioned to discussing details with the other women in the room, a sense of relief washed over me, grateful to be momentarily spared from the spotlight. I observed with detached interest as their faces animated with enthusiasm, their voices rising and falling in a symphony of excitement and anticipation.

A pang of disconnection tugged at my heart as I contrasted their genuine enthusiasm with the emptiness I felt inside. The prospect of being paraded around like a prized possession at the debutant ball held no allure for me, a stark reminder of the superficiality and pretense that permeated this world of opulence and privilege.

"Darling, you're bringing everyone's mood down," my mother's gentle voice whispered in my ear, breaking through my reverie. I turned to meet her gaze, seeing a mixture of concern and expectation in her eyes.

"This is a joyous occasion. Will you please try to smile or look somewhat happy to be here?" she implored, her hand reaching out to touch mine in a gesture of reassurance.

I forced a tight-lipped smile, the muscles in my face aching from the effort. “Happy?” My voice tinged with bitterness, causing her to frown in disapproval.

She straightened in her chair, the delicate China teacup clutched in her hands as she met my gaze with a mixture of concern and determination. "Carolina, it's been almost two months," she began, her tone gentle but resolute. My head snapped in her direction, a flicker of defiance igniting within me as I anticipated the direction of her words.

"It's time to get on with the grief and start living your life again – be the old Carolina Clevens – the happy girl we all knew and loved," she urged, her words laced with expectation and a hint of impatience.

The weight of her words settled over me like a heavy shroud, pressing down on me with a force that was almost suffocating. The idea of returning to the person I used to be, of donning the mask of cheerfulness and ease that I had worn before my world was shattered, felt like an impossible task.

"Oh, I'm sorry, mother," I blurted out, my body turning towards her in haste. The words spilled out before I could stop them. "I didn't realize that grieving over my dead husband was only allowed for a certain time, and then it was time to act like he's not at the bottom of a hole turned into worm food." The ladies seated at our table glanced over with curiosity, their whispered conversations coming to a sudden halt.

My mother's expression hardened, her eyes narrowing as she processed my words. The tension in the air was palpable, and I could feel the weight of her unspoken disapproval. But I couldn't hold back the flood of emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface since my husband's passing.

"I guess when daddy dies, you'll get a day or two to grieve, and then I'll let you know when it's time to go back to your self-centered self," I continued, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and sadness. The words hung in the air, heavy with accusation and a lifetime of unspoken grievances.

The tension in the room was palpable as the gazes of the guests shifted between my mother and me. I could feel their eyes boring into me, their expressions a mix of surprise and discomfort at the sudden outburst. My mother's attempt at a smile seemed strained, a fragile façade barely concealing the turmoil beneath the surface.

“Fuck this.” I stumbled away from the table, my heart pounding in my chest. The room seemed to blur around me as I made my way towards the door, my mother's voice calling out my name like a distant echo in the chaos of my thoughts.

As the pricking feeling of tears threatened to overflow, I clenched my jaw, refusing to let them fall. I was tired of crying, tired of the pain that seemed to follow me wherever I went. With each step I took on the quiet street, I felt a sense of calm wash over me, the cool night air soothing my frayed nerves.

I slowed my pace, wanting to blend into the shadows, not wanting any more attention drawn to me. The streetlights cast a soft glow on the pavement, guiding my way as I navigated the unfamiliar paths. I didn't know where I was going, but one thing was clear – I didn't want my mother to find me.

I managed to dip into a hole in the wall bar – the patrons looking a bit shocked when I stepped through the doors. I wasn’t really a drinker – only partaking once in a blue moon – nothing to hard of course. I hesitantly took a seat at the bar, my white gloves causing those at the bar to look at me as if I was lost. I quickly removed the garments, stuffing them into my purse.

The older bartender gave me a reassuring smile as he placed a small napkin in front of me. “What can I get ya, miss?”

I hesitated, my mind racing as I tried to decide. Looking around, I noticed most of the patrons were nursing glasses filled with a rich, amber liquid. I pointed to one of the glasses at the end of the bar. “I’ll have whatever that is.”

The bartender followed my gaze and nodded, a knowing twinkle in his eye. "Whiskey it is," he said, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf. As he poured the drink, I took in my surroundings, the low murmur of conversations blending with the soft clinks of glasses and the faint strains of a jukebox in the corner.

He placed the glass in front of me with a gentle thud. "Here you go. Enjoy," he said, giving me an encouraging nod.

I wrapped my fingers around the cool glass, feeling the slight chill against my skin. Bringing it to my lips, I inhaled the strong, smoky aroma before taking a small sip. The liquid burned slightly as it went down, causing me to start coughing.

The bartender watched me for a moment, then leaned in slightly. "First time with whiskey?" he asked, his tone friendly and curious.

I nodded, setting the glass back on the bar. "Yeah, something like that."

He chuckled softly. "Well, it's an acquired taste for some, but it grows on you. Rough day?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over me. "You could say that."

He gave me a sympathetic look. "Well, you're in good company. This place has seen its share of weary souls. If you need anything, just holler."

I offered a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

As he moved on to attend to another customer, I took another sip of the whiskey, letting the warmth and the quiet ambiance of the bar start to work their magic. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a hint of relaxation begin to creep in…

“And then she starts saying that I need to stop crying over my dead husband—” I paused, taking a sloppy drink. “Who says something like that, especially to your goddamn daughter?” My words slurred together, the numerous glasses of whiskey casting a heavy fog over my mind.

The bartender, who had been listening patiently as he wiped down the counter, gave me a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry to hear that, miss. Some people just don't understand grief," he said gently, his voice a steady anchor in my storm of emotions.

“And then I got his friend, his co-pilot, the man responsible for sending Gale to his death, staying at my fucking house. Living out of the barn because I’m not gonna let that son of a bitch into my house—” My face twisted as the brown liquid burned its way down my throat. “And to think I liked that man—thought he was a good influence on my husband. John Egan is nothing but a snake in the grass. If he were to drop dead tonight, I wouldn’t even bury his body—I’d just let the buzzards pick away at him until his bones are dust.”

The bartender's eyes widened slightly, but he maintained his calm demeanor. He leaned in a bit closer, his voice low and soothing. "That's a lot to carry, miss.”

I slammed the glass down on the counter, the sound echoing through the bar. "You have no idea. Every time I see him, it's like a knife twisting in my gut. Gale trusted him and look where that got him."

The bartender stayed silent for a moment, then spoke carefully. "Now don’t take this the wrong way, miss, but it sounds like your husband’s friend was only doing what he thought was best."

I felt my eyes narrow as his words moved around my hazy brain, trying to find purchase. "What are you saying?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

He held up a hand in a placating gesture. "Just hear me out. This John guy didn’t know that those Nazi pricks would shoot at your husband. You can’t place the blame on him. I’m sure the poor bastard is already blaming himself."

I stared at him, the anger bubbling up mixed with confusion and sorrow. "You think I should forgive him? After everything?"

The bartender shook his head slowly. "That’s a choose you’re gonna have to make on your own, sweetheart.

Instead of accepting his words like an adult, the whiskey took over instead. "Typical man," I muttered, the raspberries of disdain blowing from my lips. "Just like a man to take up for another man."

I downed what was left of my drink in one swift motion, the alcohol numbing the edges of my frayed emotions. The room seemed to spin around me as I clumsily pushed myself off the barstool, my movements unsteady and erratic.

"You don’t know anything!" I shouted, my voice rising above the din of the bar. "You're all a bunch of drunkards with no hope or future." The words spilled out of me like a torrent, fueled by a cocktail of frustration, bitterness, and a tinge of self-loathing.

Those that were left in the bar looked at me with empty eyes – not shocked by my appearance or attitude. Their gazes seemed to bore into me, indifferent to my outburst amidst the usual chaos of the night. "Gale Cleven was the best man that God ever created!" I proclaimed, my voice piercing through the haze of smoke and chatter, higher than the music playing in the background.

"Better than you," I declared, my finger pointing accusingly in the patrons' directions. "And you. And you too!" Each word was a dagger, fueled by a mix of defiance and desperation, cutting through the thick air of the bar like a blade.

The slamming of the front door snapped me out of my little tantrum as all eyes in the bar shifted towards the man who caused the ruckus. He stood there at the entrance, a lone figure in the dimly lit room, clad in his worn leather bomber jacket. His hands were stuffed in his trouser pockets, his stance exuding a quiet confidence that demanded attention. The sudden hush that fell over the bar was almost palpable, as if the very air held its breath in anticipation of what would come next.

"For fuck’s sake," I muttered under my breath, a heavy sigh slipping through my lips as I raked my hand through my messy curls.

I watched through hooded eyes as John stepped up to the bar. Our gazes met in a brief but charged moment, a silent exchange passing between us like a current.

As he ordered himself a glass of whiskey, the tension that surrounded just us seemed to thicken, palpable to those around us. The bartender, a silent observer to the unfolding drama, looked back and forth between us, piecing together that this was the man I had been rambling about just moments ago.