#cherry soda boy

[agrinsosardonic]

Snapshots

(July 5th: Camera)

I found it in the junk draw of the kitchen one summer day. A pink tomb- a relic from the middle of the new millennium. In it, I suspected, phantoms from distant nights haunted its old SD card. And when I connected it to my new laptop, I downloaded one-hundred and fifty rose gold memories. I shifted through each picture. Looked into the pixelated eyes of each person. Dressed in their best Myspace top 8s. Side bangs and cross necklaces. Half of us in tripp pants. The other half in backwards caps throwing up fake gang signs. Then I came upon a picture that has circulated everybody's facebook memories at least once. Each with the same I want to go back! Twenty faces standing infront of a midnight sky. Some friends. Other acquainces. Some friends of friends of friends. Most of us tagged so we relive the same conversation. The remember when…what happened to…we should get together…

And that picture, I actually had developed. And on it, I put X’s over all the people I no longer speak too, and crosses over the ones who died, and bars over the two who got arrested–one for DUI and one for selling oxys to high schoolers ten years after this picture was taken. I put question marks over the ones who left the island and never returned and who managed to scrub their digital footprint from a Google Search. I noted the ones who had kids too early. The ones who became police officers. The ones who became teachers and firefighters.

I circled me. On the far left. In a beanie and Slipknot hoodie with a broken face and hazy eyes and a frown that screamed louder than my voice ever could. And I recognized I was still haunted by his ghost, even thirteen years later. So, I burned the picture in my sink. Let the fire eat away at summer memories. Fill the apartment with the stench of chemicals and flame. Then I thought about tossing the camera in the trash with the rest of my teenage memories. But then I remember I didn’t own this coffin. It belonged to one of the people with a cross over their head.

So I threw it back into the junk drawer to be forgotten. To get dumped into another moving box one day, shuffled across another bridge. To maybe be found thirteen years from now

And the ritual repeats.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

can I talk about somethin yall are gonna hate for a sec? I think part of the reason stevepop is so tragic to me is that Steve builds himself entirely around Soda. he wouldn't be nothin without him. n maybe he hates him for that sometimes. but he's always been one half. Steve of Steve n Soda. n he knows he ain't nothin without him. n most days? well that's OK. but somewhere. deep deep down in soda knows the truth. that Steve is the outlet for all the things soda can't give to nobody else. all the anger n thoughtlessness. all the impulsiveness that's fun until the come down. all the bad soda puts away n shoves down n keeps from his brothers cause hes always gotta keep them goin n balanced n happy by bein grinnin n sun n the soda they think he is. soda knows the truth somewhere inside him. Steve would be just fine without soda. soda could never live without steve.

[musictowatchtheboystosblog]

⋆𐙚₊˚Amber ———— Drew Starkey, pink ribbon, cherrys, Lizzy grant, knee high socks, shy, attachment issues, ily

_______________ ֺ⋆: ୨୧ ֺ⋆: ______________

[greasernamedbug]

I'm bad at this about me crap

I'm otto but for this acc I go by bug

Sometimes I comment portraying myself as my OC bug

I'm not good at understanding social cues

And I'm open to roleplay just yk I'm weird idek

go ahead n do that "ask this creator" ill respond as my oc bug!!

ALSO IM 17 plz plz plz dont sexually harass me, yes you can ask things that are 16+ since I'm over 16 but don't be sending me nudes n gore n shit

[boysborntodie]

Thinking about changing my icon to Cherry...

[dairyfairyy]

oh baby names from the outsiders are just perfect

saw this on reddit and lost it 😭😭

link to the actual post

[riaki]

i literally cant stop thinkin’ about highschoolbully!gojo who used to be your ride or die ‘til he started getting attention from those popular jock type guys who are always assholes to everyone. and him being.. well, him means he preens under attention no matter who it’s from, so naturally he started to gravitate towards that group and their little troop of cheerleading fangirls. and then he started distancing from you and without either of you really realizing it, you’ve slipped between the other’s fingers. but the way he acts towards you makes you think he let you fall without moving a muscle to slow you down.

soon enough, a year swings by and by the end of it he’s gone from your life, save as just another face in the gaggle of boys who make crude jokes and laugh at smart kids and pop milk cartoons during lunch just for the hell of it. but you’re minding your own business, ‘cause you’re mature enough to realize that people come and go, no matter how close you might’ve been and you think it’s unfortunate that so many memories could be thrown aside in a blink of an eye, but it makes a lot of sense when you walk past satoru and his friends bullying some random kid. you don’t know him, but you’ve heard enough to realize it’s his girlfriend satoru’s flirting with while his ‘gang’ kick at the kid. and it’s sickening, but you don’t say anything when you walk by.

and when you don’t ever see the kid afterward and catch the dark eyebags under his girlfriend’s eyes, you come to the cruel realization that satoru isn’t the boy who’d bandage the scrape on your knee you got from tripping in the playground or buy you a soda because he’s noticed your sweat when you were walking home and you don’t have any money left on you.

it’s a glass half empty, half full type of situation. on the one hand, you don’t have him anymore. on the other hand, you don’t have him anymore. that is, you lost your best friend, but you’ve also lost someone who has the potential to absolutely ruin your life. and you don’t know whether to be glad or not, so you just mind your own business even if it hurts a little when he ignores you, stops tossing paper at your head in class (unless it’s to embarrass you) and stops walking you to and from school.

but the cherry on top of the shit cake is that he doesn't get it. so when he approaches you in the library one day after satiating the need to tear pages from books and make them into paper airplanes to throw at people, he doesn't seem to understand why you try to ignore him, or put off his attempts to hold a convo. but the worst part is that he's just sleazy and clueless about it. it's like he took an eraser and wiped every single year of your friendship off the chalkboard with one fell swipe, and you wish he'd done that too to the less-than-appropriate messages he and his friends had written towards one of your classmates.

he doesn't understand why you're hesitant to talk, and that's what makes it the worst. he always thinks he's in the right, and he keeps setting you off and it sucks that he knows exactly what sets you off. "i'm an asshole? what're you talking about? really, you're in over your head. you never change." he laughs, and you ignore him, and he gets bored, and he's about to leave when he spots your wallet open next to your book, on the table. there's a polaroid peeking out, and he recognizes the tufts of white hair to be him. but there's a weird feeling in his chest, and he thinks he gets it from you, so he leaves because he thinks you're weird.

and it goes on; you practically become a nobody in satoru's eyes, because of that weird, weird feeling you give him. it's unfamiliar and he's never gotten it before and he doesn't like it. but it's unavoidable when your professor pairs you two for the end-of-term project. and of course, you're ready to do all the work, because that's how it always was between you when you were kids. but sometimes he'd surprise you by helping, and he'd show you that he was actually intelligent just to earn your praise because he liked it. but he ignored you, and you did everything, and it would've been okay if not for his friends egging him on to present your entire project when the day came and leave you with no content for a grade.

that's the first time it hits him: does he really want to do that? but it's not like it'll be the first time; you've always taken the hits for him, because you're naturally smart and you'll pick yourself back up in no time, and you get why he does it, so it'll be okay. so he agrees, and he enjoys the time he gets to spend with you through it, but the nagging weird feeling that blooms in his chest like a pesky weed only grows stronger. that's all his feelings ever seem to do around you.

but before you know it, presentation day swings around. you had coffee this morning (on his card), and you're ready enough to shoot him a small smile that sends his heart a-flutter. so you go up, feeling up to the task and ready until— he starts talking, and talking, and talking, and people don't think that he's taking your words out of your mouth because he's intelligent when he wants to make you praise him and you don't get the chance to get a word in and you notice the guys are laughing and hitting each other's shoulders to themselves in the upper rows and before you know it it's over. people are clapping but moreso they're looking at you and they're whispering— but it's terribly loud and they don't bother to hide it. they call you things that shouldn't bother you but they do anyway, because it's satoru's fault, and you're such a fool for thinking you could have it your way again.

so you leave class early, excusing yourself and ignoring the way your professor gives you a distasteful look and scribbles something next to your name. you're out the door in a second, neglecting your bags and satoru's a little lost because— didn't he just do good? people were clapping, and laughing with him and not at him, but it's attention either way so he doesn't mind. so why do you? why did you look at him like he stabbed you in the back? and his friends are calling his name, and he wishes he could chase after you and do something but he doesn't.

and it's a little sickening what they do next; one of their girls grabbed your bags and tossed it to them, and they've started rifling through it as if they own it, tearing up your shit and dumping everything onto the ground and he's kind of just... glued to the chair by his feelings. his heart feels like it's been patched together and the weird fuzzy feeling he had in his chest that's been cultivating has extinguished to be replaced with something he realizes he's only ever felt when it comes to you— guilt.

he's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realize his friend is silently offering him something— nudging his side to get his attention. he takes it without really realizing he moved his hand, and his silent friend with the gauges in his ears and the dark hair gets up and leaves without another word. when satoru looks down, he realizes he's been given your wallet. "the reward for betraying your baby," they call it. like all you're worth is the money in your account.

he's a little curious. that's how he's always been; asking you questions, rummaging through your stuff, laughing sheepishly and shaking it off when you caught him red-handed. so he opens it up, ignoring your sad little cards and the funny look on your license. he's looking for something, subconsciously; but he doesn't find it. there's no white tuft of hair to suggest his presence in your life; just empty black leather. nothing else.

and he doesn't see you after. or the following day. or the following weeks; weeks that turn into months that turn into the end of school and he's graduating but you're not by his side. and neither are his so called 'friends'; the only thing he has to their name is your own ruined friendship. it's a shame; he feels alone. very alone. no fuzzy weird feeling, not even that thing people call guilt. no attention to chase, and connections are ever harder to make. it shouldn'tve mattered that much, right? it was just a presentation. why wouldn't you just come back to him like you always did? were you not still friends...?

but the blood is still on his hands, and he doesn't manage to ever wash it off. guilt has a way of festering; of weighing on the heart 'till there's nothing left to feel or think but unfortunate circumstance and what could've been done differently. it just sucks that he never tried hard enough to keep you from slipping between his grasp. and now, he doesn't even have a polaroid to your friendship's name.

pt.2

[stanart4clearskin]

COWBOY!ART DONALDSON who loves to drink cherry coke when you’re out of town because it reminds him of kissing you. it’s your favorite soda so you typically taste like it when you kiss him.

COWBOY!ART DONALDSON who will act as if he’s bothered by the stuffed animal you gifted him but when you’re not around he treats it like his child.

COWBOY!ART DONALDSON who’ll skip his lunch breaks so that he can spend the half an hour making out with you in the back of the barn.

COWBOY!ART DONALDSON who loves to read books and used to be a member of his grandma’s book club before he got too busy with work.

COWBOY!ART DONALDSON who knows the name of everyone in town and tries his hardest to keep up with everything. people call him “the news boy” because if you want to know the latest happenings in the town you just need to ask art.

COWBOY!ART DONALDSON who is a damn good cook because his grandma used to sit him down every sunday after church and teach him one of her recipes.

COWBOY!ART DONALDSON who takes you down to the local bar on friday nights to do line dancing but that quickly ends because he sees how awful you are and you refuse to ever go again.

COWBOY!ART DONALDSON isn’t a very religious man—even though his grandma dragged him to church every sunday—but he prayed to god every night in hopes that you would become his.

COWBOY!ART DONALDSON who surprisingly is partially allergic to grass even though he works out in the fields all day long. he takes allergy medicine whenever he can and usually comes home sneezing. that’s why he carries a small packet of tissues in his jeans.

COWBOY!ART DONALDSON who named his childhood horse, horsey so now as a grown man he has to call out horsey whenever he wants her to come to him.

COWBOY!ART DONALDSON who keeps his house and every room in it, extremely minimalistic. the first time you went to his place you thought he was in the process of moving in because everything was so bare.

COWBOY!ART DONALDSON who buys you a necklace locket so that you can put a picture of him in it. he also buys himself a matching keychain that has a picture of you in it. he hooks it on his jeans every morning so that he carries you around with him.

COWBOY!ART DONALDSON who was surprisingly inexperienced romantically before you. although a lot of girls liked him growing up, he was too scared to act on it so he never did.

COWBOY!ART DONALDSON who has an avid love for bowling and makes you go every tuesday with him to the couples bowling league.

[jesuistrestriste]

Cowgirl reader x art when

𐚁 ✮⋆˙ needy!art donaldson x cowgirl NSFW 18+

—

art doesn’t even know why he agreed to go with patrick down south for an impromptu boys trip.

it’s stickier down there; the humidity so high that the air is practically drinkable.

the heat suffocated him and climbed down his throat the second he got off the plane, and patrick had unsurprisingly laughed at him when he developed sweat stains on his tee shirt after only ten minutes in the uber to their hotel. it wasn’t his fault, he just never handled high temperatures well.

he blamed the desert, or whatever hellish fire-breathing beast was desecrating this part of the country with such unimaginable warmth. he could hardly think straight with the way his clothing clung to his heat-prickled skin.

he regretted going on the trip from the moment they touched down at the airport. he wished he had stayed back home, then at least he could get some time on the courts. but no.

and so he ruminated on the idea that he shouldn’t have come.

that is, until he and pat went out to a bar that first night.

patrick had already gotten drunk in the first twenty-five minutes and was feeling up a stranger, staggering with them off into a booth buried at the back of the establishment to get handsy. art’s eyes had rolled so far back that he was sure the earth had almost tipped with them.

he leaned over the busy bar, sipping his underwhelming tequila soda until he felt someone different slip into the space next to him.

a woman.

a pretty—no, sexy one at that.

glossy lips, a loose tee shirt that hung off of one shoulder (pink bra strap on display), dark flare jeans that hugged her in all the right places, brown leather boots, and a cowboy hat.

she couldn’t look more typically southern. but fuck, she was hot.

she turns her head and smiles up at him, her hat tilting up with her neck’s movement to expose more of her face.

“hey,” she hums, her eyes scanning him up and down before he can even speak, “… you’re not from here, are you?”

her voice is warm and silky, like dark chocolate. it floods his brain and immediately dilutes his thoughts into incoherent ramblings.

god, why hasn’t he said anything?

say something, damn it!

“ha..! no, no.. not from here,” art chuckles out nervously after a brief clearing of his throat.

she just smirks. putting her pearly whites on display for everyone to see. or maybe just for him..?

“yeah, i could tell by the way you’re dressed.”

was.. was that an insult?

is he supposed to laugh?

shit, she smells like the most delicious—

the thoughts in his brain are cut off abruptly when he feels her hand on his chest, dragging down.

oh fuck.

“relax, city boy,” she purrs with an intoxicating drawl, her free hand taking the hat off of her own head and placing it on top of his blonde curls, “i didn’t mean to get y’all worked up.. i’ll buy you a drink, hm?”

“i.. uh, i mean— okay, yeah, uhm, sure. i’ll take a drink..”

—

an hour comes and goes, and then art somehow winds up in the back of the girl’s car; parked on the outskirts of the small gravel lot.

it’s a shiny, cherry-red convertible. fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror. a picture of a well-groomed black horse tucked into the driver seat’s personal mirror (which she flipped up once the two of them were taking off their clothes).

patrick was still somewhere in the bar, preoccupied, so art felt less guilty about letting this woman drag him out the backdoor towards her vehicle. all it had taken was one sloppy kiss, and then he was willingly trailing behind her like a sick dog.

art can hardly process that now they’re completely naked; his flushed back sticking to her leather seats as she sinks down on his cock. a shuddering groan is pulled forcefully from his chest, spilling out in the next instant. he feels his balls draw up once, twice, three times in response to the feeling of her tight cunt gripping around him, and he swears he could almost come right then and there. she’s like a fucking goddess.

“can you handle me?” she smirks down to him, starting to rock her hips rhythmically like she’s riding a mechanical bull, “i wanna hear an answer, darlin’…”

“can’t—“

ugh, he’s choking on his words. shaking hands holding her waist with the desperation of a guy who hasn’t gotten laid in over a year. he’s allowed to be a bit pathetic.

“can’t?” she repeats, bouncing now on his slicked-up shaft, her nails running down his tensing abdomen and leaving red stripes in their wake.

he shakes his head, a loud whimper and gasp following suit. his thighs are starting to tremble. toes already started curling thirty seconds ago.

“can’t— can’t last, not gonna last—“

the woman just laughs lowly and rolls her pelvis in slow circles. art’s body vaults up in response, pushing against her weight on top of him as he feels a blurt of precome erupt from his tip and surround him in the condom— daring him to disappoint her and let it all go before he gets the go-ahead.

“ohh… aah— you really aren’t from around here, are you? poor lil’ thing…”

he doesn’t know why that statement from her makes his gut stir with pre-orgasmic convulsions. he’s trying to meet her movements with his own thrusts, but he’s losing stamina fast. every buck of his body into her pussy sends a sharp bolt of pleasure right up his spine. he’s sweating almost as much now as he was when he first arrived. probably moreso, if he’s honest.

and shit, he can’t be anything but honest at this point.

she’s making him forget everything he ever disliked about this part of the country.

she’s making him feel like her pussy could solve all of his problems.

she’s making him feel like… like… like—

“oh, god—!” he hiccups, squeezing into her torso, head tipped back and biceps curling as he tries to tug her down closer, “i’m sorry, i can’t hold it— i’m gonna come, can’t— can’t stop-!”

she giggles, and then there’s the voice again. warm, smooth, low. dripping right into the crook of his neck.

“alright, city boy,” she whispers, “come then.”

and that’s all it takes.

art’s eyes squeeze shut, his jaw slacks, and he lets out the most desperate strangled cry as he feels the scorching waves of pleasure consume him from all sides. he feels his cock kick against her palpating walls, pulses of his sticky white release webbing on the inside of the latex.

he’s practically vibrating by the time the aftershocks roll around, his baby blues looking up dazedly to the smiling woman still connected to him. her hands cup his flushed cheeks, her thumbs wiping beaded sweat from his temples and his forehead.

“there ya go… thaaat’s it, darlin’… let it all out…”

art sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and whimpers as he feels his dick stir inside of her, threatening to shoot again just from her words.

“haah… ha-aahngh… hnngh,” he quakes, gasping for air and trying to calm himself down, “h-how did… ngh— how did y-you do that t-to me..?”

trying not to sound so utterly wrecked is easier said than done, he’s realizing that now. he really can’t prevent it- he’s nothing more than a limp mess underneath her perfect form.

he winces and hisses softly with sensitivity when she torturously rocks just once more over his spent parts.

“oh, honey,” she laughs, “we just do it different down here.”

… god, he loves the south.

[agrinsosardonic]

“When you eat pineapple, it eats you back.”

“How…?”

“I don’t know. Science or some shit.”

[curtis-brothers-hug]

If they ever make another outsiders movie (not a movie musical, just a movie adaptation of the book), I want book accurate actors.

I want them to cast actors that are the actual ages of the characters. I know you can’t do that with a Broadway musical, but you can in a movie.

I want an actual 14-year-old playing Ponyboy. I want an actual 20-year-old playing Darry. Actual 16 or 17 year olds playing Cherry and Bob. Let the audience see how young these kids really are. 14-year-olds look like babies. They sound like babies, as in vocally, 14-year-old boys’ voices sound like they’re going through puberty. Show us this baby getting jumped and drowned and on the run for murder.

“Darry’s not a good guardian.” He’s twenty. “Cherry’s such a bitch.” She’s seventeen. “Soda’s so good looking.” Maybe to other teenagers, but he’s 16. He’s a child. “Sandy and Sylvia are cheaters!” They are 16/17 year old children. “Dally is so tough and cool.” He is a neglected child who’s seen Rebel Without a Cause too many times. So much of the story gets lost when the audience doesn’t realize how young the characters are.

I want a blonde Soda. Out of all the outsiders adaptations, I don’t think we’ve ever actually gotten a blonde Soda. (Maybe some of the musical understudies?). Give us the visual representation of Pony’s view of his brothers - light Soda vs dark Darry.

I want a Dallas who is not attractive. Dallas Winston is not a cool heartthrob, he is a gremlin. When Johnny calls Dally “gallant,” it should seem just a little ridiculous.

In conclusion, the book ages and appearances are there for a reason.

[greasernamedbug]

Benjamin "Bug" Jaegers low life

warnings: alcohol, hints of racism, fighting, violence, murder?? abuse and spoilers to the outsiders book.

Benjamin was always known around town as the devil’s child. That’s what they called him, mostly behind his back, but sometimes even right to his face. He could never really figure out if it was the way he looked or just what people assumed about him, but it always felt like there was something about him that made people uneasy. Maybe it was the way his skin was so pale, so white it almost glowed under the sun. Or maybe it was his eyes—those strange, grey-purple eyes, like a storm cloud that never quite passed. People couldn’t look him in the eye for too long. It made them uncomfortable, and in a town like Tulsa, Oklahoma, where things were already tense, it didn’t help that Benjamin was different. And his mom? Well, she was black. In 1965, that was a hard combination to deal with. With the civil rights movement stirring up all kinds of trouble, things were already divided enough, and Benjamin seemed to exist in some kind of gray area. He was allowed to attend school with the white kids, but no one ever guessed the full story. Benjamin didn’t look like the other black kids, so they didn’t know he had that blood in him. They just saw someone different—maybe an oddity, maybe just another misfit. But that was enough to get by. He was almost grateful for it. At least he didn’t have to deal with the kind of hate that the other black kids did. No one suspected what he was. If they knew—if they knew he was albino and black—he probably wouldn’t have lasted a day. The thought of it made him shiver. He didn’t want to end up like Johnny, that poor kid down the road. Johnny hadn’t made it out of the town alive, and Benjamin wasn’t sure he’d fare any better. Johnny had burned and died, that's all he knew, some boy forgotten in his death, and Benjamin couldn’t help but think the same could happen to him. People used to wonder why he was still in high school at the age of 19. Benjamin didn’t have an answer for them, except the truth: life had a way of tripping him up. He had been held back a few times—more than a few—and it wasn’t because he was dumb. He had the brains to get through it, but life just kept getting in the way. When he was about 9, his mom passed away from cancer. That was the first big blow, the first thing that knocked him flat on his back. He couldn’t focus on school, couldn’t care about anything but the fact that his world had gone from normal to a wreck in a heartbeat. His dad? Well, his dad took up drinking and driving as a hobby. It wasn’t long before Benjamin was held back for the first time. That wasn’t a surprise. The year his mom died was the year his dad started showing up drunk at home more and more. And the next year? Same thing. Benjamin got held back again. And this time, it was even worse. His dad had driven drunk and hit a mother and child. Killed them both instantly. DUI manslaughter, they called it. His dad went away for a long time, and Benjamin was left alone, left with the mess his father had made. He didn’t have anyone, not really. That’s when he ended up moving in with his aunt. She wasn’t the warm, loving type. She was a hothead with a bad temper. And she hated his dad. Hated him with everything she had. And Benjamin? Well, she hated him too. He was a constant reminder of everything she couldn’t stand. She made it clear to him every day, reminding him how much of a mistake he was. He never felt at home there, but there was no other place to go. He didn’t have a choice. Still,

somehow, he managed to make it through. He wasn’t dead yet, at least. That was about the only thing he could hold onto. By the time Benjamin was a teenager, he had learned how to fight. He wasn’t good at school, wasn’t good at making friends, but he could throw a punch. And when things got heated, when someone decided to take a swing at him or make fun of him, he didn’t hesitate to throw one right back. He wasn’t afraid of it, either. If the fight got too bad, he’d pull a knife just to make sure he wasn’t going down without a fight. Life had been rough, but it had made him tough. And he didn’t know how to do anything else. He wasn’t going to back down, no matter what. As the years went on, Benjamin got older. He moved out, trying to find some sense of freedom, trying to carve out something that felt like a life. But the streets were cold, unforgiving. He drank more than he should have, fought whenever he had the chance, and ended up living in places that weren’t exactly homes—just shelters or alleys, places where he could sleep, even if it was just for a few hours. The world didn’t care about him, and he had made peace with that. It was rough, but it was what he knew. He spent his nights wandering the streets, trying to forget about all the things that had happened. The things that had led him here. But no matter how much he drank, no matter how many fights he got into, none of it ever really felt like it fixed anything. One night, Benjamin made a decision. It wasn’t a smart decision, not by any means, but it was the kind of decision you make when you’ve had enough and you stop caring about the consequences. He was drunk, as usual, and he decided to steal a car. He didn’t even think twice about it. He just saw it there, and the impulse kicked in. He jumped in, started it up, and took off. He didn’t care where he was going. He didn’t care that the cops were already chasing him. He just wanted to go. But as he sped through the streets, something went wrong. He didn’t see the bridge. The car hit the guardrail, and before he could even react, it was off the edge. He couldn’t stop it. The car plunged into the water, and Benjamin went down with it, helpless against the weight of it all. The cold water hit him like a punch in the gut, and for a moment, he thought maybe this was it—maybe this was how it would end. It was too cold, too dark, and there was no way to get out. He sank deeper, and that was the end. The last thing he ever felt was the water, pulling him down, drowning him in the mistakes he’d made. In the end, Benjamin was just another lost soul. Another person who had been too broken by life to make it out alive. Another kid from a town that didn’t care.

sry ik this sucks im not a writer hehehe

[miss-tarja]

Like a Fine Wine

Younger! Miguel O'Hara x Sugar Mommy! Reader

WARNINGS: Transactional relationship at the begining, smut, protected p in v, fluff, emotional distress, no strings attached to catching feelings type of thing. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

A/N: This is @tatatida raffle event prize <3. Got her permission to post it. Hope you guys like it as mucha as I did writing it :D. So fun to write again!

If there was one thing you hated more than wires in your bra, poking out and digging into your skin was precisely this. Social gatherings with loud music after a long day, that somehow were a must to keep up the appearances within your collaborators and clients.

And the cherry on top besides this, were two little details that had ruined your overall mood and will to believe in such a thing the soon-to-be wedded couple favored.

To starters, the man whom you thought would be that exact same guy with a goofy and moonstruck smile, kneeling before the woman as he proposed to her, not only broke up with you a week ago, right before this party, but also broke the three month engagement you had agreed and partook in, and the urge to make an engagement party after a couple of years dating. 

He cut all ties with your persona and everything that rendered your existence and what you had to offer. And the second bitter cherry, you were selected to make the brides dream come true by not only designing her wedding dress, but her bridesmaids too. 

Oh, how much fun you've been having by designing your own wedding dress. A design that somehow ended up in the bride's main picks. For once you hated your job and everything that came with it. Happy and excited faces, I do's here and there whenever the brides were grateful and went beyond to invite a top tier Haute Couture and lingerie designer like yourself to the ceremony. 

The excitement you'd never get... 

A defeated sigh escaped your lips for the umpteenth time and absentmindedly snatched your third champagne cup from a nearby waiter. Marriage was overrated anyway and the stress had been nicking enough of your nerves. You needed out. 

The mellow, sickly sweet and romantic music had been a bit too much for your ears, same for the laughs and fun and frankly, you hadn't left because the bride wanted some adjustments in her request, but you didn't have the heart to be a wet blanket over her happiness and pollute her joy with your own heartbreak and mood swings. So you waited, and waited and-

"Should I call you a cab?" The waiter's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. Rich, deep and oh so exquisite that sent a jolt directly to your spine the emotional discomfort brewing in. 

Oh boy... 

The man before you, clad in white and black was everything but that. A boy, as you usually saw younger men. The white button chemise made a wondrous job in containing his well worked arms that moved effectively while delivering drinks and his chest, puffing with the constant beating of his heartbeats and breathings. Your eyes couldn't help but wander from his gorgeous and cryptic, stoic face, to the narrow and perfectly sculpted waist. 

My goodness...

"... Ma'am?" He chuckled a tad uncomfortable yet used to the looks his appearances provoked. Your eyes casted away, embarrassed for being not so discreet in your ogling. 

"Uh...  no. Sorry. I'm waiting for the bride to finish some stuff. Could you be so kind to fetch me a rose soda, please?" 

"Of course. Anything else?" 

"Just that for the meantime, thank you." 

His red eyes blinked slowly, absorbing your order as he retired your nearly empty champagne cup from the table. 

"I'll be right back." The handsome man spoke and you just nodded with a brief smile before he scrammed off to the drink station not too far away from your spot.

"Seems you caught her eye." One of his coworkers, Harry, spoke with a smile that hinted at nothing but trouble , pointing discreetly your way. 

"Doubt it. She was getting drunk, looking lonely and a bit miserable, probably not having a good time." He huffed, preparing the golden rimmed and fancy glass with ice. 

"C'mon, Migs. I know it's bad to just jump into women like vultures when they're going through vulnerable stuff, but hey, think of it this way." Harry hugged his neck, pulling him closer, "You'll give her a good time to forget whatever thing has gotten her like that." Miguel rolled his eyes. Of course Harry wouldn't pass the opportunity to jump in whatever chance that got him laid. "And, just look at her!" 

Harry nearly groaned after stealing another glance your way. 

"Harry..." Miguel warned, already knowing where the conversation was leading to. 

"C'mon, man. She was staring at you like she would eat you in the spot! Wished women looked at me like that."

"They would, if you weren't a creep about it. Are you even hearing yourself?" His bushy brow quivered and his eyes rolled. "Just get me a rose soda."

"I'm not a creep, O'Hara. And that shit's disgusting, don't know why, it's so freaking sweet and awful but rich people drink it like no tomorrow. But!" He pushed Miguel with his elbow softly, "That only means she must be stacked up in money too." He mumbled while handing him a golden and pink can along a straw. 

"Of course she is. From what I gathered, she's a famous designer, doing the dresses." He shrugged nonchalantly as he poured the sweet smelling concoction in the glass. 

"Then even better! Go for it! Bet you 20$ she's single. And 50$ of my tips you're ending up in her bed tonight." 

"Hilarious you think you'd get tips from these people." He plated up, and returned to you. Or at least, tried since you were nowhere to be seen. He swore you were there some moments ago. 

Until he spotted you talking with the bride, taking notes and sketching so fast in a pad he was genuinely amused for a second at how easy the skills came in your hand. You also took some measurements off the bride and the bridesmaids. It didn't take no longer than fifteen minutes in total to gather what you needed or he supposed. 

He returned again, to finally find you alone in another table, he carried a freshly served drink as the previous one had lost the gas and flavor. You were skimming through your sketch pad, biting your lip as you redrawn over and over the veil's fall.

"Ma'am?" He called and your eyes met his. Lighting up with delight at what he had on the tray.

"Oh, right!. Thank you very much... Uh..." Your brow quirked and Miguel cleared his throat. 

"Miguel. Miguel O'Hara." His lips curved a chip awkwardly as he placed the soda on a cover away from your working tools. 

"Right." Naturally you gave him your name and took a long sip of soda. The sugar in it earned an approving hum from you, Miguel's eyes wandered discreetly over your shiny lips as you licked them. "Hope you don't mind me asking, but how old are you, Miguel?" 

The sudden question threw him off, specially when you had asked so out of the blue with such confidence he only allowed his closed ones. The hunt was on and he was the perfect subject to bring home and hang on your wall. Or rather bed. 

"Pardon?" He blinked, genuinely confused as to why would you ask that as he held his tray in an attempt to hide the fidgeting of his hands. He was the one supposedly doing the flirting, not backwards. That is, if you were actually flirting. It had been a long while since he gave into something casual. One night stands weren't something he indulged often, except when his body screamed for release in something else that wasn't his pumping and squeezing hand. 

Bills and temporary jobs kept him busy like that. 

"I asked your age." Your head turned to face him again, and for once, he frowned. Earning you a small giggle. "Relax, sweetheart. Twenty somethings aren't that much of a favorite of mines."

"Then, guess I'm out of your league." 

You chuckled and sipped your soda, not daring to tear your gaze from him. 

"Older than twenty five?" 

He shrugged, quietly admitting a bit of himself, exposed but genuinely amused at your sudden move.

"Ah, I see. We could do an exception." You gestured for him to seat. And he shook his head. 

"Can't do, I'm still on my shift, I'm afraid." 

"All responsibility is on me if something happens. Please. Sit." You gestured and he sat across you, hesitant as you drank another sip, to sweeten your mouth and lace up the words coming off it. "You see, it's not every day I feel particularly... inclined to indulge myself with the people around me. So I'll go straight to the point."

"Id like that, yeah." His words made you smirk. 

"This is probably your second or third job. Yeah?" 

His brows puckered ever softly at the probing guess, but he kept on listening. 

"Sorry if I come out as invasive. Perks of being in this... side of business turns one into a good people reader." You shrugged and he pouted ever softly. 

"Is that so? What can you tell then? Cause, pretty sure you don't know a thing about me, Ma'am." 

"Oh. Feisty, aren't we? I like that. But flirt or whatever this is, aside. I can tell this is your second or third temporary job, your finances aren't that bad, you do manage, but some extra cash wouldn't be bad for you, am I right? What's on the table? A PhD?" 

"Your point is?" He pressed and you smirked 

"Well, since I was lonely, kinda miserable looking and I wasn't having a good time actually, I thought in getting some company." Your words froze him in the spot. And you chuckled again as he cleared his throat. "Your station wasn't that far from my ears, sweetie."

"Sorry about that-."

"Forget about it. I heard enough to know a little play time in bed with me would cost so low. Kinda hurt by that." 

He gulped. His cheeks couldn't help but warm at the implications of your sudden offering. 

"But... wanna think a bit bigger?"

His eyes dropped midway his eyes, like the octave in his voice as he leaned in closer, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his meaty lips.

"I ain't low cost, Hermosa. That's for sure." 

"Do I look cheap to you?." Your voice mellowed with a promise of something else within. "I'm everything but. Not when it comes to treating myself anyway." 

And God he would be the biggest liar if he didn't admit that was the hottest thing a woman had told him in such a long time. That surge of power coursing through him felt a bit too good. He could decline so you could raise you tab higher, given that you were the one in need of him. But since he hadn't named a price, the offering was just as tempting as the slit on your red dress that hugged your curves deliciously, or the dip in your cleavage. 

"What do you want exactly from me?" 

And he enjoyed the chase. The power you indirectly granted him by simply admitting that not only money was in play, but a much needed release. He knew  what you needed, just wanted to hear it for himself to convince his mind that one of his secret fantasies was turning so tangible and real, it sent shivers straight to his groin. 

"Repeating the same and the obvious is useless, You're a smart man. You ain't stupid, Miguel. So name your price."

"Well, it depends on how many times you'd like to repeat doing me, Ma'am." 

And it was your time to laugh, a pleasant burn ran through your body, as the thrill of push and pull increased.

"I'm just some years older than you, Miguel, save the ma'am for your grandma." 

"The more reason to keep myself out of trouble, Señorita." he crooned and your lips stretched wider, leaning closer. 

"You're playing too much and time is money for me. So what do you say? Wanna leave this serving charade and do something productive with your time and with me?" 

"So basically you'll pay me to keep you busy and satisfied." 

"Company sometimes as well, but we'll see about the satisfied part." Your lips curled with mischief, "No strings attached of course. Work is a good outlet, but I wanna vary them." Your lips twitched with a feline glint, "It makes wonders for my creative process, which means more money for me. And for you, of course. It's a win win for us both." 

"No strings attached." He repeated, pondering for a moment. 

"Indeed." Your hand gestured elegantly while raking him unabashedly. "So?" 

"I'd like four thousand. For every meetup." he pressed, keeping his eyes on you. Had it been too much? 

"Student loans?" Your brow quirked and he nodded. "How much you owe?" 

"Twenty four grand to go, and I'll be free." 

"Hm. I see." You mumbled, twirling the pencil in your hand. "And, are you sure that's enough for you?" 

Dios mio... 

His breath stuck in his throat and his eyes darkened for a moment. You were for the kill and he was left defenseless. But in truth, he'd gladly die. And older woman wanted him, a gorgeous and rich older woman, nonetheless, was there offering him the financial freedom he so desperate sought out through shitty jobs and whatever gig that increased his bank account numbers.

You were willing to pay for his company, and he'd be out of debt soon with no strings attached. What else could he ask for? 

"Is it for you?" He pushed, amusing you to no end. 

"Don't worry your pretty head about it, sweetheart."

Well, shit. 

"Anything else, then, Ma'am?" 

You hummed, satisfied at his reply. 

"For you to stop call me that and bring some good booze. We're going home. Make sure to quit. I don't like interruptions on my... meals." 

A shudder ran down his spine and he nodded cockily. Night was still young and strong after all, like him and his sudden appetite. 

Although he owed Harry seventy bucks, the number was certainly insignificant compared to what he'd get after this scrumptious workout. 

Initially, the sight of your ample penthouse had snatched his breath away. Lush and elegant, like your overall aura. That until you changed into a more comfortable set of clothes. And by it, it meant a delicate and short turquoise slip with a matching robe. Drinks and business talk came in next, leading to the  culminating peak of your mutual transaction. 

His hands grope and pulled your hips downwards as he thrusted upwards, trying to match the heart-shaking pace of your hips swallowing him with a need he rarely got to see and experience in a woman. 

"Fu.. Fuck!" He groaned when your hips rolled, switching once again the tempo, pushing all the air out of his burning lungs. "Hermosa-" He croaked and shuddered when your walls clamped and pulsated around him without a truce and rest. What were you doing to him? 

He knew some women were good like that, but this... This was beyond his comprehension and skills. It was like if your insides held him a willing hostage inside, snug and tight, milking and pulsating around him at will. Like if they obeyed your command of squeezing the life out of him in rhythmic contractions. 

"C'mon, darling. You gotta-" You hissed, sinking on top of him in a go, his cock kissed with a wet push the very end of your hilt, earning a shaky whimper from his throat, "You gotta work hard for it, yeah?" 

His hands dug in the meaty slabs of your ass, spreading and smacking your hips through gritted teeth. Your eyes gleamed in wicked delight  upon the sight of him, struggling to catch up, fighting off the haze in his brain that clouded his judgement, leaving him completely bare and at your drenching and fluttering mercy. 

There were few things that older people taught Miguel through life. Not underestimating your drive was one. He had believed he could handle you with a quick but deep fuck and that would be the end of it until further notice. How sadly mistaken he was. 

But oh, the wonders and mysteries of the female anatomy never ceased to amaze him as they churned his guts, demanding for his performance to increase, to double his efforts if possible. And he tried, God knows he tried but your pistoning and riding hips had his brain a swirling puddle. Smooshing his thoughts in a jumbled and incoherent mess. 

Your wetness didn't lie, your nails burying on his back didn't lie as they created red welts wherever they explored and clawed, your mouth devoured his, set into stealing every single breath as you rutted your hips, grinding in such a way it made him dumb. Pussy drunk even, despite the condom fitting beyond perfection to put the blaming arrow on it. For once he wasn't the one doing the magic happening, rather enjoying it. 

"Just like that, Miguel" You hissed on his mouth before he returned the favor in leaving you breathless with his demanding kisses and needy hands. 

He didn't know what was more arousing and mind shattering. If you, riding him like he was being introduced to pleasure for the first time all over again with every  diabolical thrust you put him through, pulling noises he often didn't do with his scarce partners in bed. 

Or knowing this kind of experience  laid ahead in his future restless night's with you, set into making an example of why he should never underestimate older women and their burning and insatiable libido when it hit in its whole might. He was burning. Enjoying the gorgeous, older and in heat woman on top of him. 

Too much expertise for him? Perhaps, but he was grateful to be learning how to survive your appetite. He was a sucker for learning after all. 

His hands squeezed and slapped your rear, equally struggling to handle the bouncing globes as they escaped his trembling fingers with each rut, unable to hold still a handful, urging your moves to go faster, rougher and deeper if possible, determined to pull each ounce of  your knowledge out to test and under scrutiny, like the good yet underpaid scientist he was. 

And his jaw dropped with an agonising moan when you leaned back, supporting your hands on the flat of his thighs, giving him a prime sight of your body. 

Your legs spread wider so your cunt would choke more of him inside, swivelling those gorgeous hips of yours in a circular motion, causing his eyes to glue on the mess between heated and sweaty limbs. Your feet barely touched the floor as they remained curled up. 

His cock stretched your pussy, and every time he pushed in, a little spurt of your juices flowed, coating and making him glisten with a pretty shimmer, and for a brief second he really wished to be able to have it raw. Your breast bounced at a mind-boggling pace. The hard and unceasing wet slap of flesh had turned into one of his favorite melodies, specially the slurping noise your cunt gave him when grinding your hips downwards to suck more of him in. 

For once he didn't mind being the end to someone else's pleasure. Why would he when you gave him one of the most erotic sights he ever had the privilege to witness in a woman? The experience had gone beyond the didactical, as it actually stimulated the right spots in his brain, firing up his need to experience more. 

"I'm cumming!" You shrieked 

How would you look while at it? Exquisite probably. Specially when his hand snaked down your hips and his mischievous thumb pressed against your engorged, sweet tasting and throbbing clit, flickering it up and down with calculated speed and force to not overwhelm and end your prowess demonstration too soon. 

"C'mon hermosa, cum for me." He mumbled in between languid pants, almost tasting your mouth again, and when your peak crashed with his name rolling out of your tongue in a needy shriek, he did nothing but to whimper and follow into the depths of nirvana itself, willing to drown in this head-splitting pleasure. With a final thrust and a wheeze, he sheathed, spilling into the condom, whimpering as his forehead hid in the crook of your neck. His hot breath colliding against your tender skin. 

The agonising and shaky moans slowly evolved into exhausted pants and lazy laughs. 

"My goodness" You kissed him once, he returned it, then twice and a half surprised and satisfied smile stretched on his lips. He had survived you. "You alive, Miguel?"

Barely 

His breath stuck in his throat as you rose, the sting of your walls abandoning him suddenly with a wet pop had him slumping against the bed frame, then chuckled as you stood to stretch like you hadn't sweated an ounce, some joints popping back in place. 

"I'm good, hermosa." His hand slicked the sweaty strands as his eyes wandered over your glistening and flushed body. Walking like you hadn't fucked him to heaven and back, towards the abandoned couch where your forlorn clothes laid, to pick up the robe and covering yourself with it. His mouth pursed gently, disappointed to not see more of his marks on you. 

"Want a drink before round three?" 

Dios mio... 

"If you're trying to kill me to not pay me, just say it." 

That earned him a giggle while you poured him a tall glass of water and approached. 

"Well, if I can recall you even asked if it was enough for me." He took the glass without letting his sight to drift from yours. "And by the looks of it, I think it's better for us to stop here as you've had enough. Don't want to break you too soon." 

"I take your word. It's not that I'm not capable you know? I just-" 

"Thank the kegels, dear. They do wonders." He choked as you laughed at his reaction. "Relax. You did amazing. Hadn't cum like that in months. But enough on it." You stood again and fetched your checkbook from the purse. 

"You want a check or transfer?" 

"Uh... transfer. Roomie's nosy." His shoulders rolled back as he leaned in closer. 

"Roomie?" your eyes blinked but quickly shook the upcoming comment away, "Alright. Transfer shall be. You can stay, there's food on the kitchen in case you're hungry, shower is on the left bottom door-" 

"Wait... You want me to stay?" 

"For you to rest, yes. I've had my fill for the night. And those dresses won't design themselves, so stay if you want. If not, let me call my chauffer so he can drop you off. I don't trust local cabs around here this time at night and they probably scam you." 

Well, shit. Wasn't he being pampered? 

He just remained there, pondering and weighing his options until his mouth ran with an unexpected question that surprised even himself. 

"Are you hungry?" 

It didn't matter how things turned, the feeling of having you writhing underneath him so far had no match. Maybe, just maybe, he could compare it to the same rush of dopamine when he paid the last cent he owed to those greedy college higher ups that always sucked the four thousand he righteously earned by being buried deep in you. 

The whole transaction sure had gained a bit more trust between you two, to the point of him having his own copy to your penthouse. Rushed, maybe, but it was more a practical thing than anything he shooed away in his mind before he started reading wrong in between lines. 

You trusted him enough to allow him stay at your own home, eat your food, order even in case he grew tired of the caviar and other exotic things he had devoured at least once, to have a little taste of the life you were getting him used to. 

He wouldn't admit it but there were some habits of yours that grew on him, like not worrying about the good food. You appetite was as good as in bed as outside of it. Something he started to notice and take a like to. He'd watch you devour your meals without a care in the world, wear the lingerie and clothes you wanted. Bought the things you wished at whim, fucked him whenever you felt like it, and God you did fucked him. You were... you. Unapologetically you.

And much to his dismay, he didn't mind sex coming into a second place in both of your agendas. But, ever since that last time, things had been quite... odd, for not saying weird between you two. But it was weird in a good way, or he supposed. 

He had spent the night, doing nothing but talking and indulging in each other's company until alcohol-induced sleepiness claimed you both, only to find you in the kitchen, cooking for both. A hearty meal to give you a good shot of energy for what came next. And to his surprise and disappointment the cue for him to remove your clothes and fuck each other silly, never came. 

Now here he was, attending your impromptu message personally. 

"I'll be in a business trip soon for a couple of weeks if not months. This place will be empty. You're welcome to stay if your roomie still hasn't learned to mind his business." Your voice echoed across the studio, as you draped silk and tafetta over a mannequin. 

"You're leaving?" A tad incredulous he asked from the door frame. Taking in properly your working mode. Truly not expecting you to call him to let him know you'd be off shore. 

Your back faced him, the robe hung loosely on your shoulder as your nimble fingers created a design directly on the fabric. It truly marveled him the kind of things you could manage on your own. Yet it was enough to ponder a nagging question that had been harassing his mind for quite a while now, after he accidentally found a picture of you, kissing a man's cheek with a moonstruck look in your face. And a ring on your finger. 

What had happened? 

He wasn't one to get into people's business, in fact, he prided in keeping himself away from where he wasn't needed nor invited. Yet the picture had stirred the ever and nearly childish curiosity in him. Would you take it wrong if he asked? How would you react if he asked something about the mysterious man, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes next to you? 

"Gotta do a runway in London, then in Paris and Australia. The lots of meetings every day with my manager and team in Greece. And New York again."

If it wasn't for the blasé tone in your voice, he'd thought you were excited to see the world. But he had seen glimpses of the cruel and merciless world a designer threaded on. Stolen ideas, designs, collections, and backstabbing from the least suspecting; nights with little to no sleep, unhealthy eating patterns, stress, anxiety with logistics, contacts, and people asking for favors, sabotaging ... 

And so much more he couldn't remember properly at the moment, but it gave him a better understanding as to why you had sought him, and devoured him until you had your fill. Cause it was never about his pleasure in the first place. And he didn't mind. 

If he was honest, it was what happened after the hookups that ignited that need to experience it all over again. Your sated, sweet laughter in his arms paved the way for a new addition to the already blurry casual dynamic. The intimate talks late at night, while his fingers caressed your scalp, admiring those fine silver threads, peppering your hair here and there, had become his favorite part of the ritual.

Unavoidable as it was, the no strings attached mantra had been slowly vanishing from his brain. Specially when his compliments flared your cheeks and made you giggle like a crushing teenager again. Or when his touches became more gentle and aimed towards soothing you after a long day of stressful events. Your kisses turning more intimate, lingering with each passing week. 

He once found himself kissing the back of your shoulder, in return of yet another mind-splitting orgasm. 

"If you're bringing company to impress, please make sure to clean properly." 

What? 

"Excuse me?" His voice crisped with anger, and you turned to see him, surprised he'd take that personally instead of the usual humorous and borderline jerk-ish and dry way. 

"Sorry..." You returned the attention towards the mannequin again. “Forgive me. That was stupid.”

Very. 

How did you even dare to think he'd do that? Hadn't he been available for you whenever you wanted? Wasn't his loyalty proven enough? 

The sudden epiphany left him even more agitated. The mere thought of being with someone else while being with you, even if transactional, angered him. Offended him even. 

"Just... You know what to do." He mumbled and left the room. A clear 'call me when you need me'. 

"Miguel-" You called but he had been long gone. 

You knew he was a pithy man when it came to words. But his sudden leaving felt odd, even worst when the door from the main door slammed shut. Leaving you with the loneliness as your only companion once again. 

His feet stopped dead in his tracks upon watching the penthouse, your room specifically, empty. Devoid of your presence and some of your clothes and luggage. in the drawers. 

Fuck

He knew you were on a business trip, but, didn't expect you to be gone so soon. Not when he had returned to apologize from yesterday's slip with his temper. And now, he had to wait for God knows how long before he could see you again.

Miguel could text you an apology, or email you one, but it wasn't the way his mother raised him, messed up as it was. Conchata always made sure to make him apologize face to face, so the lesson was learned. Besides, although his thumbs itched to send you a text message, what would he talk about? 

Probably his text would get lost in the many thousands you had yet to attend. So adding himself like another stress factor didn't feel right. Not when you had runways to do and stuff. He'd have to wait although the idea sat wrong in his chest. 

He could leave whatever thing going on between you two, if he wished. He could turn back close the door and forget that he had shared a good couple of months with you. His debt had been paid already, but he never had the courage to tell you. Not because he wanted more money, no. He simply wasn't ready to say goodbye so soon. 

Not when he had gotten used to your presence, your laugh, your sweetness when it came to him. If anything he had been saving up for leaving the city, and couldn't do it if he had no money. But now that his heart found a little detour from the no strings attached rule, he didn't want to go back. 

With a last glance, he took his phone and pressed the chat log of your number. The pretty logo of your company displayed with pride, leaving the text box open. Urging him to write something, to drop the pride and reach out first. But cowardice held him in a choking grip. 

He left. Unable to go past his pride and send you a text message to ask you when would you return. If you needed him, you'd let him know, right? You wouldn't leave him hanging. 

Right? 

You could have any man you wanted, you had him after all. Yet it was enough for his mind to punish itself with all source of intrusive, pessimistic and anxious thoughts. Your plane crashing, you being gone for good, you forgetting about him by finding a new toy. You being with someone else. 

The latter made him frown with an unpleasant sensation coursing through him. Unable to pinpoint between jealousy or fear. 

Maybe you hadn't contacted him in weeks cause you were busy as usual, or the signal sucked.

You were too childish for her. 

His brain trembled and his hand rubbed against his face, letting the headache to brew in. 

She doesn't like it when you behave like a spoiled brat. 

Another thought jabbed his mind and he sighed. What had you done out of him? He often didn't care in the slightest about what people thought of him, but the idea of you not contacting him because he had acted like precisely was too embarrassing to ignore, and that little act up he gave you before you left, only reinforced such thought. 

You needed a man, not a man child. 

The waiting slowly ate his brain alive, until a couple of news stories through social media gave him important and invaluable information he refused to get directly out of embarrassment. After a month and some more without your presence in his life, you were to return within a couple of days to New York. Or so the fashion fan's forum online said. 

He'd get to see you soon. 

The thought alone sent an equally happy and anxious shiver down his spine as his mind raced with all the things he needed to do. 

Would you want to see him again? 

Hopefully... 

Exhausted was a measly word to describe your current mood. The flight had not only delayed twice, but some of your luggage was missing. Important luggage with materials you needed for the bride's dress. 

The fashion tour had drained you so bad to the point of barely leaving time for yourself. If you had the time for drinking a cup of coffee was to say it was too much free time. But now that your agenda finally allowed you to breath and conceded a bit of time, you were ready to go home, take a long bath and sleep the rest of the day. 

Your feet ached, your head pounded and Miguel-

You stopped in your tracks and blinked, just to make sure the sight before you wasn't a product of your quanked mind. 

Holding a bouquet of spring flowers, dressed to impress with a look that could only be translated as  'I'm here for you.' was Miguel. Tentatively, he took a step closer, then another and another until he was before you, towering over your frame with a coy yet genuine soft smile.

"Hey..." 

You hummed, too stunned to see him here, taking the time to see you. 

For a brief of second you couldn't help but wonder if he had ran out of money, hence his presence here. Right? Cause your brain sort of refused to believe, rather didn't want to believe someone like him was genuinely interested in you, not when money had played a huge part in your relationship.

"Hey." Still, it felt good to think at least he cared enough to take his pretense a bit further and actually make you feel special. 

"I'm sorry." He blurted, stopping all thoughts in a go in your overriding brain, "I... wanted to apologize for what happened a month ago. Shouldn't have gotten so upset over it." He offered the flowers, hoping you accepted them. And when you did his heart almost leaped in his throat upon seeing your eyes turning glossy. 

Fuck. 

"I'm sorry for... you know. Fuck... I'm not good at this... but damn. I've... I've missed you, Hermosa." 

"You did?" The question threw him out of the horse's saddle, specially when there was so much unbelieving behind your tone. This time, instead of anger a lick of sadness came through his heart. He didn't know what had happened in your previous relationship, but whatever it did, sure left some open wounds he now started to see. 

Late as usual, but he finally noticed those cracks in your seemingly dismissive behavior whenever he got too close. The defenses your heart put up every time he complimented you genuinely, or his touches began turning a bit too intimate. 

"Of course I did, hermosa. I'm sorry for not contacting you much sooner. I... I didn't know if you wanted to still see me after what happened." He admitted, his heart pounded in his throat as you shook your head. 

"Please don't blame yourself for that. I shouldn't have said something like that either. It was my fault." You sighed, taking a good sniff of the flowers, your nerves soothed, "I should've contacted you as well. But you've got no idea how busy I was."

"Can only imagine." He offered his hand, "Let me help you with your luggage. Are you hungry?" 

The knot in your throat only tightened. 

"You're so sweet, Miguel." Your hand caressed him and he leaned in your touch, letting your warmth to bask him in again, he had missed it. He had missed you. 

"Learned that from a good teacher." He kissed your palm and before his mind scolded him from breaking the detachment rule so miserably, he pulled you for a hug. Inhaling your perfume for the first time in weeks. 

"I've missed you. A lot. I always thought about you, but my job-" 

"Hey, hey. Corazón, it's ok. I know you were working your pretty ass off back in those runways. I'm just glad you're back. Missed my favorite bossy woman." 

That earned him a half sob and chuckle as he kissed your temple and held you. 

Despite the curious and not so discreet glances some people gave your way, Miguel held you by the waist as you walked back to your awaiting car. Ready to catch up and finally, bring those walls down surrounding your heart once and for all. 

What he didn't count in was the same man he had seen back at your place in that picture, was now awaiting in the living room of your penthouse, looking in between you and him, like he had seen a ghost. 

Or for you to ask him to wait in the studio as you handled some stuff. 

But he definitely did not expect the heated argument escalating between you and that man to the point of  him rushing to your side as soon as he heard glass shattering. 

You were in tears, shaking, distressed as the man held his hips and shook his head.  

"You should be ashamed of yourself. Look at you, fucking guys that barely know shit about life." He spat as soon as he saw Miguel. 

"Funny you say so when you broke up our engagement because you didn't feel it was the right time, but you think I didn't know what you did!? You think I don't know you were stealing from me the whole time and spend it on your fucking drugs!?" 

"That was my job too! I worked for your stupid dream as much as you did. It's my job on the line too!" 

"You didn't work shit! I was the one doing the job! It's always been me taking the lead in our business because you're too fucking insecure to make a decision! You were dragging me down, Charles." 

"Well, thank me for dumping you. You think this kid loves you? How much are you paying him to screw yo-" 

Charles, or rather Charlie, your ex fiancé, didn't get to finish as he fell with a hard thud on the coffee table, breaking it in half after Miguel silenced him with a powerful punch in his face. 

Your hand covered your mouth as Miguel dragged the man through the floor with such strength and ease, it made your eyes widen, as he pushed Charles out of your penthouse. As if throwing a bag of trash outside. 

The door rattled when said man kicked it from the other side, startling you. But also having Miguel to pull you to his side without tearing his gaze from the door. 

"Are you okay, hermosa?" His gentle voice was a stark contrast against the merciless beat down he put Charles through. His thumb moved in soothing circles against your lower back. 

"Yeah, just... fuck. I swear I had no idea he would appear out of nowhere-" 

"Hey, It's alright. You don't have to explain yourself, guapa. He came here looking for trouble. Couldn't leave you hanging." 

"You're... not upset?" 

His hand cupped your cheek and wiped away the shy tears approaching the corner of your eyes

"Why would I? He came looking for trouble. They found him. And I never got to ask who was he anyway. Didn't think it was important." He kissed your temple as soon as you shuddered. 

"He wasn't. At least, not anymore. Sure I was engaged to him, but you heard the rest."

"Still, I don't understand why he dumped you."

"He had stolen enough. He didn't need me anymore. So, go figure." 

Miguel frowned and examined your face for a couple of seconds, before pursing his lips. He didn't like the way fear clung to your features. 

"He won't hurt you, ever again. Got it?" 

You nodded. And he gulped while speaking again. 

"You know... I know it might seem like I'm taking advantage of it, but I promise you... it stopped being about the money a long ago." His words sent another jolt to your heart

"And I know... I know it might seem rushed and you might think I'm just playing to get money but... I'm not, I promise I'm not." He swallowed again, "I... I really like you. I like... No. I love spending time with you. You're so... sweet and... and so considerate with me,  You're always helping me around, looking after me even if I act stupid. " He chuckled nervously, stumbling on his own speech, "You're just... so amazing, hermosa. And... I'd be the luckiest man if you give me a chance to prove you how much of the man you need, I can be." 

All he needed was a yes from you. Instead, you pulled him down for a kiss. A kiss that had him snaking his hands around your waist, and pulling you closer so he could consume your supple and needy lips. No vocal reply was needed. Not when the answer tasted sweeter than the wine you loved to drink. 

Like the compliments he gave you when clamping like a vice around him, like the little pout you gave in your sleep after a good night of several rounds with him. 

He didn't care if you were years older than him, he wanted you. And none else but you. And now that you were his, and he yours, neither had the intentions of letting go. 

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

[beachyma]

orange soda.

a. donaldson , you | nsfw |

The quiet sprinkle of evening dew quiets your racing nerves with each pitter-patter splashing against the pavement. You lay rested comfortably on the mattress of your boy-best friend's dormitory. You can hear the quickening hum of his heartbeat as you lay against the headboard. You estimated a near 120 beats each minute. A soft smile tugs on your lips at this realization, gently adjusting your position so that your forearm rests recklessly close to the curve in his aqua tennis shorts. He faintly chokes back a cough, a pink hue tinting his cheeks and nose. You glance up at him warmly, "You need water?" a sarcastic laughs leaves your lips. His flushed-red lips widen into a teethy smile, "It's on my nightstand, if you want to hand it me." You snootily roll your eyes in 'way to brush me off' way, twisting your body to grab the aluminum water that rest on his wooden night stand. "Why don't you get a smaller water bottle- this thing weighs a shit ton Art." You complain, surveying the vividly scattered stickers casually placed on the bottle. He places the water bottle to his lips, taking a sip before leaving it to lay in between his thighs, "I need to stay hydrated." he promptly says. You notice the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows, his jaw flexing to a cast a gentle shadow, lining his chin and neck. You scrunch your eyebrows together in disagreement, "and there aren't smaller water bottle that can do the same thing?" you quiz. His coy gaze softens your facial expression, "No." he denotes. "Doesn't it get heavy carrying around every day?" You urge, grabbing the water bottle, swiftly grazing his inner thigh. The sudden movement causes him to flinch, wincing as the cool metal is subsisted by your thumb and pointer finger. You cock an eyebrow at him, a curious look coats your face, "You good?" His body shifts as he sits up from leaning on the headboard, the wooden bed frame creaking in retaliation. "Yeah, I'm fine." he opposes. His pink-hue is punctuality replaced by a cherry-red tinge. A vivid red tints his face, followed by his neck and hands. He almost looks like he'd be hot to the touch. "Never had a girl touch your leg before?" you sarcastically joked, positioning the water bottle back onto the nightstand. "Shut up." He palms his face in mortification, brining his knees to his chest. "Stop acting like a virgin Donaldson." you tease, gently shoving his shoulder to the side. "Fuck off." he groans in desperation. "Oh I bet you'd love me to do that to you." your index finger playfully tracing the length of his thigh. He can only whine in an effort to retaliate, his skin glowing a deep red. "You can do better than that." you mockingly place your hand on his upper thigh, tenderly messaging the muscle, your fingers working carefully near the leg-holes of his tiny shorts. He whimpers at the contact, jerking his leg to the left. A grin dances across your lips, the grip you have on his thigh loosens. Your fingers begin to sketch the lining of his waistband, gently tugging on the stretchy fabric. You pause, gazing attentively at him for a brief moment, his eyes struggling to meet yours. " Art?" you ask, his stare coming to acknowledge yours, a look of desperation masks his face. "Please." he mutters, voice low and soft. "Please what-" you are interrupted by the warmth of his lips against your nape, his hands trailing down the length of your waist, to your hips. A soft moan escapes your lips, fingers rushing to pull at his blonde locks. You can feel the sensation of a cocky grin tug at his lips while he bruises your neck with his mouth, his hands desperately gripping your hips. "Art-" your voice breaks, husky, and rough. "Shit-", you breathe. Art places gentle kisses from your neck to your jaw, finally meeting your lips with his own. They are soft, and have that generic chapstick flavor. He kisses you with a gentleness you're not used to, like as if he made one wrong move, he would hurt you. That thought brings a warmth to your stomach, its tickling and teasing you.

Art beckons you closer, pulling you to his chest with his bicep. You lean into his muscular body, palming his jaw with your hand. His hands restlessly travels your body, cupping your ass with one hand, and gripping the fat of for waist with the other. You shift your body so that your leg rests between his thighs, and you both are kneeling on the mattress. You groan in the kiss, your free hand trails his clothed abs. He whines at your touch, the veins in his hands pop as he shifts his attention to massage the fat of your ass with both hands. Your body jolts at the sudden gesture, causing friction between Art's thigh and your sensitive bud. You moan instinctively, lips parting from his. A quiet whine of absence leaves his lips, his eyes glare lewdly at you."Do that again." he presses, guiding your hips to move forward. You groan at his words, bucking your hips up to achieve that friction once again. Art remains silent, his grip on your hips tightening each time you move back and forth, the lining of your athletic shorts is the only barrier between skin. "Art-," you breathe, "Fuck." your head falls into his shoulder, your hands resting neatly on either side. He winces when your knee promptly grazes his cock. "Please Art-" you slur, the warm feeling in your stomach is replaced by a tightness, Art needily rocking your hips on his thigh, quiet whimpers of approval every time you moan at the slightest change in pace.

(not proofread + im cooked) 👩🏽‍🍳🥰

[thatbirdrestaurant]

the outsiders characters going through haunted houses

ponyboy is the only one who doesn't try to throw a punch on a scare actor or one of the props. yes, johnny went for a swing.

steve makes fun of ponyboy for getting a little startled then immediately has a much bigger reaction.

two-bit uses darry as a shield from scare actors.

tim and curly are both banned from the haunted house for pulling a knife on one of the actors.

dally is banned for nearly setting a table cloth on fire but he sneaks in so he can keep an eye on ponyboy and johnny.

soda and darry went in telling ponyboy they'll protect him and that he shouldn't be embarrassed for getting scared, and came out gripping his shoulder's looking like they've witnessed a murder.

an actor dressed to look like a zombie looked a little too much like johnny's father and his fight or flight kicked in. ponyboy has to wrap his entire body around him while dally wrestles his switchblade out of his hand.

soda and steve always go through as soon as they can, so they can go back in with cute girls and look brave. two-bit will tag along to point out all the spots they got scared by.

darry accidentally scares the gang because he doesn't make a lot of noise and he's a lot scarier than usual when he randomly emerges from the shadows.

everyone thinks cherry is going to flip out but she comes out completely unphased and complaining about the costume quality. the soc boys she came with are literally shaking in their boots.

ponyboy gets scared by a frankenstein actor then rambles to the gang about how "frankenstein is actually the one who made the monster" and all that nerd shit, and it successfully distracts the gang long enough to get out.

[bluemirrorangel]

Modern outsiders headcanons

Because of the way he acts and dresses Curly gets mistaken for an E-boy.

The gang have a communal Spotify that they all pitch in to pay for.

Darry drives a second hand minivan.

Two bit is banned from the aux cord.

Steve and soda have been dating since freshman year.

Darry had parental locks on pony and soda’s phones until they turned fifteen.

Dally basically lives with the shepherd’s he shares a room with Curly.

Ponyboy and Curly are 'secretly' dating.

They're not allowed to be left alone unsupervised unless they're in public and they're only allowed in ponyboy’s room if the doors open.

Curly sneaks ponyboy into his room at night to just hang out without being constantly watched.

Dally has caught them multiple times and the only reason he hasn’t snitched is because Curly’s bribing him.

The only person Dally really cares about is Johnny.

Dally and Curly both have piercings, dally has an an ear piercing and eyebrow piercing, Curly has multiple ear piercings( he wears fake ear stretchers he stole from Claire’s) snakebites, an eyebrow piercing, a septum piercing all of which they gave each other while drunk the piercings were done with safety pins and needles sterilised with vodka (that somehow didn’t get infected), they also have stick and poke tattoos mainly just of stupid stuff but Curly had the bright idea to get ponyboy’s name tattooed under his collarbone ponyboy thought it was stupid but kinda romantic. Darry did not.

The shepherds are mixed (black and white).

Dally’s platinum blonde but dyes it black. No one knows except curly who caught him dying it black with the hair dye he supposedly stole for Sylvia.

Sodapop and Steve run a TikTok account.

Two bit and Marcia are dating.

Ponyboy writes fanfiction on Ao3 he’s really popular in multiple fandoms. only Johnny knows because he’s his beta reader.

Soda vapes.

Ponyboy had a twilight phase and had a massive crush on Edward.

Two bit starts a YouTube channel for musical comedy like a mix between Bo Burnham and Jon Cozart.

Two bit joins the drama club.

Tim and Darry hang out every Friday just to get out of the house.

Angela ran against Ponyboy for class president she won.

Marcia is part of the drama club that’s how she and two bit met.

Sandy on the volleyball team.

Sylvia runs the school newspaper.

Cherry is captain of the softball team and head cheerleader.

leave a ship or fandom suggestions and I’ll do headcanons for em if you want