#and then we had a woman who treated my shift like it was her break time

[tittyinfinity]

It's really nice having a free housekeeping service thru my Medicaid but ever since my regular housekeeper that I had for a year (now friend) got promoted in March it's like every other person I've had fuckin hates disabled people

[g0dlyunsub]

sweet revenge.

in which a female unsub dares spencer to hurt you in exchange for a victim’s whereabouts. 

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: established relationship, allusions to murders, kidnapping, and physical violence (slapping), fluff (and a wee bit of angst)

word count :: 1.9k

author’s note :: lately spencer x bau!reader is all i ever think about

accompanying song :: watch your mouth by the backseat lovers

01 - who are you protecting?

“my name is doctor spencer reid. and this,” spencer says as he turns the photo of the missing girl in his hand, “is angie, the girl that you’ve kidnapped. now tell me, where is she?”

the woman bangs her handcuffs against the table and breaks into a hysterical laughter.

“you’re funny, calling yourself doctor. do you say that so you'll be treated with the same level of respect as all of the other agents? maybe it runs deeper than that. what you lack in physicality you make up for in your intelligence, and in turn they protect you,” she jeers, staring straight into his eyes with a conniving smile.

spencer doesn’t seem to be fazed by her words, clasping his hands together and leaning towards her with an icy glare.

“tell me where she is.” his words fall like needles on shattered glass, countering her sharpness with immaculate professionalism.

you watch the interaction unravel from behind the one-way glass of the interrogation room, and bite your nails as you wait for her to fold.

“tell me this, tell me that. why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself, doctor.” the unsub clicks her tongue when she says doctor, and leans back in her seat with a satisfied grin.

“i know what you’re trying to play here, but it won’t work. tell me where you’re keeping her and maybe we’ll talk about a deal.” spencer’s voice is cold, calm, and collected, exactly the opposite of how you’re feeling right now -- and you're not even the one interrogating her.

“i’m going to need a better response than that. but hey, at least i’m not the one being held captive, right?” she comments with a smirk, staring at the mirrored wall with a taunting expression. her gaze is like a direct blow, provoking the anger that’s begging for release behind your gritted teeth. you clench your jaw and let out a frustrated exhale, knowing she can’t hear you or see you from the other side.

the air fills with silence for at least another minute, during which spencer’s eyes drills into the unsub’s like he’s challenging her to a staredown.

“what do you want to ask me?” he poses at last, his gaze unflinching as he tilts his head to the side.

“that’s more like it,” the woman retorts as she toys with the rattling sounds of the handcuffs. “there's something i'd like for you to explain. i asked to speak with a female agent, but they sent in the exact opposite. why?"

spencer squints, his eyes a telling desire for her elaboration.

“who are you trying to protect?”

there’s no response from spencer’s end.

after a pause, she whispers, “it’s someone on your team, isn’t it?”

spencer’s eyes shift to the floor before he can stop himself, a millisecond of a reaction that doesn’t go unnoticed by the unsub. she raises her brows, curiosity plaguing her expression.

“do you have a girlfriend, spencer?”

you breathe and bite down on the insides of your cheeks.

that’s enough.

“i’m going in, hotch,” you announce, leaving the room with angry strides drowning out the sounds of hotch’s calls to stop you.

02 - a damn shame.

“agent l/n,” you announce as you swing open the door, entering the room with the echoing clacks of your heels.

“and you must be the girlfriend. we meet at last,” she says with a beaming smile, and her greeting instantly crumples whatever patience you had left for her. “i’d shake your hand, but i’m stuck in these really tight cuffs.”

“where is she?” you demand, pulling up the seat next to spencer.

“are fbi agents even allowed to date?” she counters, ignoring your question with a lousy sigh.

you snap your fingers and point to the photo to divert her attention. “you wanted to see me and i’m here. now give us the location.”

she pouts, tilting her head to the side as she looks you up and down. you feel uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze but you don’t show it, for you know the mind games she’s trying to play.

“you two have any children?” she hums, finally tearing her gaze away from you. it latches onto spencer instead, and she licks the corner of her lips in a sickeningly perverse move.

“no,” spencer responds. you can tell that agitation hasn’t soiled his tone, while yours certainly has, tainted through and through.

“such a damn shame. i’d be jumping at the idea to start a family with him, if i were you. he's hot,” she utters while flashing her teeth, and you clench your jaw in disgust. if she's trying to make you feel jealous, those words definitely aren't going to cut it.

“here’s how it’s going to go. you say the location now, or any deal is off the table,” you hiss, slamming the table with one hand.

“i stand corrected,” she says with a slight chuckle, pretending to act apologetic as she playfully mouths a sorry in your direction. “i’ll tell you under one condition.”

“and what’s that?” spencer asks, watching intently as she wets her lips.

“i want you, doctor reid, to slap her on the face.”

03 - do it.

“no.”

spencer immediately stands and grabs your hand, preparing to storm out of the room with the photo in his other hand.

you don’t know how to react to what she’s just said, when the cruel smile tugs at the corner of her lips and a wicked laugh exits her mouth.

“it’s just one slap in exchange for saving a life. i think i’m being generous here,” she continues while spencer’s grip on your wrist tightens.

“no. and you know what? you won’t see the light of day for as long as you continue to respire on the face of this earth, i’ll make sure of that. no one will ever visit you, no one will remember your name, and the only happiness you’ll feel is when the dust of your bones celebrate no longer having to tie its essence with yours.” 

spencer spits the words like daggers, and drops the eloquently compiled strings of utter violence like bombs in her face. you wish you had the same composure to rebuke her, but you sit in silence, completely stupefied. that's her request?

“we’re done here,” spencer reiterates and coldly turns his shoulder against the unsub. he tugs at your hand to follow him out, but you don’t move.

“spence,” you say instead, and look up at him. your hesitation draws an amused smile from the woman.

you feel the tears prick your eyes and stifle a choking cry as your boyfriend's figure starts to swim in your water.

as much as you hate the terms of the deal, it’s the only way you’ll get her answer. and if it means sustaining a smack to the cheek for five seconds, then so be it.

“do it. please.”

spencer’s mouth drops and his face contorts into a look of horror. his eyes gloss over yours with disbelief at what you’ve just said. you flinch when the unsub starts to holler maniacally, slamming her hands repeatedly against the table. 

“you heard her, do it!” she yells, fuming with excitement.

“no, i won’t,” he grits as he turns to face the woman with bloodshot eyes, “is this funny to you?”

“very. look at her, she’s practically begging you to do it. why don’t you? you’d be doing a great favor,” she shrugs, moving her fingers to her lips and pretending to zip them shut.

the worst part, you know spencer won’t do it. so you grab his hand and raise it, high enough so that his palm lies a few inches from your face.

“it’s okay, just do it,” you whisper, urging him with pleading eyes. angie has at most three hours left to survive, and you have no other leads. so what choice do you have?

“no!” spencer shouts and forces his hand out of your grip.

“it won’t hurt, i promise,” you assure him, doubling down with your words.

he looks at you with such soft eyes, raised brows and parted lips, you want to slap yourself for him. it’s so unfair.

“close your eyes, please,” he finally lets out with a quivering exhale, the sad glimmer in his eyes an apology in itself. this is it, this is what it’s all coming down to. in exchange for securing the girl’s safety, you're paying the price with your dignity.

04 - do you trust me?

you clench your fists and wait for the stinging contact of his outstretched palm.

but it never lands.

instead, the softest lips press against your left cheek, warmth instantly seeping through your skin when it lands. you open your eyes to see spencer, slowly pulling away after planting the kiss on your face. you take a step back in shock, but his hand’s wrapped around your waist, holding you in place. 

he wipes the tears that are watering the surface of your eyes and brushes your cheek gently.

“did you really think i was going to hurt you?”

you restrain your sniffles as best as you can, but you can't help it when one escapes. he grasps your hands as you hold back the stream of tears threatening to wet your skin.

the unsub groans and the both of you turn to face her.

“oh how romantic. but now you won’t ever get your answers,” she tuts, shaking her head in disapproval.

spencer chuckles, and she looks up in surprise.

“actually, i don't think we’ll need your help. you know what i think?” spencer starts, pressing his hands against the table and leaning over her with a stance meant to intimidate. 

“you force others to do it. you force the victims to plot against each other and kill. you get off on the fact that you can manipulate others to inflict violence for you, just like you tried with me. this,” spencer continues as he lowers his gaze warningly, “was a mere test to my hypothesis, and you just corroborated my theory.”

“which is why all of this is happening in your mother’s home, where she forced you to kill the woman with whom your father cheated. she manipulated you and you followed her footsteps to become a manipulator yourself,” you say, jumping at the conclusion that spencer’s setting you up for. it all makes sense, and you’re able to put the last pieces of the puzzle together with his ingenious account.

“bullshit,” the woman blurts, dropping her fists against the table.

“it won’t be when we see you in court for all four accounts of murder and an additional charge for threatening abuse by proxy against a federal agent,” you finish as she grimaces.

“the two of you won’t last,” she ignores, her face blazing with rage.

spencer looks at you with raised brows, a look of challenge immediately signaling to you what to do next. you laugh in response, locking eyes with the unsub as you wrap your arms around spencer’s neck and lean in, kissing him on the lips with graceful fluidity. you deepen the kiss when you see her look down in disgust, caving in and yelling to be taken away on her own volition. 

a sigh finally laxes from your lips when morgan enters the room to take her away, winking at the both of you as he leaves. spencer doesn't seem to care, though, and pulls you in closer.

"do you trust me?" he asks, your foreheads pressing against each other.

"always." you smile and stand on your toes to kiss him again.

you’ve never tasted revenge this sweet in your life.

[k2padfoot]

In the Quiet Hours

Rafe Cameron x Y/n

summary: A sleepless night at Rafes leads to a heated run in with Ward, uncovering dangerous secrets and dragging you into a deeper mess.

warnings: *TW* violence, sexual harassment, fear, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff.

The night in the Cameron house was unnervingly quiet, with only the soft hum of the AC breaking the stillness. You had been lying beside Rafe for hours, staring up at the ceiling unable to sleep. The heat combined with the swirling thoughts in your head made it impossible to fall asleep. So you decided to slip out of bed, careful not to disturb Rafe’s peaceful slumber, and headed downstairs for a glass of water.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, the dim light from the kitchen caught your eye. Your steps slowed, it was late—too late for anyone else to be up.

You pushed open the door to the kitchen and stopped dead in your tracks. Ward was stood by the sink, a half empty glass of whiskey in his hand, his eyes immediately locking onto you as you entered the room. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at you, his gaze lingering a little too long, a little too intently.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Ward’s voice was low, almost a growl as he set his glass down and took a slow step towards you. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You tried to keep your composure, forcing a small smile as you replied, “Just need to get some water.”

Ward’s smile widened, but there was nothing friendly about it. “Water? At this hour?” He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking rapidly. “You know, there’s a much better way to take care of your thirst.” He slurred.

You felt your stomach churn at his words. “I should get back upstairs,” you said quickly, but when you turned to leave Ward’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. His grip was rough as your heart began to race.

“Why the rush?” he asked, his voice dripping with a fake sweetness. “Rafe’s out cold. He won’t even know you’re gone.”

You tugged at your wrist, but Ward’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin. He pulled you closer until you could feel the heat radiating off of his body, his breath warm against your face.

“Ward, please,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady despite the panic rising in your chest. “Let me go.”

But instead of letting you go, he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You’re too good to be wasting your time with my son. You deserve someone who knows how to treat a woman, knows exactly what she needs.”

Your breath hitched, fear tightening its grip on you. Ward’s free hand trailed up your arm, sending a shiver of disgust down your spine. “I could give you things no one would ever could,” he continued, his voice laced with something dark and twisted. “Just say the word, and I’ll make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

You tried to pull away, but Ward was relentless, his grip like a vice. “Ward, stop,” you pleaded, your voice trembling now. “I’m in love with Rafe.”

“And that’s supposed to mean something to me?” Ward sneered, his hand moving to your waist, pulling you even closer. “Rafe doesn’t deserve such a pretty thing, he’s useless sweetheart.”

The way he said “sweetheart” made your skin crawl. You opened your mouth to say something, scream, anything at all, but before you could the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.

“Ward, what the hell are you doing?”

Rose’s voice cut through the air like a knife, she stood in the doorway eyes wide with shock as she took in the scene. Ward’s grip on you loosened and he stepped back, his expression quickly shifting to one of feigned innocence.

“Nothing Rose,” he said smoothly, though his voice carried a slight edge. “Just a little late night chat.”

Rose’s eyes narrowed as she looked between the two of you, clearly not convinced. “Go back upstairs,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Now.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You quickly moved past Ward, avoiding his eyes as you hurried towards the stairs. As you reached the bottom, you could still feel his gaze on you, burning into your back.

You rushed up the stairs, returning to Rafe’s room as quickly as you could. The darkness of the room was a stark contrast to the burning anxiety in your chest, and for a moment, you just stood there staring at the bed where Rafe lay sleeping, his breathing deep and even.

You wanted to crawl back into bed, wrap yourself in Rafe’s arms and pretend nothing had happened, but the thought of it made your stomach turn. How were you going to explain what just happened? How could you even begin to tell Rafe what his father just did to his girlfriend?

Your thoughts were racing, tangled up in fear and confusion. You didn’t want to wake Rafe. You didn’t want to burden him with this, not when you weren’t even sure how to process it yourself. The last thing you wanted was to make things worse between him and his father, but the weight of what just happened felt suffocating and you knew you couldn’t just go back to bed and pretend everything was fine.

Without thinking, you turned and slipped into Rafe’s bathroom. The cold tiles under your feet grounded you just enough to keep the panic at bay as you shut the door behind you. You sank to the floor, your back against the cool wall, and pulled your knees up to your chest wrapping your arms around them.

The quiet of the bathroom was almost too much, the silence allowing your thoughts to race unchecked. You replayed the scene over and over in your mind, Ward’s voice, his touch, the way he looked at you. It made you feel sick, like you wanted to scrub your skin raw just to get rid of the memory. But no matter how hard you tried to push it away, it lingered, festering like a wound.

You sat there for what felt like an eternity trying to collect yourself, trying to figure out what to do next. But you couldn’t stop the tears that began to well up in your eyes, hot and stinging as they slid down your cheeks. You buried your face in your hands, desperate to muffle your sobs that threatened to escape, not wanting to wake Rafe and force him to see you like this.

But Rafe had always been attuned to you, even in his sleep. It wasn’t long before you heard him stirring in the bedroom, the sheets rustling as he reached out for you. When his hand met the empty space, you heard him sit up, his voice groggy and thick with sleep.

“Baby?” Rafe called out softly, the concern already creeping into his voice when you didn’t respond. You could hear him getting out of bed, his footsteps soft as he walked around the room searching for you. “Where’d you go?”

You tried to stay quiet, hoping he might just go back to bed, but when he reached the bathroom door there was no hiding from him. He knocked gently, the sound soft but insistent. “You in there?”

You took a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself before answering. “Yeah… I’m here.”

The door opened almost immediately and Rafe stepped inside, his eyes narrowing with worry when he saw you sitting on the floor, tears streaking your face. He was by your side in an instant, dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands gently cupping your face as he searched your eyes.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” His voice was laced with fear and concern, his thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “Why are you crying baby? Did something happen?”

You wanted to tell him you were fine, that it was nothing, but the words stuck in your throat, your voice betraying you with a broken sob. Rafe’s expressions shifted from worry to alarm, his hands tightening on your face as he tried to get you to look at him.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation. “What happened?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the moment you met his eyes the dam broke and everything came pouring out. “I-It was your dad… Ward— he…” your voice trembled as you struggled to find the right words. “He cornered me in the kitchen, he—he said things, Rafe, disgusting things, a-and he wouldn’t let me go…”

Rafe’s entire demeanor changed in an instant. His eyes darkened with a fury you’d never seen before, his jaw clenching so tightly you could see the muscle twitch. He pulled away from you, his hands dropping to his sides as he stood up abruptly, fists clenching and unclenching as if he was trying to keep himself from exploding.

“That stupid piece of shit,” Rafe growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

“No Rafe, please,” you cried, scrambling to your feet and grabbing his arm before he could storm out of the bathroom. “Don’t leave.. Please don’t leave.”

Rafe stopped in his tracks, turning to face you, his expression softening the moment he saw the fear in your eyes. The anger drained from him just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with a deep concern that twisted his features into a pained expression.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms and holding you tightly against his chest. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You cling to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as you buried your face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. It was grounding, comforting, even as the storm of emotions raged inside you.

“It’s not your fault,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his chest. “Just.. please just stay with me.”

Rafe’s arms tightened around you, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, his voice etched with emotion. “I’m here okay? I’m right here.”

You nodded, the tension in your body slowly beginning to ease as you let yourself relax in his embrace. He gently guided you back down to the floor, sitting with you, his arms never leaving your body as he held you close trying to offer you some semblance of comfort.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, over and over, his voice breaking each time. “I should’ve protected you.. I should’ve known.”

“Rafe, stop,” you whispered back, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “You couldn’t have known, this isn’t your fault.”

He shook his head, tears welling in his own eyes now as he looked at you, his expression filled with regret and self-loathing. “I just.. I never wanted something like this to happen to you. You don’t deserve this, you deserve so much better.”

You placed your hand on his cheek, your thumb brushing away a tear that escaped. “Don’t, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “I just need you with me right now. That’s all I need.”

Rafe’s eyes softened and he nodded, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a shaky breath. “I’m here,” he whispered again. “I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be right here as long as you need.”

You closed your eyes, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you leaned into him, letting his presence soothe the raw edges of your emotions. Rafe’s hands ran soothingly up and down your back, his touch gentle and calming as he whispered soft reassurances into your ear.

For a long time the two of you just sat there on the bathroom floor, wrapped in each others arms, the world outside fading away as you found solace in each other. Rafe kept murmuring apologies, but you hushed him each time because the only thing that mattered right now was that he was here with you, holding you together when you felt like falling apart.

And as minutes ticked by, you started to feel a sense of peace returning, knowing that no matter what happened next you wouldn’t have to face it alone. Rafe was here, and for now, that was enough.

[kumkaniudaku]

At Last: Part Two

Summary: Mr. and Mrs. Richmond make their union official.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: None

Part One

Under two Spanish moss trees, the two that towered highest above the rest like gods watching over their creations, Patrice and Terrence were due to share vows and declarations of love with a small crowd of family looking on as witnesses in less than twelve hours.

Her mother referred to the quick turnaround between engagement and nuptials as a “small miracle” as she and her elder sister meticulously planned details that even Patrice had overlooked in the haze of the evening. 

Truthfully, after all the fuzzy feelings and congratulatory bubbly had worn off, she was left with a gaping pit of confusion deep within her belly. Terry had promised one year to prepare for a life together. That amounted to 365 days to learn, grow, and get ready for eternity. A calendar year to decide if the eagerness of fresh love could bloom into something everlasting. Three hours ago, she didn’t need any more convincing. Now, having 365 days cut nearly in half with a wedding occurring on the other side of the sunrise had suddenly become suffocating. 

They hadn’t taken a traditional road, one paved with tangible milestones on the journey to name changes and legal titles. There was no high school sweethearts storyline to follow. They hadn’t awkwardly fumbled over kisses after a first date or met each other’s parents at a Sunday evening dinner. Terry never officially asked to be her boyfriend and she never really treated him as a man to date on the way to some serendipitous revelation that he was, indeed, the one. In her mind, they’d always existed as lovers, time moving in a flat circle back to him as the only man at the altar when she envisioned jumping the broom with a new last name.

But, even with all roads leading back to Terrence James Richmond, the cotton sheets beneath her tired body provided no refuge. She was restless in the dead of night, head pounding with uncertainty and throat raw with questions. She kicked at the thick duvet for some relief from the stifling heat in the bedroom of the tiny guest cottage she and Imani were forced to share for the night. 

Because, even if she and Terry didn’t adhere to tradition, the women of her family held strong. 

Next to her, Imani grumbled into her pillow before flipping the bedside lamp on with a huff. 

“Damn, Petey, what now? You must wanna look like Frankenstein at the altar tomorrow.” 

“I’m sorry. I can’t get comfortable.” 

“What I gotta do? My arms ain’t big as his but I can be the big spoon. Turn over.”

Imani jokingly cuddled up to Patrice, pretending to be Terry as she spoke to her in a dramatically deep voice. “I love you, girl. You the only woman in the world, girl. Kiss me a hundred times so I don’t melt away, girl!” 

Patrice couldn’t hold back her laughter at her cousin’s silly imitation of a man she’d only just met in person but managed to get his mannerisms down to a science. She was good like that. Always able to break the ice and calm Patrice with a joke, even through troublesome storms. 

Turning in Imani’s arms, Patrice faced her cousin to feel less alone in the world. Imani adjusted her bonnet and looked back with a faint smile. 

“Tell me what’s wrong. You nervous?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“Anxious?” 

“Not that one either.” 

“Worried.” 

Patrice nodded and chewed her bottom lip before answering. “That’s the one.” 

“Spill. You already got me awake. Might as well make it interesting.” 

“I wish I could but, I don’t know what exactly I’m worried about,” she started, shifting to her back to search for answers on the vaulted ceiling. She found nothing. “You think this is all moving too fast? It’s only been a few months. We said we’d wait a year at least.” 

“A year? Three months? Who’s countin’. Those rules are made up.” 

“Yeah, but what about the courting? The whirlwind romance? Being held close while you dance in an empty jazz club tasting champagne on his lips while Etta James plays in the background? What about all that?” 

Imani watched her cousin jump from the bed, waltzing in circles with her head thrown back, treating the empty space between the bedframe and dresser like a palace ballroom. An amused smile tugged at her lips as she sat up to get a better view. 

“Girl,” she exclaimed, laughing and shaking her head to Patrice’s dismay. “None of that shit is real! You watched the Brandy Cinderella one too many times during the pandemic.” 

“Only four times. Five. Six if you count the time we watched it on FaceTime.” 

“That’s why it’s rotting your brain now. How many times you been in love?” 

“Once,” Patrice answered, her mind drifting to Terry and what he might be doing all alone in that room upstairs.

“It’s been three times for me. And guess what?” she questioned, not expecting an answer. “None of them had a formula. Love is illogical, girl. There are no steps or rules or movie scripts to guide you through this shit! It’s about the willingness to give yourself over to something incomprehensible in hopes that you found your person for as long as you can hold on to them.” 

Imani’s rant floated around the room until it began to burrow itself deep into Patrice’s ears in hopes of reaching her brain. She stood there, taking every word in, eyes intently focused on her wise older cousin, knowing she was right yet having a hard time turning that insight into something she could fathom for herself. 

She’d always had a plan that she followed to the letter. She thrived in logical next steps and absolutes. The black and white kept her organized. Routine was her center. But love with Terry? That was different. That was whimsical. That was girlish pining and a botched kiss when they pretended to be a couple for one night during senior prom. It was time away wondering what their bond had become amid infrequent communication and eventual radio silence. Their love was reuniting as adults and running so fast into dizzying passion that she hadn’t time to wrap her mind around what had happened over the last seven months. Their love was intense and scary, beautifully abstract with no rhyme or reason. Nonsensical even. But it worked. 

Scooting to the edge of the bed and standing to her feet, Imani mimicked a chivalrous prince, pulling Patrice into a silly little waltz around the room. “Create your own fairytale, P. Everything doesn’t have to make sense.” 

“You think he misses me?” Patrice asked, her voice so tiny and meek that it almost surprised Imani. “Think he’s thinking about me like I’m thinking about him right now?” 

“Only one way to find out.” 

A mischievous smile spread across Imani’s face as she dashed for her phone. Patrice chased after her, calling for her to stop what she was doing at such a late hour. 

Ordinarily, Terry would be asleep. He was never one to stay up too far beyond the early hours of the night, often dragging Patrice away from a good book to force her to sleep beside him. 

Peaceful slumber, however, had been elusive all night. The moon was too bright. The room? Too hot. He could complain about the bed being a hair too soft or the floorboards creaking too loud whenever someone would sneak down the hallway for a late snack, but all of those would be a deflection from the true issue - he missed Patrice. 

Just as his longing was reaching a tipping point, his phone buzzed against the solid oak nightstand. He had half a mind to ignore the sound. It was likely his mother confirming details yet again or one of his twin sisters finally responding to the engagement video, he thought to himself as he lay on his back staring at the constant revolution of the ceiling fan. 

Then another buzz came accompanied by several more to let him know this was a phone call and only people with emergencies call at that hour. 

He answered without looking at the screen to verify the caller.

“Hello?” He answered, slightly annoyed by the interruption. 

“Terry put some clothes on and come to the cottage. We got an emergency.”

“A what?” 

“Boy, just come on! Skip the third step from the bottom and go out of the side door by the kitchen.” 

Terry wished that sneaking around his fiancée’s family home was among the silliest things he’d done in the middle of the night for a woman. 

He carefully slipped into a hoodie and sneakers before tiptoeing his way down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out of that side door like Imani instructed. The moonlight provided the only guidance down the cobbled pathway leading to a tiny shack at the edge of the property with a little light flipped on in the bedroom. 

Imani watched through the peephole with Patrice hot on her heels, peering over her shoulder as if she could see too. 

Moanie shrugged her away with a harsh whisper. “Girl, get off my ass. He’s coming!” 

Patrice backed away with her hands up in surrender. The wait for his eventual appearance felt like forever. She fiddled with the hem of her nightgown, wondering if he would care that this was all a half-baked scheme to circumnavigate their forced separation. 

Terry ambled up the dirt path with his normal scowl and fists pushed into his pockets to shield his hands from the wind chill. Imani timed his arrival perfectly, swinging the door open before he created a disturbance by knocking. 

“Everything good?” He asked, one eyebrow hiked high as Imani pulled him into the cottage by his arm. 

She stepped back and gestured toward Patrice who stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. 

“I just wanna sleep,” she sighed. “Take her, go in that room, and do whatever y’all do until the morning. Then you gotta dip because I’m not getting in trouble for y’all. My mama will still hit me.” 

Terry’s eyes drifted from Imani to Patrice, catching how she looked nervous under his gaze. He smiled and extended his hand for her to take. 

“C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”

His voice, honied and soothing to her soul, gave Patrice her first rush of comfort in what felt like forever. She placed her palm in his and trailed behind him as he led the way. 

Imani called behind them. “Please, don’t have sex on the bed. I gotta sleep here until Tuesday and I don’t really need that image in my head.” 

“Can’t make any promises but, thank you. I’ll make sure you get the bouquet.” 

“Hard pass. Give it to Moon’s desperate ass. I like to let my fairytales unfold organically.”

She winked at her cousin just before Terry could close the bedroom door to block them from the outside world. 

Wrapped in the midnight hour, they’d finally found peace. 

Patrice watched from the bed as Terry stepped out of his shoes and pulled off his hoodie to expose bare skin to the night air. He slowly crawled in beside her, brushing his fingers against her midsection to guide her against the mattress the way he liked. He pulled her close to his chest to rest his nose in the crook of her neck for a deep inhale of her unique scent. She sighed and pressed even closer, at ease once eyelashes painted butterfly kisses where his warm breath fanned against her skin.

“How’d we get like this,” he laughed once they were settled.  “Can’t even fall asleep without each other.” 

“I still think you put a spell on me in that bathroom. I loved sleeping alone before then.” 

“Had to pull out all the stops for you, baby.” 

“I’m just that fine, huh?”

He chuckled and closed his eyes, already feeling slumber's clutches coming for him in the darkness. His grip around her waist tightened. She trailed her fingers up and down his forearm with her focus on the soft rustle of the linen curtains against the window. Her mind quieted. The room fell silent save for steady, deep breathing and the crickets making music outside. 

“You wanna know something?” 

Terry blinked himself awake to answer. “What?”

“They call me Petey because I had a big crush on Tobey Maguire as Spider-Man one summer,” Patrice admitted in the darkness. “I figure if you’re gonna be my husband by this time tomorrow, you should know.” 

No answer. Only the smack of his lips pulling away from the skin behind her ear in another kiss. He knew not to interrupt her fleeting moment of vulnerability with the silly joke on the tip of his tongue. So, he joined her confessional.

“I used to think Roxanne from A Goofy Movie was fine.”

“The animated dog?”

Terry scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know being attracted to a human spider was better.” 

Their shared laughter reverberated off the walls, uncorking the bottled-up pressure to be present as perfect beings to the world. Terry felt Patrice’s ribcage expand and contract in his embrace as she took a deep breath to release pent-up nerves, silently thanking God that he was the one allowed to mold himself into the curves and contours of her body every night. 

“I want to know more about you.” she requested, sounding like a child asking for a bedtime story. “Tell me something else.” 

So he did. With no hesitation, he told her secrets that seemed so daunting to share until she was the one listening. Anxieties about the future fell from his lips freely, receiving no judgment on the other side. He told her about his fear of clowns and felt his first dose of validation when she agreed that expressionless mimes shouldn’t be around children. The backstory of the small scar on his upper lip was followed by a giggly recollection of the time she put her brother in the dryer to see how long he could spin without getting sick which made him laugh until his abdomen ached. Together they shared uncomfortable memories that introduced intense insecurities, weird theories about the existence of intergalactic forms, and wondered if LeBron James was secretly an android. An elementary game of 21 Questions created a crash course in the entire history of one another. 

They lay there together in a pitch-black room drunk off the jagged, imperfect pieces of each other until their eyes burned with exhaustion and sleep was no longer an option. 

The last thing Terry whispered into Patrice’s ear was a promise to never stop learning about her, to never stop being curious about her likes, dislikes, hopes, and dreams as long as they both lived. She could barely mumble out a worthwhile response but hoped that her gentle hum served as an oath to do the same.

By morning, he was gone. Out into the breeze by first light, leaving only his scent on Imani’s pillow and the fleeting memory of his fingers making a home between Patrice’s legs with whispered praise on his lips as evidence that his presence wasn’t an apparition in the witching hour. Patrice couldn’t resist burying her face into the sheets, squealing and kicking her feet beneath the duvet in elation. 

She was getting married. 

“Y’all are so cute,” Imani swooned, leaning against the bedroom doorframe as she watched her cousin hold a pillow close to her chest like an actress in a romantic drama. “We gotta get you ready, sis! It’s your wedding day!”

People whisked around all morning like busy worker bees, each one darting off to a new place around the estate to fulfill a purpose. Some balanced stacks of white chairs under their arms like magicians to turn a portion of the backyard into a wedding venue. Others hustled through the kitchen’s service door with mounds of ingredients for what could only described as a feast fit for royalty. Women giggled on their way out of the backdoor to meet Patrice and her small entourage to prepare her for a day she’d planned as a girl, but never saw coming together in a dizzying whirlwind such as this. 

In the cottage, women laughed and sipped tea in porcelain cups to go with their fancy hors d'oeuvres on fancier china. The soothing purr from an antique sewing machine placed careful stitches in a beautifully plain satin gown gifted by Imani and Rosalyn to ensure that the garment was made to Patrice’s exact proportions. She was a princess for the day, the world bending to her every whim.

Terry wasn’t so lucky. The bedroom was still too hot and growing even hotter with each unwanted guest moving in and out with more questions than he thought he needed to answer. He wanted a moment to write out heartfelt vows with pen and paper but found himself so frustrated with the whole production that he slammed his writing utensil against the writing desk in the corner and cursed at the wall. 

Another visitor tsk’d behind him. “Boy, you better not let Mama hear you talkin’ like that.”

”She’d pull that ear clean off the side of your head!” 

Equally raspy voices made Terry sigh with relief before he stood to his feet. As two almost identical copies of their mother, Zorah and Zanah were Terry’s first loves. He remembered the day they entered into the world. So precious and honey brown with striking chocolate eyes that could make him bend to their will without a word. He watched them mature through the world like their hired security, never letting harm come to a single hair on their head. He wiped tears, kissed scrapes, and played with dolls like a third parent. When they went their separate ways to grow into adults with individual hopes and dreams, he cried in secret like he’d been the one to birth them. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged his baby sisters but he knew he’d never needed their embrace quite like he needed it in that moment. They hugged him back, two sets of arms wrapping him up in a quiet group hug until he’d had his fill. 

“How is this supposed to be the happiest day of your life and you’re in here cussin’ and breathing all heavy,” Zorah, the oldest of the pair, asked as she cleared her brother’s face of invisible debris. 

She’d always acted as his surrogate mother despite being six years his junior. The everpresent pillar of stability, she left home as soon as she could to explore the other side of the country at UCLA in hopes of studying the ins and outs of music performance. Tall and athletic with long dark locs, her voice became her calling card, but her big brother knew her as a young lady that was once too afraid to sing in the children’s choir at church. 

“You know how Terry is. He think he Obama. All serious for no reason sometimes.”

“That’s not true.” 

“You’re right,” she conceded. “You never gon’ be fine as Obama.” 

Zanah was the hell raiser. Loud and full of energy with an afro big enough to block the sun, she lived to tease her older brother. A zest for bold flavors that could bring even the worst enemies together for a good meal sent her in search of the best culinary school their parents could afford. If you could dream it, she could make it appear in the kitchen with little effort. Terry admired her for her gift, but couldn’t stand her poking and prodding at his expense. 

He kissed his teeth and broke free from their short-lived period of civility. “Treece and the girls are out back. She’ll be happy to see y’all. Zo, get the rings from Daddy as soon as you can. You know how he gets.” 

The twins rolled their eyes at each other while watching Terry pout on his way back to the writing desk for another crack at his speech. Zorah was the first to move with Zanah bringing up the rear. 

She stood over his shoulder to take stock of what he’d managed to write in his time alone. Half sentences and scribbled words scratched through several times over littered the page as if a madman had gotten ahold of his journal. Something about how much he cherished her but with far too much Shakespearean language to be sincere made Zanah giggle behind him.

She sat on the edge of the desk, pretending to judge his work. “Are you writing your vows or the sequel to Romeo and Juliette?” 

“Zanah, please. Pick with me after all of this is done. I can’t deal with the stress right now.”

An invisible weight seemed to push Terry into a defeated hunch, forcing his head into his hands as he angrily rubbed at his eyes. His stress tick was back and more ferocious than ever. Zorah flanked his other side and gave her twin a look of concern before looking back at him.

“Wanna pretend we’re Patrice to practice?” 

He sighed. “No, not really.” 

“Don’t be like that. We won’t tell and you gotta get a move on these vows. It’s a win-win.” 

Terry sat back in his chair to mull over their proposition. A practice run couldn’t hurt. At worst, he’d rid himself of the useless mass of words clogging his brain. 

“Fuck,” he conceded, pushing back from the desk with a loud scrape across the wooden floor. “Look, be nice. If I say something stupid or too mushy just let me finish, alright?” 

“It wouldn’t be nothing we ain’t heard you writing poems about before,” Zanah laughed along with Zorah. 

Terry showed her both of his middle fingers with a smirk as he walked to the center of the room. His days as an amateur poet were a well-kept secret that only his family was forced to witness. One day, when he and Patrice were old and grey, he’d reveal a shoebox full of terrible musings in her honor.

Taking a needed inhale through his nose and long exhale through his mouth, Terry prepared to ramble through his feelings. 

“When I try to imagine my life without you, my mind goes blank. It’s kinda like when you get an error message on a computer or something. No images, no search results, nothing. Empty.” Terry began to pace, finding inspiration in the back-and-forth motion. 

Zorah pressed for more. “Why?”

“I’m not supposed to imagine life without you, Patrice. I don’t want to experience another birthday or Christmas, Earth Day, Juneteenth, shit anything if you’re not there. I prayed for you.” Terry didn’t anticipate getting choked up until the sensation brought with it a lump in his throat. All of the instances he’s asked God for guidance in matters of the heart came rushing back to his remembrance with only one answer at every turn. “Trying to imagine an existence without you feels like I’m telling God that bringing you back to me wasn’t enough.”

His eyes flashed up to his sisters, finding them in the throws of emotion right along with him. 

“Keeping going. Bring it home,” Zanah encouraged. “Give her the fireworks, loverboy!”

Terry laughed through misty vision. “I’m excited to spend the rest of our days together. Tonight, I’m promising you a lifetime of my protection, my devotion, and my desire to show up every single day to make our time together worth the wait. Thank you for choosing me, baby. Let me work on making sure you never regret that decision.” 

A slow clap took over the room, first from two sets of hands that Terry expected, making his shoulder slump from relief. 

“Shit, now I gotta remember all that.” 

“Don’t worry, we recorded,” Zorah assured.

But there was still applause. He whipped his head around to investigate the extra spectators and found his parents beaming from the room’s threshold. 

Diedra spoke up first as she made a beeline for her son. “Oh my God, oh my God! This is really happening. My baby is about to be somebody’s husband.” She claimed his face with her hands, distributing doting kisses on both of his cheeks. “Beautiful vows. Remind me of your father’s.” 

“Not nearly as eloquent,” Marvin laughed, joining the conversation. “Matter of fact, I don’t think I got past the to have and to hold portion without stuttering. The pastor had to move us along because I was so tongue-tied.” 

“Yeah, but the feeling is the same. Your heart’s in the right place.”

“Not right now,” Terry laughed before kissing her forehead. “My heart is in my ass, Mama. Stomach too.” 

The Richmond family laughed harmonious laughs, providing the first bit of ease Terry had felt all morning. 

Marvin reached out to grab his boy’s shoulder for a small squeeze. In all his wildest dreams, he couldn’t have imagined a better man than Terrence had become. All the rearing, the man-to-man talks, the tough love, and every stern redirection had become another foundational brick in not only a worthwhile man but a spectacular human. 

He looked around the room at his girls and wife, trying to hide the overwhelming rush of emotion tightening his chest. “Can you ladies give us a moment?”

Zanah released a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, here we go. They about to cry a river in here. Come on, y’all. Patrice says they’re opening another bottle of champagne and you know I don’t like to miss hearing a cork pop.” 

“You honestly need to talk to somebody about that.” 

“We talk all the time, Zo!”

Time winding down turned advice into a hot commodity, transcending social groups as the sunset drew closer. Everyone had an opinion, an unsolicited tidbit on how to navigate the peaks and valleys of marriage. A hodgepodge of dos and don’ts thrown out like casual information whether Patrice wanted it or not. 

Don’t go to bed angry. Have sex every night. Make sure there’s a separate account for personal emergencies. Keep the kids out of your bed. Some were helpful, others mostly nothing but projections and special circumstances veiled as some sage secret that Patrice and Terry should offer special thanks for receiving.

Nerves were turning into embers of annoyance. By late afternoon, they’d both requested for rooms to be emptied and questions to cease. They’d had enough. No more information. No more guidance. Anything left to learn was up to the test of time, not a bunch of people who meant well, but would ultimately return to their own lives with no say so in what went on between the newlyweds.

Reprieve came when the white chairs were in perfect rows on either side of a flower-lined aisle, ties were neatly draped underneath starched button-up collars, and dresses were pressed to perfection. The sun had begun to dive behind the clouds, leaving the sky full of pink and orange hues. A half-moon hung high in the sky as if it were invited to witness a show made especially for the cosmos. Guests took their seats without care given to which side belonged to the groom or bride. They were all family now. A beautiful mix of lineages and temperaments bonded for as long as Patrice and Terry saw fit. 

At the altar, Sybil stood under two Spanish moss trees towering high above the rest, her gray hair pulled up into an ornate headwrap that matched her dress. She smiled up at both trees as if saying hello to living, breathing beings before asking stragglers to take their seats. 

From the kitchen’s sliding door, Terry bounced on his toes, waiting on his cue to step into the early autumn chill. A tailored suit hugged him close, finally fulfilling its duty to carry him down a path lined with his love's favorite flowers to forever bond himself to the woman handpicked for his unwavering fidelity. 

This was the moment. Fate had willed it so. He wouldn’t turn back for any reason. Destiny had come knocking and he welcomed her in with open arms. 

Dreamy chords from a baby grand piano served as the soundtrack to his final walk as a single man. Measured steps carried him forward, his chest puffed with pride and his shoulders rolled back in the type of relaxed confidence only afforded to people who had no doubt that they were on the exact path they’d been ordained to traverse.

Candles and soft, white light from paper lanterns hanging nearby provided romantic theatrics to accompany his every step. Voices whispered, some calling his name, others leaving comments as he passed. In his periphery, he caught a glimpse of his family. DeeDee’s eyes welled with happy tears as Marvin rubbed her back for comfort. His sisters, both beside themselves with excitement, flashed Terry a look at the wedding bands as a final check-in on their whereabouts. 

At the altar, Junior waited for his arrival as his best man. Terry had requested his presence during a surprisingly heartfelt conversation where Junior had all but lifted his brother-in-law off of his feet to show his appreciation. 

“I love my sister, man.” He repeated over and over under the spell of brunch liquor. “I’m happy it’s you, T. I’m happy it’s you for my sister, man.” 

Junior tapped his right hand over his chest and nodded at Terry, jumping right back into the masculine display of affection that had escaped him when no one else was around. 

Patrice watched it all unfold as she carefully made her way into the kitchen at the tail end of a secret mission to hide her from her husband. Imani trailed her with a bouquet of blue hydrangeas in one hand and the train of her dress in the other. If not for her heels clacking against the black and white tile on the floor, Patrice was sure that her cousin could hear her heart thudding against her sternum. 

“Alright, girl, this is where I leave you,” Imani spoke, a small smile forming as she took another look at Patrice. She tucked a stray curl back into place and presented her with the flowers. “You look beautiful, P. Stunning. My friend is all grown up. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you, Imani. For everything. Let’s not allow too much time to pass before we see each other again, okay?” 

“Of course. I’ll be back for Christmas. But, don’t focus on me. You gotta get down the aisle, Mrs. Richmond.” 

Patrice sighed and grinned at the mention of her new last name. “I can’t believe this is happening.” 

“Believe it, baby! It’s time.” 

A final hug connected the two before Imani was out of the door and comically announcing the bride’s arrival before taking her place as maid of honor.

She stood behind that glass door, beaming as all in the area stood in anticipation of her entrance. 

You fix your makeup just so

Guess you don’t know that you’re beautiful 

Try on every dress that you own 

You were fine in my eyes a half hour ago

Terry had mentioned the song in passing once, commenting on how he heard it in a department store and found John Legend kind of corny. What he didn’t mention was that he was in the department store getting fitted for the very suit he wore as he watched Patrice walk toward him and how he took the song as a sign that he was doing exactly what God intended. 

That cheesy song from a cheesier artist was the reason he was dabbing at the corners of his eyes with his knuckles to stop the incoming tears. 

In a lovely satin dress with a high halter neck, Patrice was the center of attention. Imani had specifically chosen a white dress without any reverence for outdated tradition. If her girl was to be wed, she’d be in the appropriate color, no doubt. A split in the front was a personal gift to Terry, a peek at her oiled legs with each step immediately catching his attention.

Her bantu knots were unraveled, leaving behind shiny, bouncy curls that framed her face just right. Soft makeup enhanced ancestral facial features. Minimal jewelry kept the look tailored to her flare for the understated. 

When she waved at Terry, he waved back with a smile so wide that it made his cheeks burn. In all of her glory, every perfect inch from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, was his to cherish. 

And this evening, I won’t let the feeling die 

I never wanna leave your side

Before the music could fade to make way for the ceremony, Terry had already found himself unable to hold back emotion. His fingertips were damp with tears as he assisted Patrice onto the low platform. 

“Sorry,” he whispered while she pulled the handkerchief from his breast pocket and used it to clean his face. “Think they got all this in the photos?”

“I hope so. Might get a couple wallet-sized prints to carry in my purse.” 

Patrice chucked as she tucked the pale blue fabric behind her bouquet’s stem and smoothed Terry’s collar. He captured her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. 

Sybil cleared her throat. “We aren’t at that part yet, but I love the enthusiasm. Should we get to the good stuff?” 

Patrice hoped the good stuff was captured in ultra HD on a camera somewhere. She couldn’t bring herself to care about the flowery words and intricate language. She tried her hardest to listen for her name to avoid embarrassing herself in front of everyone hoping to see something movie-like unfold in front of their eyes. But seeing the light etch beautiful reflections and shadows on Terry’s skin was all she could lend her focus to in the moment. 

Luckily, she made it through her vows without stumbling, even managing a joke that garnered a communal chuckle. 

“Honestly, we’re lucky this is happening now instead of at 18 like you said you wanted. I got to see Juicy J at homecoming one year and that wouldn’t have happened if I was chasing behind you in my 20s. You cute but not miss a Juicy J concert cute.”

She listened to Terry sniffle his way through heartfelt lines, occasionally wiping under his eyes to clear his vision. He gripped her hand tight and bathed her in a gaze so intense it sent a shiver down her spine. 

What she was present for, however, was the grand finale. 

“Do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?” Sybil asked Terry though she was already sure of his answer. 

His top lip almost disappeared from being stretched so wide in his smile. “I do.” 

Sure as he knew his first name, Terry affirmed his decision with two words and all of his teeth on display. Sybil looked to Patrice, finally seeing her niece as a woman and not the little girl that kept her on her toes every summer. 

She took a deep breath and then laughed. “Lord, now I’m crying!” The family laughed, some using the moment to wipe away their own tears. “Okay, I’m back. Do you take this man to be your husband -” 

“Yes! I do! I mean you can finish if you need to, but that’s my answer. One billion times, yes.”

There was no need. Under the twinkle of ancestors acting as stars and God showing his splendor in the marvelous brightness of the moon, man and woman became one. Mr. and Mrs. Richmond, free to jump hand in hand over a small, decorated broom to honor the folks that had come before them.

Well wishes came in abundance. Gifts big, small, and monetary spilled from a small table onto the rug beneath. Toasts became the preferred way to start a conversation. Buttons and ties had come undone from tight collars. High heels swapped for sensible shoes. Couples already squarely in the mature stages of partnership rushed to slow dance in the center of the communal area between tables. Pictures memorialized a wondrous occasion. They’d sign official paperwork another day. Tonight was for celebration.

While the party raged on, Patrice and Terry sat in the center of the table wrapped up in one another. His chin rested in the palm of her hand as he watched her lips move in time with the lyrics to a line dance song her parents led on the makeshift dancefloor. Her fingernails gently scratched at his jaw, an absentminded habit she’d picked up recently. He nudged her temple with his forehead like a cat begging for affection. 

“Hmm,” she hummed, not looking in his direction. He repeated his actions to receive the attention he craved. She finally looked over and giggled. “What, baby?” 

“Nothing. Just wanted you to look at me.” 

Patrice pressed her nose to Terry’s before placing a soft kiss on his full bottom lip. “Let’s get away from here for a second. Follow me.” 

Without question, Terry allowed Patrice to tug him along, past the throngs of dancing guests, away from music blasting out of jumbo speakers, down a shallow hill, and to a small lake shimmering in the night. 

He held her steady when she stopped short to remove her heels, saying something about needing to feel the grass between her toes. She jogged the rest of the way to the lake with Terry holding her shoes and taking long strides to catch up. 

She carefully lifted her dress before stepping into the water, only allowing it to cover the sides of her feet as she tilted her chin to the sky. Terry watched her with a placid grin and low eyelids. 

“You having fun,” he asked as he placed her belongings on a tree stump and stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

“Mhm. You?” 

“Yeah. I am.” 

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” 

He watched her for a few seconds more, admiring the way she seemed to salute every piece of nature in the vicinity. 

“You know, we didn’t get a first dance.” 

Patrice stopped creating ripples in the water with her toes and looked over at Terry. “Oh shit, we didn’t, huh? Wanna go back and do that? I don’t even have a song picked out. Slipped my mind, I guess.” 

“Nah, it’s cool,” he answered, still smiling. “We can dance right here.” 

He presented his hand for her grab, pulling her from the lake with care until she was up against his chest. They swayed to nothing for a second while Terry fiddled with his phone to find something worthy of their time. Patrice closed her eyes to listen to the breeze, more content with the wind as a soundtrack than she expected. 

Soon, Etta James came rolling through his phone’s speakers. 

Terry dropped one hand just above Patrice’s backside, the other wrapping around her back to lead them in a slow dance. A waltz of sorts in the blue moonlight. 

Her hands snaked up to the top of his head and pulled him as close as he could be, his nose so tight against her neck she could feel the slight suction and release from every breath. 

They stayed there, moving side to side under Etta James’s sweet song of found love until all distractions faded and left them in the fullness of each other. 

Patrice angled her head upwards as Terry kissed along her collarbone. Then her ear. Her cheek, her nose, and, finally, her lips. 

As he said I love you without words, Patrice tried to place the sweet taste of citrus and apple on his tongue. Was it dessert? Maybe her lip gloss or the fancy compote from their dinner plate? 

No, none of those. 

She closed her eyes tighter to taste more. There it was. The ghost of her fantasy. The secret marker of her one true love. 

Champagne.

---

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl @ariiijestertheklown

[mooncalf87]

so I have been writing the ghosts for about two years now and I have actually gotten a good handful of people asking how I write each ghost so well SO I'm going to break each character down simply here!!!!

Thor: Thors first language isn't English, so its okay to make is dialog a little silly just like in the show. He's a big tough man but he also has a huge soft spot make sure to incorporate that if need be

Sass: Sass is the youngest main gang ghost- he died at 25. He is not a wise old elder, he is closer to being a kid then any other of the main ghosts. He is still learning new things every day and is still stuck in his nearly fully developed mind, remember that!!

Isaac: he's smart! He may seem silly and goober like at times- AND HE IS- but he is also very smart. He want to Dartmouth, he was an attorney!!! He knows what he's talking about!!! He is also from the 1700s so he doesn't really use words like "gonna" or "yeah" or modern slang as much as the other ghosts do

Hetty: Despite being the character i write the most, I think Hetty is the hardest to write. She has arguably had the most character development out of any ghost- ranging from her marriage, to her children, and even her death- Hetty is constantly changing and growing very visibly with the show. Apply that to her in writing! And just like Isaac she uses old-timey words and no slang. She also doesn't like vowels

Alberta: Alberta is from the roaring twentys. The years where everyone was throwing out the old and bringing in the new! Alberta is a party girl, she's outgoing and self obsessed (which is not necessarily a bad thing) but she also cares about her other ghosts, more then I think any of us can tell. She also moves a lot, her body language represents a lot of what she is thinking and saying- same for Hetty

Flower: Flower died high, but she is still a person. I've seen lots of people, including myself, dehumanize her and treat her as some sort of puppy. She is, sometimes, like a silly little kid- but she is also a fully grown woman who can do things for herself!! Flower got into law school, she is incredibly smart!!!!!

Pete: Pete is a father. He is a parent and a protector, he is constantly guiding his troop and his family! He is the second oldest of all the ghosts and has always been the troop leader, he is constantly in the background of everything and he ALMOST NEVER chooses sides. But he isn't just a wet towel, we've seen him literally bitch punch Thor!! He is also a HUGE hand talker and is always shifting from foot to foot

Trevor: he is a bitch but he is also very incredibly smart, just like Flower. He worked on Wall Street, he went to Pen. He is much smarter then we give him credit for! He usually has his hands clasped infront of him like Pete, but he is also a hand talker! He cares a lot about everyone, especially the younger ghosts + hetty

NOW remember these are just what I make sure to apply to them while writing!!!! Remember to find your own writing style and character projections :3 you can find my ghosts fics on Ao3 under Mooncalf87!!!!

[luffysinterlude]

This is my first time requesting something so I don’t really know how to do it lol but would you be able to write a shanks x reader where shanks is readers captain and confesses to her? Thank you!

SOULTIES. . .

★ summary: shanks confesses his love for you. (fem!reader)

★ warnings: one piece antics, ooc!shanks, reader is extroverted, angst if you squint, idiots in love, reader and shanks might’ve manifested each other (soulmates basically), assassin!reader, fluff/somewhat suggestive (thanks beckmann!!), WC: ≈1.8K…is this a drabble?!

★ an: never really thought abt writing for shanks so thank you for this request! i tried my best so i hope its somewhat something you wanted, anon! ^^

shank’s sure you’re secretly a witch that has some sort of past-life soul tie to him.

he thinks maybe it’s because he’s somewhat always drawn to you; it’s subtle, but whenever he feels your presence near him, he searches for your figure. it’s also somewhat obvious, to everyone but you. maybe you did know of his infatuation with you, maybe you didn’t.

but shanks felt his life change the day you were found hiding in his ship, demanding that he and his men accept you, claiming you have nothing else better to do with your time and that you’ve always wanted to explore the world. he didn’t have much of a choice, considering the red-haired pirates had already been at sea for three days since their last stop.

you snuck on the red force during a party thrown by locals for the pirates, hiding in a supply closet, discovered by the right-hand man of the captain. at first, you were worried of what they might do to you, but then remembered that they were just men.

“well, sweets,” the man said. “i’m sure a woman wouldn’t just waltz her way onto a very notorious pirate ship and not know how to fend for herself…?”

you smirk at him, a spark in your eyes as the tone of your voice held a slight challenge. “i was trained to be an assassin.”

it was then he felt a sudden shift in the air, chuckling at your remark. he’s always up for a new challenge.

“well, we got a reason to party boys!”

again, he’s sure there’s a past-life connection between the two of you. (he thought how easily he was able to trust you, after blacking out.)

+x+

it’s been two years since you’ve joined the red-haired pirates, time flying as you enjoy the thrills of life. you’ve never felt this free before, coming from a noble family and being able to escape thanks to a certain red-haired man. you’ve dreamed of life feeling this way since you were a little girl, wondering what beauties your family had kept hidden from you.

you’ve learned so much. you’ve experienced so much. truth be told, you’re not sure if life could feel any better than this. though, you do wonder what would happen if you fell in love.

you’ve been courted by many suitors your entire life, growing up only to be taught two things: how to kill, and how to be a wife. the word love was something you associated with the tortures of your old self, but you feel as if you’re finally ready to experience it on your own; without people in your ear scolding you on how to act and how to ‘love’. you think you have a grasp of what the feeling feels like, but you’re still somewhat unsure.

you’ve accepted that your next suitor — someone you already know — is someone who won’t make you feel restricted or tied down. you’ve decided that you deserve nothing but the best treatment, and so far on this journey of freedom, one charming pirate captain has set your standards to the sky.

“food for thought?” a familiar voice breaks your thoughts as you blink back to consciousness, your eyes focusing on the waves in front of you. you’re standing on the observation deck of the red force, a light breeze brushing through your [h/c] locks as your captain stands next to you. in his hand there’s half of a cookie, a giggle escaping your throat when you notice it.

“is said food present?” you reply back, taking the half-eaten sweet treat anyway. a small chuckle reaches your ears as he leans over the railing, eyes watching the smooth waves. it’s night time now, stars sprinkling the sky. “just thinking,” you answer his question.

captain shanks. the shanks. a name that’s feared by many, though it’s one that brings you peace and joy. he’s a charming man, always looking out for not only his crew, but friend and foe alike. your mind can’t help but start thinking about marineford, the first time you’ve ever seen shanks in the flesh. a beautiful man, you first thought. a powerful one at that too. he looks like freedom.

“hmm. you shouldn’t let your thoughts consume you so much.” he states. it’s late and he knows he should be resting, but for some reason he wasn’t able to ease his restlessness. when he saw your figure out on deck, he then knew it was you keeping him up. “not sure what you’re thinking so hard about but if you need a reminder: you’re everything everyone says you are — powerful, beautiful, and intelligent according to the tabloids. a threat to the world, you’re quite the star.”

his words make heat rush to your cheeks, a sudden wave of nervousness hitting you. your relationship with the captain has always been full of back and forth teasing with a few intimate gazes, but to hear him state a compliment so sweet to you makes you want to shy away. instead, you put your brave face on, and return the gesture.

“yeah? and how does the big and scary emperor ease his mind on nights like this?” or maybe not. you internally cringe at your comeback, a feeling of disappointment lingering wishing you had said something more flirty, but as your eyes finally find the captain’s face, a tint of pink painted his cheeks.

“well this big and scary emperor, usually finds something — or someone — to spend his time with,” this time, shank’s the one cringing internally, the weight of his words settling on him. great, now she must think i’m a whore, he thinks.

you realize you’re both tip-toeing around each other. you both want to say something — which usually isn’t this hard — but you’re also both unsure of how the other feels, so you’re holding back.

you sigh as you physically feel your guard being lifted.

“i wonder…” you start quietly. “how it feels to be in love.”

shank’s eyebrows raise at your confession, something he’s never been told before. he’s had plenty of interactions with women — lovely ones at that — but he’s never heard a woman speak of love so vulnerably. he turns his body to face you, arm resting against the railing of the deck. he takes in your side view, the moon shining down on you so brightly.

and then he feels it, a feeling so foreign yet so familiar to him.

you suddenly turn to face him, eyes catching his in a soft gaze. he looks different, you think. the way his eyes shine brightly from the moon’s rays. the way his hair seemed to be brighter as well, despite the lack of light. you tilt your head, silently questioning his silence, wondering if you had said something stupid.

“have you ever been in love, captain?” you ask, watching as his eyes widen slightly, your question throwing him off guard.

one of the things shanks admires about you is your curiosity. in the time he’s been around you, he’s noticed many things about you — how you love dancing, eating [f/d], scolding the boys — but your curiosity makes you different from everyone else. people always assume you’re just nosey and full of gossip, but really, you’re just curious.

he’s never heard of you spreading rumors or telling lies, so he knows how genuine you are.

sure, you might overstep boundaries with some people, but shanks never minded answering your questions. you’ve confided in him before, telling him how your parents basically shielded you from the outside world. how caged in you felt.

“i think…” shanks starts. he steps closer to you, staring down at you. stars reflect in his eyes as he cradles your cheek suddenly, your body relaxing under his touch. “that’s the feeling i feel when i’m around you.”

you let out a choked breath at his sudden confession, the world around you both going silent. your eyes are wide and your jaw is slightly wide, chest swelling with warmth.

the captain who’s been helping you to experience true freedom just confessed something so delicate to you.

you’re unsure what to say. it hits you so hard that you feel tears well in your eyes and you feel your throat go dry.

“y-you — you what?!” you say. “you can’t just say something like that out of nowhere, idiot!” you scold the tall man, his eyes closing as he chuckled at your reaction. “sorry, cap’n. got a lil carried away there…but do you mean it?” you ask, averting your gaze away from his.

he rubs his thumb across your cheek, looking at you with eyes full of love, as if he’s trying to imprint this image in his head. he thinks about all the teasing the both of you throw, how you’ve never been scared to bite back. he thinks about the times he’s watched you publicly shame men who make you disgusted in bars, how your strength impresses him every time. he thinks about the times where he’s been lucky enough to witness you on the battlefield, so full of life despite being surrounded by death.

“yes.” he finally answers, the tension suddenly gone. “you’ve always been so curious about others, it’s made me curious in you. i’ve watched you grow over the past two years and somewhere along the way,”

“i fell in love with you. the way you naturally take on responsibility and the way you’re not scared of anything. i fell in love with the way you’ve faced death with a smile on your face, how optimistic you are.”

“i fell in love with the way you look in the mornings, the afternoons, and the evenings. and for the first time ever, i’m seeing you this late at night. and you look as beautiful as ever.”

“i fell in love with your presence, how you’re able to shift the energy in the air wherever you go. i’m not sure you even realize your effect in the places we visit. you bring such a lovely, warm spirit into the room, you have no idea how many bad days you’ve turned good.”

his words made you sick. your breathing got heavy as he confessed everything he’s learned to love about you, and a feeling you’ve desperately tried forgetting crawled its way back into your chest.

this time, your body accepted the feeling and for the first time in your life, your body filled with love. a warmth that’s somewhat familiar but so distant. something that’s new, almost sort of a craving you didn’t know you were capable of having.

and then, you kissed your captain.

you hoped he felt the love you had for him, words not being enough to describe the emotions running through you. he kissed you back; hand grasping the back of your head gently, pulling you closer to him.

you threw your hands around his neck, shanks’ body jerked forward, his eyes slightly widening at your strength. he relaxed and smiled into the kiss, giving you one last peck before pulling away from your grasp — before you accidentally hurt him.

“what? never handled a strong woman before?” you tease, smiling at his small tumble backwards. “i think i feel love when i’m around you too.”

+x+

the next morning, a tired shanks dragged himself into the dining area, pouring himself a cup of coffee. he fails to notice beckmann sitting across from him, too lost in his thoughts; the previous night replaying in his head.

“you’re an asshole,” beckmann starts. “i get you all had a great night, but not everyone needed auditory confirmation.”

★ an: ahhh!! ty for reading ^^ please feel free to request head canon scenarios!! i’ve never written for shanks so i hope i did him somewhat justice…as always, constructive criticism is always appreciated and welcomed!!

[munson-blurbs]

Hi! I’d like to send a request for the Meet-Cute anniversary event! I’d like to be paired with Eddie! My pronouns are she/her. I’d describe myself as extroverted, funny (if I do say so myself 😌💅🏾), and very upbeat! I love history, literature, and music. I don’t know what other details to include BUT I do wear glasses, if that’s relevant.

Your meet cute happens at the Renaissance Faire! Hope you like it 💚

CW: reader wears a dress WC: 534 A/N: Thank you to @pastel-pillows for helping me with Eddie's costume and @storiesbyrhi for helping me with the dialogue! Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

The weekend of Indianapolis’ Renaissance Faire was, in your opinion, the best time of year.

You always went as a kid, your eyes wide as you took in all of the sights, sounds, and smells. Now as a young adult, you actually got to work there. Two full days of wearing a flowy Elizabethan gown while eating discounted turkey legs and speaking in the tongue of the realm? Forget Disneyland; this was your happiest place on Earth.

Your role this year was to stand just beyond the gates and point guests in the right direction. It was easy enough; you liked talking to people and complimenting their costumes. Not to mention that the other performer you’d been paired with was easy on the eyes, to say the least.

Frizzy brunette curls spilled from beneath his flat Tudor cap and fell just below his shoulders. He wore an oversized white t-shirt, its hem cut to be curved, and brown slacks tucked into black boots. A brown leather belt was wrapped around his lithe waist and strapped a costume-store sword to his torso.  

He introduced himself as Eddie the Banished—though you weren’t quite sure where he was banished from. You’d been working side by side for the last three hours, and he’d only left to grab food from a nearby stall. Even then, he hadn’t broken character, continuing to speak as though he had been plucked straight from the Renaissance itself. 

Eddie the Banished also happened to be Eddie the Impossibly Cute and Charming, with quick wit that matched your own. He wasn’t quick, however, in hiding the Steak on a Stake he was trying to inconspicuously eat while still on the clock. 

“Mr. Munson.” Your shift supervisor, Melinda, came marching across the grass. She gave Eddie a pointed glare, not wanting to publicly reprimand him and draw attention to his unprofessionalism. 

Eddie turned to you with exaggerated panic. “The witch has sensed that I’ve procured nourishment!” He exclaimed, lowering the food from her line of vision.

“So save the rest until your break,” you said. 

His eyes widened in mock horror. “In this time of famine?” Eddie shook his head, but sweet smile betrayed any air of annoyance he tried conveying. “I cannot believe a beautiful maiden would suggest such foolishness.”

Beautiful. The compliment warmed you more than the sun shining up above. “Perhaps this beautiful maiden will purchase some sustenance for you, presuming the witch doesn’t have your head on a stake first.”

Eddie cocked one brow and took another sneaky bite of his food. “It appears we have a modern woman on our hands,” he mused. “But who am I, a mere peasant, to turn down her advances?”

You laughed at his feigned contemplation. “Even a mere peasant deserves a reward for a long day’s work.” Letting your hand rest on his shoulder, you continued. “Especially when he has spent the time keeping me thoroughly entertained.”

“With pleasure.” Eddie gave a small bow. He glanced around before lowering his voice to ask, “and maybe the fair maiden will allow me to treat her to a frozen confection?”

Smiling, you leaned in and kissed his cheek. “It would be an honor, Eddie the Banished.”

--

[mrsparrasblog]

hi srry if you don't do requests but I have to ask cuz I love everything about your writing.

Can u write a fic where the mc is strictly monogamous but 141 are SO madly in love so they fight on who gets to be with her and it's causing actual problems between them?

Ignored this if u don't want to. Anyway stay slaying✨

Hey ☀️🩷 Ofc I take requests this is my first one tho, I hope you like It, and it's like you imagined because I always have like a little movie in my head when I write a scene and with requests. I don't know if my thoughts match with yours- performance anxiety lol. Still thank you for supporting me 🩷☀️

Fighting for you

TF 141 x Reader

You always had that one plan in your life: meet a nice guy, date for 2 years, marry him with the most extravagant wedding dress someone could imagine, and after that, you get three fat babies whom you will love and dote on.

The only problem was, as a nurse on a military base, you didn't meet guys capable of this lifestyle. You hated to see all these men trying to get in your pants while they were married.

"Why are you in the med again, Johnny?" You scolded him. Of course, you found the Scotsman funny and liked his daily visits, but still, having him here all the time felt like a lost puppy when you had work to do.

"Look, Bonnie, have a mean scratch, need stitches from ya."

"Is that so, Mr. MacTavish?"

"Yes, Bonnie, look." He showed you a scar on his biceps, and you sighed. You knew he was only coming for something else; no soldier went to the medical just because of a scratch. He started to flex his biceps.

"Johnny, that's barely anything."

"But ya always fix me good, lassie." He looked at you with puppy eyes, and you sighed, disinfecting his nonexistent wound. "Such a good caretaker, lass. Need to put a ring on ya before someone else does." You blushed at the thought of marrying someone like Johnny. He was handsome, funny, and super strong, but he was a flirt, probably flirting with every other nurse. Besides, you had a date today.

"Johnny, stop flirting. I have a date today."

"Just a date, lass. It's not like you'll marry him."

You stared at him with a dead glare. "For some people, dates are important, Johnny!"

"Who is it?"

"None of your business, and now leave," you scolded him, annoyed by his noisy behavior.

-----------

"Who of you bastards broke the agreement?" Johnny started to scream at his teammates.

"What do you mean, Soap?" Kyle asked, confused.

"We agreed that no one can have her since she doesn’t want to share, so who of you tossers broke the agreement and goes on a date with her?"

"How do you even know that mate, if you didn’t break the agreement too?"

"I just needed her to take care of my injuries, Kyle."

"Bullshit, you barely got a scratch. Admit that you wanted to break off the agreement too. Admit it." Gaz barked, walking towards Soap to pick him up by his shirt.

"Enough of you, Muppets!"

"You broke the agreement, Captain, didn't ya? Telling us all about the agreement and then taking out my future wife."

"I didn't, and even if, she'd be more happy to become Mrs. Price than Mrs. MacTavish."

They were so close to fighting; everyone accused the other of taking you on that date. They remembered the first day they saw you; all of them were smitten. You were just too precious, full of love and excitement. Perfect hair, perfect body, everything about you was perfect for them. You could walk with your greasy messy bun, and they’d kneel for you, promising you’re the most beautiful woman on earth. After a while, they noticed how every one of them was smitten, how Johnny spent every minute in the infirmary, Ghost becoming your shadow, protecting you from every danger of the world without you even knowing, the Captain always treated you better than every other staff member, you had more off days, better shifts, and even better pay, and Kyle bringing you always your favorite coffee and a bunch of pastries when you overworked yourself again.

Johnny was the first one to ask the rest if they’d be open to a poly relationship. He was the most open about his sexuality, and having Simon and you was the perfect thing for him. Whether the reasons why they agreed to try to court you in this relationship, every one of them thought you only deserved the best, and that included being worshiped by four muscular men.

Unfortunately, your best friend, who noticed their goal while you still stayed in your naive bubble, popped their bubble, telling them to sod off. You weren’t made for this kind of relationship; you were jealous and liked the idea of monogamy way too much. You only wanted to have one husband. That's how the agreement started none of them will pursue you, and they will only start something with you if you approach them, no more flirting, favoritism, or looming over you.

Nonetheless, they gave a fuck about their agreement, behind closed doors still trying to court you in various different ways, but how could they not? You were perfect, and they were obsessed and way too much in love with you to let someone else have you.

"Where the fuck is Ghost?" Kyle asked, looking around for the scary man with the skull face mask.

"Fucking hell, he is her date."

"Sick bastard."

------

Soap walked into Ghost's barracks, eager to scream at his best friend. He was the first to love you, so Ghost should not have gone on a date with you without telling him. The betrayal felt immaculate, his best friend with the love of his life.

"Aye, Lieutenant, heard you're going on a date with the lassie."

"Johnny, it just happened."

"No hard feelings, LT. Where are you taking her?"

"Alfredo's."

"Oh, okay."

Simon looked confused at Johnny. "What's wrong?"

"Take her to a better place a steakhouse or a fish restaurant. Give her a real meal, not something cheap. Lassies love this fancy shit."

"Thanks, mate."

---------------

Your date with Ghost was okay. He was brooding over something, and as he insisted on ordering something for you as a surprise, despite you telling him no, he did it, wanting to be a posh bloke who knows what his lady wants. Soap said you liked this fancy shit and heavy meat and fish.

As you looked disgusted at the filet steak, trying not to be rude by saying you're a vegetarian, he lost it mentally, not with you but with his best friend, who betrayed him just for you. He'd do the same, of course, but it's still different, right?

The date went on way too cringy, Simon spent most of the time apologizing to you for the messed-up date, and you tried to reassure him that it was okay. When he brought you back home, he asked if he could stay the night, and you politely declined.

"Johnny, I'm going to rip your fucking head off."

"Aye, shit," Johnny screamed as he began to run.

"The date went shit, I guess?" Kyle asked, unfazed by all the screaming from the two men fighting. He acted as if he didn't let slip the information that she is vegetarian next to Johnny or told Price she liked roses after she told him for 20 minutes straight how they are overrated. The best part was no one even suspected him; he was calm about the situation, not trying to solve it with violence like Johnny and Simon. While the others played checkers, he played chess to get you.

"Yes, it was."

"I told you muppets, I'm the one who deserves her."

"Shut up, Price," Ghost scoffed.

"I think so too, Captain should have her. At least he treats her well," Kyle said with a boyish grin.

So the Captain asked you out on a date, and after some convincing, you agreed, making yourself ready and waiting for him in desperation. You looked great, hair curled, mascara applied, and in a dress that was classy but a bit sexy. You knew Price could be a guy for this, maybe a bit too old, but still, you could grow old with him, and maybe he would give you everything your innocent heart desires.

After waiting for an hour, you were sure he wouldn’t come. If only you had known that Ghost was faking an accident and Soap's promise to tell you about it, not to let the sweet angel wait for the Captain. Soap was already on the way to play the knight in shining armor, fully confident to finally sweep you off your feet and make you the future Mrs. MacTavish, his sweet little angel. Oh, how the boys would look to know that he got the heart of their sweetheart finally.

Too late.

"Hey, lovely, why are you sobbing? Do I need to punch someone for you?"

"It's embarrassing, Kyle."

"Tell me about it."

"Just had a bunch of weird dates. One wanted to only bed me, I guess, and the other stood me up," you sobbed, looking into Kyle's pretty face.

"Oh, love, you know that all these guys around the boys are head over heels fighting over you like wild animals."

"Never."

"They are, how couldn't they? You're perfect."

"You're a flirt, you know that."

"And you're too pretty to cry, you know that?" He winked at you, removing the tears from your beautiful eyes.

"You think so?"

"Mhm."

"Kyle," you asked him shyly, looking deep into his brown eyes.

"Yes?"

"Are you one of the boys who fight over me too?"

"Sure as hell, love!" He almost shouted, full of enthusiasm.

"You wouldn’t want what I want."

"And how do you know that?"

"I just want you, to know all, exclusive dating."

"Mhm, I'd give you that without a doubt, love. Just let me prove to you that I'm the right one for you, love." His hand slowly went to your face, caressing the soft skin that was still tinted by your mascara tears. "You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen." And when you looked at him with your doe eyes, he lost it, slowly pulling his rough lips on your soft ones, holding your head for dear life as if you could vanish any second. He was afraid he did something wrong, maybe scared you like a deer, but you didn't shy away; you pulled him closer, letting his lips intertwine with yours and slowly opening your mouth to let his tongue explore yours. It felt like a firework in your body; every fiber burned with pure passion as he kissed you. You didn't want to stop; you needed him as deeply as he longed for you.

"Fucking Garrick, I didn't think he’d win her over," Ghost murmured behind the wall, watching you with the others in jealousy as Kyle got their girl.

"He played us like fucking fools, telling us it's okay if we win her over," Price muttered, annoyed and kinda proud at his sneaky bastard.

"I'm more of a looker than fucking Gaz," Soap said, annoyed.

As happy as you were right now, all of the boys knew the fight for your heart wouldn’t stop until there was a ring on your finger.

[fafnir19]

The Disease

Leo and Ali had been close since childhood, an unlikely pair united by a shared love for adventure and a disdain for boredom. Their friendship thrived under the watchful eye of Leo's family's housekeeper, Chi Chi, who treated them like her own grandchildren. She would often cook their favorite meals and listen to their wild stories, offering a warm smile and words of wisdom when needed. As the final exams loomed, a tension hung in the air between the two friends.

"Leo, wait up!" Ali called out, hurrying to catch up with his friend as they left school for the day. It had been a while since they had spent any time together, what with the upcoming final exams occupying most of their time. "Hey, Ali! What's up? Need a break from studying?" Leo asked, turning to face his friend with a smile. "You read my mind. I need some air and a change of scenery. Let's grab some lunch at your place. I could use a home-cooked meal," Ali replied, running a hand through his hair. "Sounds good. Chi Chi always makes enough for an army, so there's definitely food for an extra mouth," Leo laughed, referring to his family's longtime housekeeper and cook. Leo, with his blonde fade and blue eyes, looked every bit the upper-class pupil, while Ali, despite his near-east heritage, looked like a handsome Italian. As they walked towards Leo's house, the scent of Chi Chi's famous sweet and sour pork wafted towards them. It used to be one of Ali's favorites, but today, he hesitated as they entered the kitchen.

Leo leaned back in his chair, a forkful of tender meat poised mid-air as he glanced at Ali. “You’re going to love this, right? Chi Chi really outdid herself today.” Ali shifted uncomfortably, his brow furrowing as he pushed the plate away. “No, thanks. I can’t eat that. It’s haram.” A pause fell over the room. Chi Chi’s face tightened with concern. “But Ali, I made it just for you! You used to love it.” Ali’s brow furrowed. “I can’t. It’s haram!” “Haram?” Leo echoed, puzzled. “You never cared about that stuff before.” Chi Chi, bustling in the background, paused and frowned. “You eat, Ali. You need strength for your exams.” “No, Chi Chi. I can’t. I just can’t.” Ali’s voice was strained, almost desperate. Leo dropped his fork, the clatter echoing in the suddenly tense air. 

Chi Chi shook her head, her worry deepening as she turned back to the stove. “Let me get you something else, dear. Just a moment.” As she bustled away, Leo leaned closer, lowering his voice. “What’s really going on with you, Ali? You’ve been acting kind of… different.” Ali shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable. “It’s just finals. I’m stressed. I went to the mosque for some peace.” “Mosque?” Leo’s eyebrows shot up. “Since when do you go there?” “It felt right, okay? My parents—” “Your parents?” Leo interrupted, his tone incredulous. “They’re not even that religious.” “Right, but it’s part of my culture. I just wanted to connect.” Ali’s voice was rising, frustration bubbling over. “Whatever, man. Just eat something.” Leo threw a piece of pork onto his own plate, trying to lighten the mood. Chi Chi returned with a steaming bowl of rice. “Here, Ali! This is good for you. Just rice, no meat.” Ali accepted it silently, too distracted to respond. After lunch, Ali left the house, his shoulders hunched as he walked away. Chi Chi watched him go, her expression a mixture of concern and sadness. "Chi Chi, what's wrong?" Leo asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You're usually all smiles and warmth after one of your feasts." The older woman turned to him, her face etched with worry. "That boy, he is very, very ill." Leo's eyes widened in shock. "What do you mean? He looks fine to me." Chi Chi shook her head, her dark eyes solemn. "In China, we know this illness well. It is a mental illness, a delusion that takes hold of the mind and twists it. We call it 'Islam'." "Islam... a mental illness?" Leo echoed, his brow furrowed. "But it's a religion, Chi Chi." "In China, we have different beliefs," she said, her tone firm. "This illness is infectious, Leo. You must be careful and try to avoid him." Leo's heart sank as he considered her words. “Watch him closely. The illness is contagious,” Chi Chi warned, her eyes narrowing. “It changes them. They forget who they are.”

The following days blurred together, and Leo found himself increasingly worried about Ali. Each time they met, Ali seemed more distant, his promises scattering like autumn leaves in the wind. He often promised Leo he would join him for hockey practice or study together, only to cancel last minute. “I swear I’ll come to the hockey game next week,” Ali declared one afternoon, his brown eyes wide with fervor. “You said that last time,” Leo replied, crossing his arms. “You didn’t show up.” “I promise, Leo! This time I will,” Ali insisted, his voice rising slightly. “I just need to—” “Do you even remember the last time we played? You were supposed to be there!” Leo’s frustration bubbled over. “Why are you making promises you can’t keep?” Ali shrugged, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “It’s different this time,” Ali insisted, his voice rising. “Just trust me.” “Trust you? You’ve been lying to me!” Leo shot back, exasperated. Chi Chi, overhearing their argument, took Leo by the side after Ali has left wiped her hands on her apron, her expression hardening. “It is the illness. He believes he must promise everything and nothing at all. They lie even to their own ‘god’.” A small laugh escaped her lips, but it held no mirth. “Pretending to fast, but after sunset, they eat like the swine.” Leo frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. How can he think that’s okay?” “Perhaps he thinks Allah cannot see in the night,” Chi Chi chuckled, her laughter a stark contrast to the tension in the room. “Their Allah seems rather powerless if he can’t see in the dark, don’t you agree?” Chi Chi said, shaking her head. “It's sad, really.” Leo leaned back in his chair, the wooden legs creaking against the tiled floor. “I just don’t get it. He was my best friend. Now he’s… different.” “Watch yourself, Leo,” Chi Chi said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He is changing. It is not just in behavior but in appearance as well.”

In the weeks that followed, Leo watched helplessly as Ali transformed, his appearance shifting with each lie. The once-handsome boy now bore a beard, his eyes dull and lifeless. “Look at him!” Chi Chi remarked one afternoon, shaking her head. “The illness is taking hold.”

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the suburban streets as Leo and Ali walked home from hockey practice. Leo adjusted his grip on his stick, glancing sideways at his childhood friend. Ali’s brow was furrowed, a depth of worry etched into his features that Leo hadn’t seen in years. “Hey, Ali, you okay?” Leo asked, shifting the weight of his hockey gear to his other shoulder. “I’ve been thinking,” Ali said, his voice tight. “You should come with me to the mosque this weekend. It’s... it’s important.” “Really?” Leo raised an eyebrow, surprised. “You’ve never mentioned it before.” Ali’s eyes sparkled with an intensity that felt foreign. “It’s a place of peace, Leo. You’ll see. You should hear the teachings. They can help you.” Leo hesitated, the unease creeping into his chest. “I don’t know, man. I mean, I’m not—” “Just come with me. It’s enlightening.” Ali’s tone was almost pleading, but there was an edge to it that made Leo take a step back.  “Enlightening?” Leo raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in his voice. “What’s enlightening about bowing down five times a day in the dust like a subdued slave?” Ali’s face flushed, and he gestured animatedly. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s not just about that. It’s about community, faith. You’d feel it if you just tried.” “Why are you so passionate about this all of a sudden?” Leo challenged, his voice rising slightly. “You used to be all about hockey and school!” Ali shrugged, a shadow crossing his face. “Things change. People change. You’ll understand if you just give it a chance.” Leo felt the weight of a thousand unspoken words hang in the air. “I just don’t want to lose you, Ali.” Ali’s laughter rang out, but it felt hollow. “You won’t lose me. You’ll find me.” As they reached Leo’s house, Ali paused at the gate. “You’ll come, right? I want to show you something.” “Let me think about it,” Leo replied, trying to keep his voice steady. Ali’s expression shifted, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “You can’t just think about it. This is a decision you need to make now.” Leo took a breath, the tension thick between them. “I’ll think about it,” he repeated, stepping back. “I need to go inside.”

“Fine,” Ali snapped, spinning around and storming off. His footsteps echoed off the pavement, a thud that resonated in Leo’s chest. Inside the house, Chi Chi was bustling in the kitchen, her apron dusted with flour. “Ah, Leo! You’re home! Would you like some of my sweet and sour pork?” Leo’s stomach churned at the thought. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.” Chi Chi’s brow furrowed. “You look troubled. What is it, my boy?” “It’s Ali. He’s been acting weird. He wants me to go to the mosque with him, and I don’t know…” He trailed off, unsure how to express his concern. “Ah, Ali,” Chi Chi sighed, her hands pausing mid-stir. “In China, we know there are mental illnesses that can spread. You must be careful. If you are near him, you may catch this illness too.” Leo swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling in his chest. He had always trusted Chi Chi, her wisdom and experience serving as a guiding light in his life. “What should I do?” “Distance yourself. Observe. If he is ill, you must protect yourself.” Leo felt a chill run down his spine. “But he’s my friend!” “Friends can lead us astray,” Chi Chi said, her voice firm.

Days turned into weeks, and Ali’s transformation became more pronounced. Leo watched in disbelief as his friend’s features changed—his nose grew more pronounced, his eyes dulled, and his skin got a dirty tan. Gone was the handsome boy akin an Italian, replaced by the stereotypical ugly Arab. The laughter that once filled their conversations had turned to fervent promises of a better life following a superstition Leo scarcely understood.

It was in the summer holidays after his graduation from school as Leo strolled through the bustling city center, his hands filled with shopping bags from their latest excursion. Chi Chi walked beside him, her eyes scanning the crowd with a watchful gaze and admiring the fresh fruits on the market.

“Chi Chi, look!” Leo pointed toward a figure leaning against a graffiti-covered wall. It was Ali, his childhood friend, a shadow of the boy Leo once knew. Clad in a track suit, Ali’s face had morphed into something almost unrecognizable. His nose was now prominent and hook-like, his eyes dull and flickering with a strange light. “Let’s go say hi,” Leo said, a hopeful lilt in his voice. “Wait.” Chi Chi grasped his arm firmly. “Don’t. It’s too late. He is a Talahon now.” “What’s a Talahon?” Leo’s brow furrowed in confusion. “That’s what they call themselves. A Talahon is usually a dumb and aggressive Islamic boy, who most certainly has a knife and is dangerous! They are so dumb that many of them couldn’t even swim.” Chi Chi's voice was low but firm, a warning mingled with sadness. “That can’t be true,” Leo protested, shaking his head. “Ali was never like that.” “Look at him.” Chi Chi gestured toward Ali, who was now laughing raucously with a group of similarly dressed boys, their boisterous energy a stark contrast to the respect Leo had once known in Ali. “He thinks he’s superior now, living off the work of others.”

Some months later, the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows on the busy street as Leo adjusted the strap of his backpack. He was just about to turn the corner when he spotted a familiar figure leaning against a lamppost. Ali. The last time Leo had seen him, they barely exchanged words. The distance between them had stretched like a rubber band, taut and unyielding. “Leo!” Ali called out, his voice dripping with a forced enthusiasm. “Hey, Ali,” Leo replied, trying to match his tone but failing. He could see Ali’s fuzzy beard glinting in the fading sunlight, and the once-handsome features were now marred by an unsettling transformation. “Where are you off to?” Ali asked, his eyes glinting with something Leo couldn’t quite place. “Just getting ready to leave for Israel tomorrow. Semester abroad,” Leo said, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “Ah, the land of the oppressors, huh?” Ali laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Ali, that’s—” Leo hesitated, searching for the right words. “That’s not how it is.” “Isn’t it?” Ali stepped forward, his tone more aggressive.

“What are you doing out here?” Leo asked, trying to mask his discomfort. “Living the blessed life,” Ali replied, puffing out his chest. “While you’re off playing in the sand, I’m thriving. The white folks work for me now, like slaves, and Allah is on my side.” Leo’s heart sank. “That’s not true, Ali. You’re just—” “Just what? Superior?” Ali interrupted, his eyes gleaming with a strange fervor. “I’m living on my terms now. You’re the one who’s leaving. Who’s really winning here?” Leo clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re not winning if you’re living off welfare. That’s not a victory, Ali.” A mocking grin spread across Ali’s face. “You’ll see. Once you’re back, I’ll have my empire built.” “Good luck with that,” Leo replied, turning to leave. “You think you’re better than me?” Ali shouted after him, but Leo just shook his head, the distance between them now feeling insurmountable.

Leo, back from his semester abroad, leaned back in his chair, the warm afternoon sun streaming through the kitchen window of his parental home, casting a golden hue over the newspaper spread out before him. He remembered the lingering excitement of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem — the vibrant nightlife, the laughter of friends, the music that pulsed through the streets. *What a life,*

he thought, flipping through the pages until a headline caught his eye. “Local tragedy: Young man drowns in river,” he read aloud, his brow furrowing. “They say the ambulance crew was attacked by a crowd of young men.” Chi Chi, busy folding fresh linens nearby, paused. “Oh, Leo, let me see that.” Her voice was soft, but the urgency in her tone made him turn the paper towards her. She glanced at the article, her expression shifting to one of sorrow. “The one who drowned was Ali,” she murmured, shaking her head. “He has become a dumb Talahon completely and unlearned how to swim.”

Leo’s stomach twisted. “What? No… it can’t be.” He stared at the headline again as if willing it to change. Chi Chi placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Leo, sometimes the ones we care for the most slip away. It is better for him now. At least, Ali doesn’t need to suffer under his mental illness anymore!” “Better?” Leo echoed, a bitter taste forming in his mouth. “He drowned, Chi Chi! He’s gone.” “Better than living in that state,” she insisted, her voice steady. “You must remember him as he was. Not as he became.” Leo nodded, tears brimming in his blue eyes. Chi Chi watched him, her expression softening. “You can light a candle for him, Leo. Every year at Christmas when the peace light is brought from Bethlehem, you can remember him. Hope he finds peace.” “Yeah,” he murmured, lost in thought. “I’ll do that. I’ll stand it on his grave.”

Tonight, he whispered a silent prayer, wishing Ali didn’t have to stay in hell for long despite his sins. Days turned into weeks, and as Leo resumed his studies, Chi Chi often walked through the city, her shopping bags swinging at her sides. Each time she spotted women adorned in headscarves, her heart ached. “Poor ill beings,” she would think, shaking her head. “Why doesn’t anyone care about them?”

[meatonfork]

imagine the task force r having like a 2 week or smth break and grim meets the task's partner or family members.... LIKE imagine grim meeting price's spouse and they treated grim like their own child and bake them pie or smth OMFUSHZJSHS

Mrs. Price?

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warnings: none!

pairings: p!price x grim

summary: price’s wife meets grim

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it was your first time leaving base after a mission was done.

after the death of your family, you never really had a place to call home aside from an empty apartment.

this time was no different. until it was.

you hadn’t planned on staying with your captain for two weeks, but he knew you didn’t have anyone to go to.

he knew you were either going to mope at the base, or your lonely apartment.

price has taken it upon himself to invite you, little ol’ grim, to his home. he cared too much to leave you alone.

little grim. little grim that hoards stuffed animals in their quarters. little grim who seeks comfort in men at least three times their size when they can’t sleep. little grim who forced movie nights, and piggyback rides.

his home filled with love. his home filled with warmth. his home filled with family.

asking the question was hard. actually, it really wasn’t. it was your reaction that had thrown him off.

“hey, kid. where you goin’ this break?” his shoulder leaned on your doorframe, hands in his pockets.

“uhm, i’m not too sure. probably just going to stay here?” you were sat on your bed, a record playing a love song softly in the background. you had a journal laid out in front of you, your pen tapping on the open pages.

“well, i was wondering if you’d like to come home with me? my wife already gave the go ahead. just up to you now.” a small smile made itself noticeable under his facial hair. kind eyes softening.

“what? why would you do that? i don’t want to be a bother, sir.” eyebrows furrowing and a little quiver to your voice made itself known.

tears pricked your eyes. no one ever offered that before. the apartment waiting for you hadn’t been stepped in in months. dust probably covered all the surfaces in the small space. you knew you’d have to go back at some point, or else there was no point in renting it anymore.

but, this offer had set your heart alight. it wasn’t a secret you had no one to go back to. but, you never wanted pity from it.

“we want you there. plus, she really could use having a guest other than me. pretty sure she’s bored of me by now.” he shrugged, his stupid hat tipping.

“i- i mean. are you- are you sure?” the only way price could describe your reaction was pure confusion.

this kid needs love.

and he wasn’t wrong. you needed to be loved. you wanted to be loved.

“well, yeah. i’m not that mean, grim.” he chuckled a bit.

“uh, yeah. sure! yeah. just let me pack up a bit.”

———

once you arrived at your captain’s home, a pit filled your stomach.

what if she hated you?

what if price got sick of you?

what if they kicked you out?

“grim, you alright?” price’s voice flooded your ears, snapping you back to reality.

you were stood in front of a decent home. a porch with a swing. small plants laid upon the wooden steps. trees around the yard. a big red door.

“yeah, i’m good cap.”

leading you into the house, price shouted for his wife, “sarah? honey, i’m home! got a guest too.”

you kicked off your shoes by the door, keeping a tight grip on the bag you packed.

sarah, a beautiful woman. long brown hair framed her face perfectly, kind brown eyes, and small smile lines.

she quite literally flew around the corner from, what you assumed to be, the kitchen.

“oh, love, you’re home!” her voice was calming, anxiety dwindling from the crevices of your mind. she slammed full force into her husband.

“hi, sweetheart. i missed you so much.” price sighed in content. one hand holding her head, the other on her lower back.

you stood there, not knowing what to do. your eyes shifted around the living room you stood in. a coffee table sat between a nice, soft couch, and a dark tv stand. dimmed lights and pictures of the married couple set a nice, homely, mood.

“oh! and you must be grim. john never shuts up about you!” sarah pulled away from her husband and reached out to you, pulling you into a motherly hug.

“oof- hi! yes, i’m grim! i hope it’s all good things, haha.”

“yes, dear! of course!” she pulled back, a hand still on your arm, and beamed at you. “you guys must be hungry. sit! i made dinner, and some pie. i hope you like apple.”

that night, in bed, you cried. tears of joy, and pure love.

price had come in to check you were settling in well, knowing your sleep troubles.

“hey, kiddo- what’s wrong?” he took large strides to sit beside you on the bed. a hand coming to rest on your knee.

sniffling, you wiped your under eyes.

“thank you.” it came out as a broken whisper.

“what do you mean?” his head tilted in confusion, like a puppy.

“thank you for bringing me here. you guys are so lovely. seriously, thank you so fucking much.”

he didn’t answer. instead, he pulled you towards him in a bear hug. his hand pet you hair.

“of course. you’re family, grim. you need to be reminded of that sometimes. and, we’ll gladly do it.” he softly kissed your head before standing up, ruffling your hair, and bidding you goodnight.

“please. do not hesitate to wake us up if you need something.”

“yes, sir.”

———

sarah was sweet. the two weeks you were there, she treated you as her own. constantly praising you on all your achievements, impressed considering how young you were.

made sure you had everything you needed. showing you around the block, and taking walks with you everyday. she took you to the shops, and showed you her and john’s favorite places to go.

she never got upset when you woke them in the night from screaming. she never blamed you when she found your eyes rimmed with red. she never forced you to do anything that made you uncomfortable. and you appreciated that.

when you left, sarah assured you that there was always a place in their home for you. even going as far as to invite you over the next time you had time off.

price never said it, but sarah knew you were their unbiological, army child.

the two would do anything for you.

don’t tell gaz, but you’re definitely price’s favorite.

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a/n: omg thank you sm for reading. i kinda love this! i imagine grim just standing in the doorway like this 🧍 when sarah was hugging price 😭

[louloulemons-posts]

Rainy Days and Lattes

Steve Harrington X Fem!Reader

Summary : Steve goes to get a treat for him and Robin and ends up meeting you.

Word Count : 0.6k

Warnings : Pure fluff, not proofread, 4am writing 🫶🏻, steve is a cutie, just a cute little meet cute drabble, autumn-y rainy days (i am ready for the ber months) no use of y/n, fem pronouns, reader calls steve pretty.

A/N : Guys I don’t know how it happened but we hit 700 followers?!?! I am in shock! Thank you all so much for the love and support it means so much to me 🤍

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Steve had gone on his break, planning on fetching himself and Robin some warm drinks and sweet treats. He headed into the cafe at the end of the block.

It was quiet today, the autumn weather rolling in fast. Leaves turning from green to yellows and oranges, it was beautiful. Although it was damp, drizzling rain fell on him, speeding up to get out of it. Pushing the door open, a small bell jingled above him.

There were a few people sat inside : an older couple, a woman deeply interested in her book, a man and his daughter and two teenagers who were giggling away. Steve smiled, he enjoyed people watching.

Looking up at the boards and the glass cabinets he thought about what to get for Robin - probably opting for the sweetest thing they had.

“Hi, can I help you?” a voice spoke from the counter. Looking up he met your gaze, god you were beautiful. “Uh .. Hi, can I get um,” be cool man, relax, relax.

“Can I please get a hazelnut hot chocolate and a latte please,” he spoke, finally getting his words out. “Sure, is it to drink now?” you smiled.

“Take out please.” He was scared to meet your gaze again, worried he’d be tongue tied and embarrass himself.

He didn’t do as well with girls now as he used too, and well you were probably the most beautiful person he’d ever laid eyes on.

“Okidoki, anything else?” you asked, taking his order into the register. “What’s the sweetest cake you have?” he asked.

“Maybe the brownies? or the millionaires shortbread, they’re both filled with caramel,” you explained, whilst pointing them out in the cabinet.

“Could I get one of each?”

“Sure,” you smiled at him again - secretly hoping he’d meet your gaze, cause gosh he was so pretty. “Okay thats $8.65 all together.” After exchanging cash and change you spoke again, “You can wait here or I’ll bring your things over.”

“I’ll wait,” he spoke gently, “Are you new here?” he asked. He’d been here before a few times and never seen you. “Not really. I don’t normally work this shift it’s all, and if I do I’m normally making cakes out the back,” you told him.

He hummed and nodded as he did so. “You come in here a lot?”

“Me and my friend take it in turns, we work at Family Video down the street.”

“Ah I see,” you nodded as you frothed some milk for the latte.

“I might start asking her if I can come here everytime we’re on together,” he spoke up.

“Oh yeah why’s that?” you asked, mouth curving into a slight smile. “Well there’s this really beautiful barista I’d like to see again.”

You nodded, pouring the hot drink into a cup. “Right, and if that barista was completely flattered because such a pretty boy wanted to see her again?”

“He’d ask her out, ask to see her out of this awful uniform.”

Huffing a laugh, you slid his cakes over the counter, turning to finish off his drinks.

“Well she’d be interested, can I take your name for her?”

“It’s Steve.”

“Steve,” you repeated, a smile now consuming your lips. “Mhm, that’s me.”

“I’ll let her know,” you spoke over your shoulder. Sliding the cups into sleeves and placing them in a cup holder so he wouldn’t hurt himself, you handed them over.

“Well it was nice meeting you Steve.”

“You too, have a good day.” You watched him walk out the shop, giving you a goofy smile and carry on his way.

Looking down at his latte cup he noticed some scribbles on the side. Moving as quickly as he could he headed back to work, passing Robin the cakes, to decide which she wanted and her hot choc.

He slid the sleeve off the cup and couldn’t help grinning, it was a number and a name. Your number and name. “God Dingus, you finally get your game back,” Robin teased from beside him.

“Maybe,” he shrugged, smiling as he took as sip of what may have been the best coffee of his life.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading! Please leave any requests 🤍

[butchhazard]

my ex-gf and i peaked together but we were both libfems when we started dating. a few months into our relationship i got a job at a strip club as a waitress because a friend of mine was promoting it on her IG as good, easy money. my role consisted of wearing a sexy outfit with a corset and serving the customers drinks. i only lasted for 2 months but everything i saw and experienced there changed my life forever and led me to becoming an anti-porn feminist and eventually to completely peaking. every single demographic of male was there. young, old (like ELDERLY), white, black, rich, poor, disabled, athletic, ugly, handsome, local, tourist, etc. men would go in groups and tell me they were going to pay for everything in cash so their wives wouldn’t realize where they were. men would try to touch and kiss the strippers and waitresses and management barely did a thing about it. most of the strippers were between the ages of 18 and 20. there was an area upstairs reserved completely for prostitution. one man offered me $1,000 so i could go to his hotel and have sex with him and i spent the rest of my shift trying not to pass by his area. a different man once struck up a conversation with me about going to his place for breakfast while touching my ass and i was too nervous to do or say anything to him knowing management didn’t have my back. i once saw a man bring in his freshly 18-year old son and pay for a stripper to have sex with him. mind you i worked ON WEEKDAYS DURING THE DAY and it was always PACKED!!! heterosexual women would come in and treat us like absolute garbage and barely look at us in the face while we served them but obviously this was preferable to the men who were offering us money in exchange for sex. sometimes lesbians would come in too but they were usually older and would sit in the restaurant-type area that didn’t have view of the main stage. i was actually surprised that i wasn’t the only lesbian working there, a few waitresses and strippers were also lesbians and even had wives. even more surprising to me at the time, nearly every waitress or stripper there was actually an exceptionally intelligent and compassionate woman. they somehow managed to completely compartmentalize their personal lives from the job. they were usually drunk throughout the day. even drunk i couldn’t do it and i have no idea how any of them did. i wasn’t even a stripper, i was a fucking waitress and being sexualized in that way for 8 hours a day every day led me to having an emotional breakdown. because i identified as nonbinary at the time i projected all of my sadness and anger onto the fact that my coworkers weren’t calling me by my preferred name. isn’t that insane? i couldn’t even recognize what i was experiencing as a woman because i was using my special gender identity as a cope. i ended up breaking down sobbing to an older female employee there and telling her i couldn’t handle being looked at like a piece of meat anymore and that i was starting to feel like less of a person. she looked like she was about to start crying with me too! i quit the next day. this is a short and condensed version of my experience but i really saw some disgusting and gruesome shit. the girl who helped me get hired was a completely changed person the last time i interacted with her. i never want to step foot inside a strip club for the rest of my life.

[mara-tevith-solo]

One Enchanted Evening

Just a little Adam Warlock fluff. This MFer restarted my Will Poulter era and I stg... man’s too good for this world

Pairing: Adam Warlock x Ex-Avenger/ Guardian!Reader

Warnings: It’s fluff, mentions of drinking, Blurp being adorable, flirting, established relationship, making out

Rating: 18+

Words: 1.1k+

"C'mon Y/n! Let's go get pretty boy wasted for the first time! Drax, Nebula, and some of the others will be there!" Rocket called from the front door, sounding way too enthused with his little side quest as Adam smiled brightly, and innocently, beside him.

"I can't, I have to take over for Ullette tomorrow; her daughter is coming for a visit." You apologized with a breathy laugh, shaking your head at the two. "Don't poison yourself, Rocket. I'm betting a quarter mil that his alcohol tolerance is about as good as Steve's."  

"I'll take you up on that bet!" He laughed with pride and little foresight.

"Who's Steve?" Adam asked, cocking his head to the side slightly. There wasn't any jealousy there, just pure curiosity.

"He was one of Y/n's Super Soldier Earth pals, worked on the same team together for over a decade, stopped the world from ending a few times, we all reversed the Snap together about three years back. Good guy. Was hung up on a broad he used to know."

"What's a broad?"

"Its a term for a woman, though it's not so respectful. Y'all better get going before Drax pre-games too hard."  

"Alright alright, I'll keep lover boy out of trouble, swearsies."

Adam shifted on his feet, looking at Rocket's retreating form before looking at you like a puppy who didn't know which way to go. You placed your hands on his chest, the fabric of his t-shirt soft under your palms as you raised up onto your tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek "Don't let them drink too much. Last time a challenge like this happened, Drax had to have his stomach pumped."

"Should I be worried? Because I'd be more than happy to just stay home with you and we could finish that show and--"

"It'll be fine, Adam. Go have fun with the others. I'll still be here when you come back." You smiled teasingly before pushing him the rest of the way out the door, Rocket's crossed arms and exasperated expression in your peripherals, shaking his head at the two of you.

"Don't have too much fun without me." He finally conceded with a cheeky wink before turning and making to leave with the Raccoon.

As soon as the door closed, Blurp let out a soft little whine, making you turn back towards him with a small pout that turned into a frown as soon as you saw the sadness on his little face, the worry in his eyes that was always there whenever Adam left without him. You swooped up the little fuzzball and nuzzled your face against his "Oh, come on fluff, you can help me make some ice cream sundaes for us." You hummed as you began dancing to a phantom melody only you could hear, his eager agreements nearly busting him loose from your arms. You laughed as you set him on the counter, motioning for him to sit and stay while you went for ingredients.

It wasn't the first time the two of you had done the late night treat, the F'saki watching as you began making two bowls, his topped with Orloni jerky with strawberry sauce while yours was just a simple vanilla with hot fudge sauce. He was vibrating with anticipation as you picked up both bowls and began leading the charge back to the living room, being careful to not trip you on the way. He'd done it once, and only once. He'd gotten too excited and had zipped over your foot while you were beginning to take a step, resulting in you faceplanting into the hard wood covered cement floors, breaking your nose in the process. He'd felt so bad about it, and hadn't zipped anywhere near your feet since. He sat by the couch, tall and pretty as he waited for you to put his bowl down "There ya go, buddy. Enjoy!" You giggled softly as he dug in with a happy chirp. You curled up on the couch to enjoy yours. Afterwards, you didn't bother with the dishes, suddenly too exhausted, laying down just a bit to nap until Adam returned. Blurp was all too happy to join you, cuddling up on your stomach with happy little purrs, falling asleep well before you did.

"Y/n!" Adam's whispered shout pulled you out of a light doze, still curled up on the couch with Blurp, an excited Adam leaning over you both. Blurp didn't even flinch, just grumbling softly in his sleep as he curled up tighter, much like a sleepy, disgruntled cat. "Sorry!" He giggled, still whisper shouting "I figured it out!"

"Figured what out, handsome?" You hummed groggily, smiling sleepily up at the golden man who was smiling ear to ear at the endearment, a dreamy gleam in his eyes.

"Drax helped me figure out why my chest burns whenever I think of you... and when I'm around you... when we're apart... any time you're even mentioned really. He said that's how he felt about his Ovette. He called it 'love'." Your heart skipped a beat, realizing where the conversation was going. "He said that I need to make sure you know how I feel about you, that you never doubt how much I love you. And then he cried... a lot... he's very drunk..."

Your heart felt like it was soaring as you reached up and cupped his cheek, your fingers then moving to trace his jawline and his chin. He moved down with you, like he didn't want you to stop touching him, an intoxicated warmth to his eyes that wasn't from the liquor. When your lips touched you could swear it was unlike any kiss before, it was electrifying to your very core, your very soul. It made your breath stutter as one of his hands planted firmly on the couch by your shoulder as the other gripped your hip. "I love you too, Adam." You murmured against his lips, your voice feather light, just for his ears. His kiss became hungry, devouring everything that you gave him like a man starved, some of his hair falling into your face, the tickling sensation making your toes curl and your heart splutter.

He almost closed the distance between you, but Blurp squeaked in protest on your stomach, almost pouting up at him like you'd both mortally betrayed him "Sorry Blurp. But I need to borrow my love." He was gentle as he picked up the F'saki, usurping him of his position. The fuzzy being only huffed and went to steal your bed. Adam didn't give you a moment to laugh at the situation, swallowing the sound eagerly as his tongue begged for entrance, his hard length making its presence well known against your thigh. He moaned loudly as your tongue came out to play with his, your hips bucking up into him, begging for friction "Y/n, oh gods." He moaned, giving you the perfect opportunity to kiss and nip at his neck.  

[justash02]

Womanizer; 04

A/n; lemme know if you have feedback! It’s always welcome! So are Requests!

Plot; Everyone who knew who Tom Kaulitz was knew that he was girl crazy, he's very well known for having girls around him all the time.

Pairing; Tom Kaulitz x fem reader.

Previous chapter -> next chapter.

Master list

Taglist<3

*^*^*

"Oh I love it and I hate it at the same time, you and I drank the poison from the same wine"

*^*^*

"Breaking news! Trouble in debut world! Lead singer Y/n L/n slaps leader Adam Smith after not getting the best rookie album award!"

"Want to explain this?" Ray, our manager asked, "This is you guys 6 week as a band and you guys already fighting?" Ray said looking me in the eyes.

Adam sat next me, he kept shifting in the chair he was sitting in avoiding Ray. "It's her fault, Ray." He mumbled.

Ray looked over at me as if to ask if he's telling the truth making me shake my head, "What happened." I wanted to open my mouth before Ray continued; "Every detail and calm please." I nodded.

"We were placed at the same table as Tokio Hotel, Tom Kaulitz was just making some flirty comments-"

"He was trying to fuck you."

"Let's Y/n speak."

A mhpm was heard next to me indicating that the boy next to me wasn't happy with the way this was going.

"As I was saying he was being himself, which he is known for." I said dramatically turning to Adam, "and I just brushed it off but this Clown here said I was just trying to fuck my way up."

"Ugh Adam, what's wrong with you." Ray groaned as I finished the story, "Tom is pretty known for having intercourse with almost all girls he meets, Y/n is attractive, what did you expect?"

"that doesn't make it right!" Adam suddenly yelled making me jump, "Y/n is not only your lead singer but also a human, stop treating her like she can't decide for herself. If she wants to have sex with Mr. kaulitz that so be it."

Wow, feminist Ray? I love this Ray.

"I'm just trying to protect my best friend." Said as he started to rub the back of his neck, he looked over at me with those puppy eyes I've grown to feel safe around.

"I'm sorry, Y/n. I shouldn't have said that to you." He apologized grabbing my hand in his gently rubbing the back with his thumb.

"I forgive you, but don't you ever do that shit again." He nodded and smiled at me, suddenly feeling a sense of relieve coming from him.

*^*^*

Soon the day of the shooting had come and Bill was sitting with me in my trailer, Anne was already busy doing my makeup while Bill was being Bill in the background.

"Before I forgot to tell you this, Toms gonna be here soon." My eyes widened as I stared at the black haired boy.

"Why?" I panicked making him laugh, "He's probably fucking some girl here, he told me he had business here." He said mindlessly while flipping through a magazine.

Oh ok so there's basically nothing to worry about. Right?

"We're going for a red wet look ok?" Anne asked me as she was putting a bright red lip tint on my lips. I hummed and smiled slightly as she told me smack my lips together to get it to go evenly.

"You're ready." Anne said as she stepped away letting me see my look,  she made my hair look wet by using gel, my lips were a bright red and so was the wing like eyeshadow. All around my face were small red gems glued to my face making me gasp.

"You out did yourself yet again Anne!" I giggled as I stood there in awe looking at my look.

I could feel Bill's eyes burn the back of my head as he was observing me. He had a small smile on his face as he stood up.

He turned me around and wrapped his arms around me, "You look gorgeous." I couldn't help but feel like my cheeks were on fire.

"Thank you, Bill." He nodded and patted my head, "Good luck."

*^*^*

"There's something missing." The director said, "We need something spicier." She spoke again.

We had done a few takes now for other songs and this one was one of the last songs we needed to do and the director wanted it to be perfect.

"Is there any man that would like to do a scene with Y/n?" My eyes widened as I looked over at Adam, silently telling him to do something.

"Uh ma'am can't we think of something else." The woman shook her head as she She had already made up her mind.

"You!" I followed her finger and saw- TOM? No. No. I WILL NOT.

"You look perfect for what I have in mind!" Tom was looking rough to say the least. His dreads looked like a mess, his pants was half pass his hips telling me he was in a rush to putting them back on.

Ah he did have some business here.

"Me? I'm not an actor." He tried to say but the director already pushed him over to me making him trip halfway to me.

I quickly grabbed his arm keeping him steady, he nodded out of appreciation and stood next to me.

"I don't think I have to ask if you're sexually active, sir?" He just smirked and played with the band of his pants. Fuck did he look good post nut.

"I am, ma'am. Wanna get in line?" She smirked at him before handing him her card with her number. When I tell you my jaw dropped when he winked at her and put the card in his pocket Im not joking.

"Well this pretty young lady is a virgin."

"Hey I've never said that!" I yelled out embarrassed, I could hear Bill laughing in the background.

"You didn't have to baby, it's obvious." Wow ok. Bitch.

"It's ok baby, he'll take good care of you."

"What the fuck, are we actually making porn?!" I heard Ben yell from the back as I heard Clair laugh her ass off.

Assholes. All of them. 

"What's your name darling?" She asked Tom, "Tom Kaulitz." She smirked.

"Well Tom, I need you guys to pretend to actually be sexually attracted to each other." She explained.

"Wouldn't be too hard for Y/n!" Ben yelled, which led to a loud "OW" from him a second later.

"You guys haven't had sex yet, the sexual tension is getting higher and higher. You guys need each other, you can't live without each other. You need that deeper connection. Tom's a fuck boy and you're that sweet innocent girl."

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 4) Chapter Nineteen

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Nineteen: Honest Confessions

Summary: (Y/N)'s family has a real, honest discussion.

Mouse Note: We're moving on to the final episode!

            “We, of course, had several other back up plans,” said Sherlock, clean-shaven and dressed in fresh clothes. He had been treated and was finally feeling sober and clear-headed for the first time in a while. “The trouble is, I couldn’t remember what they were.”

            “You should be glad I’m the thinker,” said (Y/N).

            Sherlock frowned. “What?”

            “Nothing,” said (Y/N), popping a lollipop into their mouth.

            “And, of course, I couldn’t anticipate that I’d hallucinate his daughter,” sighed Sherlock. “Still a bit troubled by the daughter. Seemed very real. She gave me information I couldn’t have acquired elsewhere.”

            “But she wasn’t ever here?” said John, finally back in his chair at Baker Street.

            “Interesting, isn’t it? I have theorized before that if one could attenuate to every available data stream in the world simultaneously, it would be possible anticipate and deduce almost anything,” said Sherlock.

            “Your brain would probably be so overstimulated that it breaks,” remarked (Y/N). That's how they felt when started observing too much.

            “Yes, well, that’s the side effect,” said Sherlock, shrugging.

            “So you dreamed up a magic woman who told you things you didn’t know?” John looked at (Y/N). “I think his brain already broke.”

            “Perhaps the drugs opened certain doors in my mind.” Sherlock took a sip of his tea and looked at (Y/N). “But I won’t be trying again.” He smiled.

            “I can’t believe (Y/N) let you do drugs for a case,” said John. “I thought you were still terrified of them.”

            “I don’t like them. I never will. I get anxious and overwhelmed with all the data I process with them and in people around me.” (Y/N) looked at John. “But it was for you. And that made it worth it.”

            John shifted uncomfortably. He was clearly torn between staying and leaving. “I should go. I mean, Rosie is with the sitter, and I don’t want to leave her for too long.”

            “Oh, right,” said Sherlock, also growing awkward.

            “We miss her,” said (Y/N) quietly.

            John paused. “You should…You should come and see her soon. Both of you.” An olive branch. He walked towards the door.

            “Oh, by the way, the recordings will probably be inadmissible,” said Sherlock, talking of the case to keep John there a moment later.

            “Sorry, what?” said John.

            “Well, technically it’s entrapment, so it might get thrown out as evidence,” said Sherlock.

            “Not that it matters,” remarked (Y/N). “He can’t stop confessing.” They smirked. “Ego gets them all.”

            “That’s good,” said John.

            “Yeah,” said Sherlock, nodding and still looking at him.

            John nodded and turned to the door again. But he paused. He didn’t keep moving. (Y/N) and Sherlock remained silent, leaving him room to do what he wanted. They wouldn’t push him.

            “Are you okay?” Or, (Y/N) wouldn’t. Sherlock was going to speak. At least it was a good phrase.

            John turned back and chuckled mirthlessly. “No, I’m not okay.” He stammered through the words as emotions rushed through him. “I’m never gonna be okay. We just have to accept that. It is what it is. And what it is, is…Shit.” He looked down for a moment. “You didn’t kill Mary. Mary died saving your life.”

            Sherlock stared at John.

            “It’s her choice,” said John quietly before his voice grew firmer. “No one made her do it, no one could ever make her do anything. But the point is, you did not kill her.”

            “In saving my life, she conferred a value on it,” said Sherlock. “It is a currency I do not know how to spend.”

            (Y/N) reached out and touched his hand. Sherlock looked at them thankfully.

            “It is what it is,” said John. He nodded. “I’m here tomorrow, 6 to 10, keeping you off the drugs.” Everyone was still a bit wary, though (Y/N) and Sherlock knew it wouldn’t happen again. “I’ll see you then.”

            “Looking forward to it,” said Sherlock.

            “Bye, John,” said (Y/N).

            “Yeah,” said John. He turned away.

            A familiar moan echoed from Sherlock’s phone as it buzzed.

            “What was that?” said John.

            “What was what?” said Sherlock innocently.

            “That noise,” said John.

            “What noise?” said Sherlock.

            John walked closer, and (Y/N) tilted their head. They could see an interesting look in John’s eyes.

            “John?” said Sherlock.

            “I’m going to make a deduction,” said John.

            “Oh, okay, that’s good,” said Sherlock, a little confused.

            “And if my deduction is right, you’re gonna be honest and tell me, yeah?” said John.

            “Okay. Though I should mention that it is possible for any given text alert to become randomly attached to—”

            “Happy birthday,” said John.

            Sherlock paused and nodded. “Thank you, John. That’s very kind of you.”

            “A good deduction,” said (Y/N), nodding to John.

            “Never knew when his birthday was,” said John.

            “Now you do,” said Sherlock.

            “Seriously, we’re not gonna talk about this?” John looked at (Y/N). “Did you know?”

            “That she was alive? Yeah,” said (Y/N). They were glad. Irene was…mad, but she was fun. (She also sent fancy sweets to Baker Street on (Y/N)’s birthday and Christmas).

            “How does that work?” John looked back at Sherlock. “You and the Woman, do you go to the discreet Harvester sometimes, is there nights of passion in the Wycombe?”

            “She texted him that she wants to take me out shopping,” said (Y/N), twirling their lollipop.

            “Oh my god, you’re domestic,” said John.

            “For god’s sake,” groaned Sherlock. “I don’t text her back.”

            “Why not?” chuckled John. “I mean, I know you’re on the spectrum, but you certainly seemed a bit attached.” He laughed. “You’re a bloody moron! She’s out there, she likes you and your kid, and she’s alive, and do you have the first idea how lucky you are?!” It turned to an angry shout, grief overcoming his words. “Yes, she’s a lunatic, she’s a criminal, she’s insanely dangerous, trust you to fall for a sociopath. But she’s, you know…” He ran out of steam. “Text her back.”

            “Why?” said Sherlock.

            “Because it would be good for you,” said John. “You are missing out on a type of connection you’ve never had.”

            “As I think I’ve explained to you many times before, romantic entanglement, while fulfilling for other people—”

            “—Would complete you as a human being.” John looked at (Y/N). “What do you think?”

            “I think my dad takes time to get attached, but he is, even if it's just friendly. I don't know about that stuff,” said (Y/N). “But I know he's just stubborn.”

            “Even your kid agrees that you should text her back, even if just once,” said John. “Do something while there’s still a chance. Because that chance doesn’t last forever. Trust me Sherlock, it’s gone before you know it. Before you know it.”

            Because I know how it feels to lose someone I care about, and if I had never gotten to really love her, I would regret it forever.

            The unspoken truths hung in the air.

            “She was wrong about me.” All of the pouring of his heart finished, and deep-held words came next from John.

            “Mary?” said (Y/N), tilting their head.

            “She thought that if you put yourselves in harm’s way, I’d…I’d rescue you or something,” said John. “But I didn’t. Not until she told me to. And that’s how this works. That’s what you’re both missing. She taught me to be the man she already thought I was. It’s like how you are with (Y/N), Sherlock. You are a better man because they see you as better than you are.”

            “You are doing yourself a disservice,” said Sherlock. “We have known many people this world but made few friends, and we can safely safe—”

            “I cheated on her.” John spoke with the pain of the words in his tone. “No clever comeback?” He looked at the empty space next to him. “I cheated on you, Mary.”

            Sherlock and (Y/N) looked at each other. Was he…seeing Mary? In his grief?

            “It was a woman on the bus, and I had a plastic daisy in my hair, I’d been playing with Rosie. And this girl just smiled at me.” It was John’s confession, his deepest shame, the root of all his anger—anger at himself for not being better for Mary. For not being the man she thought he was. “That’s all it was, it was a smile. We texted constantly. You want to know when? Every time you left the room, that’s when. When you were feeding our daughter. When you were stopping her from crying, that’s when. That’s all it was. Just texting. But I wanted more. And you know something? I still do. I’m not the man you thought I was. I’m not that guy. I never could be. But that’s the point. That’s the whole point.” Tears burned his eyes. “Who you thought I was is the man who I want to be.”

            John sobbed and covered his eyes as the tears finally came. (Y/N) and Sherlock stood up and walked to his side.

            “It’s okay,” said Sherlock softly, hugging him.

            “It’s not okay,” sobbed John.

            “No,” said (Y/N), joining the hug. “But it is what it is. And it can be better.”

            They stayed still for a long time, not talking. That was fine. They all needed a break.

            When they separated, John cleared his throat. “So, cake? It’s your birthday.”

            Sherlock groaned.

            (Y/N) smiled.

            Sherlock paused. “You know, it’s not my place to say. But it was just texting. It’s a terrible thought, John, but sometimes I think we might all just be human.”

            “Even you?” said John.

            “No,” said (Y/N). “Even you.”

            John swallowed and looked away. “Cake?”

            “Cake,” said Sherlock. “Oh, erm.” He turned and grabbed something. He put a deerstalker hat on his head.

            “Seriously?” chuckled John.

            (Y/N) grinned. “What a hat.”

            “I’m Sherlock Holmes. I wear the damn hat,” said Sherlock.

l

            Things went back to normal. John let them visit now. He visited them. They solved cases. John took breaks to focus on himself and Rosie. (Y/N) babysat when Sherlock and John needed guy time.

            Things would never be the same without Mary, but things would be different in a way that wasn’t bad.

            And at least some things were normal—like the crazy people on cases.

            “Get out,” said Sherlock, opening the door with a huff.

            “She’s possessed by the devil!” said the man. “I swear my wife is channeling Satan.”

            “Boring,” said (Y/N).

            “Go away,” said Sherlock.

            “I’m not channeling Satan,” said his wife as they both headed out the door.

            “Why not? Given your immediate alternative.” He swung the door closed.

            (Y/N) sighed. “We need a good case.”

            “Yes, we…do…” Sherlock trailed down as he spotted a paper under a table. He knelt and picked it up. “It’s the paper.”

            (Y/N) sat up. “The what?”

            “That the woman who said she was Faith Smith wrote,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) immediately went to his side. “Not your handwriting. A woman’s.”

            “She was real,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) took the paper. “There’s a different texture here in the middle.”

            Sherlock grabbed a blacklight and held it to the paper.

            MISS ME?

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

@roo024

@ohimjustagirlidrathetnotbe

@snowy-violet

[quintessencewrites]

Desire

Shuri x stripper! reader

"Ladies and Gents, we got a treat for yall tonight! So much cake, it'll make you want to lick the icing first."

"Please help me in welcoming Desire to the stage!"

Warnings: 18+, implied smut, nudity, fluff, explicit language, stripping, illicit drug use, lap dances, etc.

Word Count: 3.2k+

Tags: @lunax0654 @inmyheadimobsessed @letitias-fav @doms-fav @sweetalittleselfish-honey @zestgodtj @themageking @becauseimswagman1 @k3nn3dyxo @dayjlovesromance @778ij @rxcently @widowmakker

Special Thanks to @letitias-fav for choosing y’all’s stripper name and effectively choosing the title as well 🫶🏾 thanks babes🤍🤍🤍

A/N: This was supposed to be a short and sweet little one-shot, but I got carried away and it ended up over 3,000 words long. You guys are gonna love this one, I just know it. I'm in love with it myself; I'm so freaking proud of the work I did on this story <3

A/N 2: NOT a part of my ShuRiri x Sade series. That returns this Thursday, 1/5/23 <3

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The clock on the wall is torturing me, its hands moving so slowly, I’m sure they aren’t even moving at all. I’m counting down; only 30 minutes left until I can clock out.

“Y’know, staring at that thang won’t make time go no faster, chile.” My eyes almost peek at the back of my eyelids, but I suppress the eye roll. Mr. Ellis doesn’t deserve that; he isn’t the target of my frustrations. “Here, now. Table 7’s food is up.”

“Table 7? I don’t have table 7, Mr. Ellis. Where’s Christine?”

My eyes peel away from the clock when my question is met with silence. The older gentleman points his head in the direction of the office that sits tucked away in the back of the kitchen. “She’s not feeling good again. Poor thing, pregnancy is taking a toll on her.”

My heart aches for the girl, 8 months pregnant and planning to work til the end. She’s exhausted, often sleeping in the cramped room for her entire shift. I reach for the aromatic trays, more than willing to cover for the waddling woman.

“She shouldn’t have to work.”

“You gon’ pay her bills, y/n?” the old man retorts. “If it was left up to me, you wouldn’t be working either. This job, or that other one.” The end of his sentence slithers off his tongue in disgust.

The sigh that releases from me is impatient. I didn’t feel like having this conversation with him again. The father-like figure made it clear how much he despised the work I do, often telling me “You gonna slide down that pole right on down to hell.”

“College don’t pay for itself, Mr. Ellis.” A deep ‘mm’ is all I get in return before I’m shooed into the dining room to deliver meals.

“Table 7… table 7,” I mumble, leaving the familiarity of my section of the restaurant to enter the unfamiliarity of Christine’s.

Table 7 sits in the center of the room, and it is surrounded by gorgeous women. They cause me to stumble over my feet a bit, but thankfully, the food doesn’t go down. At the heart of the group, is a girl whose eyes refuse to look away as I walk toward them. It causes my cheeks to go red and my gaze to fall.

“Hey everyone. Christine is taking a quick break, so I’ll be your server. My name is y/n.”

“Y/n? I’ve never heard that name before. It’s lovely.” the one whose intent look I couldn’t escape spoke. Her accent was thick and heavy, yet her voice was light and pulled me in.

The blush in my cheeks has for sure crept to the tips of my ears now. “Tha-thank you. Alright now, y’all gonna have to help me out some. I didn’t take y’all’s orders, so I don’t know who has what.”

The dark-skinned beauty to my left opened her mouth first. “I had the grilled salmon.” With a swift nod, I slid the hot plate in front of her. “The vegetarian meal belongs to me,” expressed the one on my right.

“That must leave you with the pork tacos?” I question, placing the plate in front of the girl with the dense vernacular. She nods with the corner of her lip between her rows of teeth. “Though, I’m suddenly feeling like cake,” she whispers when I reach across her to deliver her food, eyes clearly no longer on my face.

The boldness in her words separates my lips and almost buck my knees from under me. “Um, I-ha,” a nervous giggle escapes me and I take a small step back. A quick ‘ahem’ clears the shock from my throat. “If you ladies need anything else, don’t be afraid to ask,” I ramble off before beelining back to the kitchen.

“Girl, don’t you bust through them doors like that. Scaring my old soul”

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Ellis.”

Christine is standing next to the aged man, silently munching on saltines. “I took Table 7 for you, Chris.”

“Table 7? Oh, the group of girls? Y/n, aren’t they gorgeous?” she’s practically sighing.

“Yeah, intimidatingly so,” I allow the eye roll to follow through this time and glance up at the clock. 7:50. Ten more minutes.

“You don’t get tired, y/n? Leaving one job to go straight to the next?”

My hands reach up, capturing my curls and piling them atop my head in a bun before I answer. “Yeah, Chris, I’m worn out as hell-”

“Watch that mouth in front of me, chile.”

I wince, knowing better. “Sorry, Mr. Ellis. I’m tired as heck. But if I sit around too long thinking about how tired I am, I won’t get anything done.”

“I feel you. Do you mind checking to make sure table 7 doesn’t need anything else before you go? I’ll give you whatever tips they leave,” Baby mama asks with a mouthful of dry crackers.

I really don’t want to, but I’m motivated by the money. “Sure,” I offer, retying my apron and pushing the swinging door open.

I barely make it across the restaurant before the stranger’s eyes meet mine. A grin stretches her face as I approach. “What can we do for you, y/n?” she drawls, eyes glimmering.

I return the smile, genuinely intrigued by what about me has caught her eye so. “I’m just checking on everyone before I clock out. Is there anything else I can get you?”

Her brows furrow. “You’re leaving? Wait, let us show our appreciation for your service before you go.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” I vocalize once I notice all three women reaching into their wallets.

“Well, we’re going to,” the recipient of the vegetarian dinner states matter-of-factly. My mouth is closed, fingers playing with my rings nervously, not sure how to accept such open generosity. I wasn’t used to having to do so on this job. Here, people were supposed to leave their tips and be long gone by the time I went to retrieve them.

One by one, wads of cash are folded into my hand. The last girl’s hand lingers a bit longer. “Thank you,” she whispers to me. “You’re welcome,” my voice returns at the same volume.

“Have a good night, y/n. I hope to see you again.”

“Ye-yeah, yeah. You as well.” I trek back to Christine and Mr. Ellis and without counting the money first, I place half of the bills into her pocket before grabbing my belongings and rushing to the back door. I was going to be late. “I’ll see y’all tomorrow,” I call as the door shuts.

Thankfully, the car ride isn’t a long one. In ten minutes, I pull up to Missus, rushing in. “You’re late,” the DJ calls out to me from the sound booth. “No shit,” I yell back, running to the dressing rooms.

“You’re late,” Indigo echoes when I reach my locker.

“Why doesn’t anyone start a conversation with ‘hello’ anymore?”

“Bitch, because you are late. What took you so long? I had to convince mama to not take you off for tonight.”

I place a grateful kiss on my best friend’s cheek. “And I appreciate that. I’m only ten minutes late though.”

House mama peeks her head into the room. “Glad you could join us, y/n.”

My turn toward her is slow and I’m hoping my innocent smile can wipe away her pissed-off expression. “Hey, mama…”

“Don’t ‘hey, mama’ me. I warned you that you may be trying to juggle too much-”

I didn’t feel like hearing this lecture either. “I’m not mama, give me ten minutes. I’ll do a double-set to make up for it.”

With pursed lips and worried eyes, Mama walks away, leaving just me and Indigo. I reach into my locker and grab the first fabric my fingers brush across. I don’t have time to be picky, slightly dissatisfied with the black piece I’ve picked up. It’s a bit more revealing than what I usually chose to wear, despite the job title I held.

The one-piece had no straps, just a thick band covering my nipples but leaving my areolas for the people to see. The part that donned between my legs covered my second pair of lips well enough, though the thin string betwixt my cheeks left nothing to the imagination.

I reach down to my bag, searching for the clear stilettos I wore with almost every set, and became frantic when I couldn’t find them. “Ugh, Indi, can I borrow your black shoes?”

“The strappy ones?”

“I’d prefer the non-strappy ones.”

“Too bad. Those are currently on my feet. You’re getting the strappy ones. They’ll look delicious on you, with that outfit. I’ll help you lace them.”

The eye roll makes an encore but I don’t protest. I don’t have time to. Sitting on the furry pink bench, I allow Indigo to slide the shoes on and tie the strings up my thigh. I attempt to stand, but stumble at the unexpected height. Indi is much shorter than me and sports a whopping 10-inch shoe compared to my 6-inch ones.

“Damn, girl, I’m gonna break my neck.”

“Nope,” she pops the p in the word. “You’re gonna step on theirs. Get out there, shake that fat ass.”

I hear the DJ’s booming voice before I even declare myself ready. “Ladies and Gents, we got a treat for yall tonight. So much cake, it’ll make you want to lick the icing first.”

“Ew, what a disgusting way to put it.”

Indigo smacks her lips. “He’s not wrong,” she states, eyes not moving from your backside.

“Please, help me in welcoming Desire to the stage!”

A deafening remix of Birthday Cake by Rihanna roars through the speakers, and I have to practically run to the stage to make it to my cue.

It’s not even my birthday, but he wanna lick the icing off

One foot in front of the other, the strut of my walk and sway of my hips brings me to the pole center stage. The lights are blinding, I can barely see. I give the DJ a quick signal to turn them down a bit and when the strobes dim I can see the audience gaping at me.

With the pole behind me and both my hands on it while I face the crowd, my entire body is on display, just how they like it. My head dips, my curly mane falling over my face before I swing it back up.

It’s so exciting, don’t try to hide it, I’mma make you my bitch

My eyes catch hers on their way up. She’s here, sitting front row, ogling my almost naked body.

The girl from the restaurant. Her intense eyes are burning heat in my body, sending it upward to my face. Her confidence from earlier has been waived and a sweet shyness falls upon her. My routine doesn’t falter, it can’t falter, yet my mind is far away. When my thick thighs bring me closer to the end of the stage, I get a really good look at her.

Her jaw is so well-defined, it must have been chiseled from marble. The spirals hang from her head to cover her face ever so slightly, though the shaved sides keep her features open. Her eyes are so dark, they appear black instead of brown and right now, they’re set hard, focused on my figure.

She’s surrounded by the same women who accompanied her at the restaurant moments ago and they too can’t help but be entranced by me. My mind is telling me to take advantage of this opportunity, to get close, and I give in to the thoughts.

My legs sweep over the edge of the stage, and I climb down, not having to hop far due to the insane height of Indigo’s shoes. Her stare should be deemed rude, but I’m eating it up. I sway to her lap and make it my seat, straddling her thin waist. Throwing my head to the side, I allow my hair to mask my mouth, not wanting anyone to read our conversation.

“It’s nice to see you again,” I whisper, lips brushing her ear and the girl inhales deeply but doesn’t speak. “You know my real name. That’s a problem here. I think I ought to know yours.”

“Sh-Sh-Shuri,” she stutters out. Lifting to my feet, I walk back to the stage and finish my set in a split on the cold floor, giving Shuri an eyeful. Her orbs grow, almost bugging out of her head, and with a sly smile, I leave, returning to Indigo who’s still in the dressing room, now lighting a tightly wrapped blunt.

“I will never understand how your confidence shifts when you’re on stage versus when you’re not,” she says through the smoke.

“It’s a talent,” I shrug, taking the seat next to her. “Pass.”

She hands the joint over, and I take a deep drag, eyes shut with my mind still on Shuri. The odds that she was here right now were second to none. “What you thinking bout?” Indigo asks, reaching over to pluck the blunt from my fingers.

“There’s this girl out there. She was at the restaurant tonight too, flirting hard as hell, but here, I seem to have her speechless.”

Indi’s head lifts from the headrest momentarily. “Is she fine?”

“She looks like a greek god.”

My friend sucks her teeth in response. “You always get the good-looking ones. You wanna share?”

“Nah, one look at you and she won’t want me anymore,” I reply, eyes closing again.

“Shut up,” Indigo retorts. At the same moment, mama walks in. “Good set, Desire. You still owe me an extra one, but right now, you’ve got a private dance. Room 7.”

With a quick nod, I stand to my feet. I already have a feeling as to who it is and I’m unsurprised when I enter room 7 and see Shuri already seated on the couch at the back of the room. She stands when she notices my presence and it catches me off guard.

“Sit. You actually need to be sitting for this, at least in order for me to do my job correctly.”

My voice seems to have her hushed, but she sits as told. “I, um. You don’t have to dance for me. I just wanted your time. I’ll pay, of course, more than what you’re asking, but something about you all night has just been captivating.”

Captivating comes out breathy and I’m at a loss for words at hers. “You wanna pay me to spend time with you?

She’s nervous when her head bobs with her bottom lip pulled into her mouth, biting hard. “If that’s okay, of course,” she stumbles. “I-I don’t want to insult your work, the taste I got out there was pretty fantastic, but something is calling me to just get to know you.”

There’s a heat in my cheeks and a fury in my stomach. “Yeah, yeah, Shuri. We can talk.”

I sit next to the nervous girl and face her. She’s really cute when she’s fumbling around like this. And she’s fumbling over me. Shuri speaks first, “So you work as a stri-a dancer? And a waitress?”

“You don’t have to be afraid to say stripper. That’s what I am. Yeah, I work both. Waitress from 3 pm to 8 pm, stripping from 8:15 pm to 3 am. Class in between.”

Her eyebrows crinkle as her face frowns. “Class? So you’re a student?”

“Mhm. I go to NYU.”

“What is your major?” she rattles off.

“African-American Studies. Minoring in Dramatic Writing.”

Those eyebrows jump back to the top at her face, impressed, but they return to their scowl.

“How are you managing two jobs and being a full-time college student,” she asks, clearly concerned.

I allow myself to shrug. “I’m dedicated to it.”

“You definitely are.”

Shuri’s hand reaches across the couch, inching towards mine, but too nervous to grab hold.

I beat her to the action, placing her hand in my own and scooting closer. “Do I get to ask you questions now?”

A grimace passes over her face so quickly, I think I imagine it. “I suppose so.”

“Your accent tells me you’re not from New York. Somewhere in Africa, I’m guessing?” She nods a confirmation. “Where?”

“Wakanda,” she returns, and suddenly I put two and two together.

With a quick release of her hand, I jump to my feet, forgetting the death traps I was standing on. My ankle rolls underneath me and my body descends, but just as I’m expecting it to come in contact with the hard floor, I instead feel an arm wrap around my waist, steadying my fall.

When I look up at my rescuer, I’m utterly speechless. “You’re Princess Shuri,” I whisper-shout. Shuri’s eyes aren’t on mine, instead trained on something a bit lower that’s got her mouth opening and closing and tripping over her words.

Meeting her gaze, I notice my breasts exposed, the fabric of my leotard having shifted during my tumble. Hurriedly, I pull the black band back down, arms quick to cross my chest. “Shit, Your Majesty, I’m so, so sorry. This is so indecent,” I glance around, desperately searching for something to use as a cover-up.

Shuri picks up on my actions, unbuttoning and removing her blazer and placing it around my naked body. “No, no it is okay. Please, drop the ‘your majesty’. You called me Shuri before.”

“That was before I realized I was talking to royalty. I’m so sorry."

The Princess's eyes were desperate, begging me to return things to how they were before. I look around before sitting on the couch again.

“You sure just Shuri is okay? I don’t want to be rude…”

She drops to her knees in front of me and takes my feet in her hands, beginning to unlace the damned shoes from them.

“Just Shuri was okay before; it’s more than okay now.”

Her words sink in. “Okay, Shuri. Why are you in New York?”

A small smile returns to her pretty face. “Just some business with the Avengers.”

Wow, I really had the Princess of Wakanda, the Black Panther, a freaking Avenger, seated at my feet instead of me bowing at hers. Once she’s removed the footwear, Shuri takes my sore and bruised foot in her hand and begins to dig her digits into them. “I hope I am not being too forward. I hate seeing anyone in pain.”

“No worries,” is the last thing that leaves my mouth before she interrupts me again.

“Desire is a fitting name for you.”

“What? Why do you say that?” I’m interested in her words.

“You have this energy surrounding you. It’s been pulling me in all night. I barely even know you, yet I’m craving you. I desire you.”

“Oh,” I gasp, flattered beyond belief. My stomach is turning, my attraction for the royal at its peak.

“Well, I-I didn’t choose the name. Indigo chose it for me.”

“Indigo? Do you have a girlfriend?” Her hands drop, ready to friendzone herself before I even answer.

“No, God, no,” I laugh at the idea. “Indigo is another dancer here. She’s my best friend.”

She grins like a Cheshire cat. “Good.”

“Good?” I ask. “Why good?”

“Because I don’t want to have to compete with someone for your heart.”

“My heart?” her words are hypnotizing, pulling me in and holding me tight. “You want my heart?”

“No, y/n. I desire it.”

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