#it's just that all the stars are aligning right now to bring it all together | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wardenparker · 2 months

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The Stars Re-Align, part 1

Frankie Morales x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: M for Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.1k Warnings: Reader is given an age and a grown daughter. Starts out as Santiago x reader. Cursing, food/alcohol, meddlesome friends, mentions of military service (obviously), glancing mention of Tom's death, past drug use, off-page abusive relationship, panic attacks, complicated relationships, family drama. Summary: When your daughter and your boyfriend talk you into having a birthday party, you are not prepared for all of the surprises that come your way. Notes: A little love triangle and 'one that got away' vibe for your Feral Frankie Friday!

“Rachel!” Calling from the kitchen is an old, unbreakable habit by now, but dinner is almost ready and you know your daughter is in the living room studying. She has plans with her boyfriend tonight which means she’s getting her reading out of the way, and you’re proud of her for having such good habits and steady resolve. It’s not at all what you were like at her age, and you’ve worked hard to make sure that she has opportunities that you never could have. Being a young single mom was rough, but every second you have with your little-girl-turned-young-woman is worth it. “Supper’s ready, honey. Find your bookmark!”

“Sure thing!” There’s no point in reminding you that her book is a digital copy, no bookmark needed, but she dutifully saves the spot and closes her laptop. “It smells good.” She compliments, walking into the kitchen and over to the fridge to bust out the bottle of wine that had become a habit with dinner since high school. Nothing fancy, just a cheap sangria, but it was a ritual that both mom and daughter enjoyed. “Are you going out with Santiago tonight?” She asks as she gets down the glasses to pour.

“He might come over to watch a movie since you’re going out.” Your two-month-old relationship isn’t deeply committed or deeply anything yet, really, but you like him. He’s attentive, handsome, and funny, and deeply — okay there’s one deeply — good in bed. “Do you want the good parmesan, or the shaker can? We have both.” Spaghetti with onions, peppers, and sausage isn’t necessarily gourmet, but it’s a family staple. Something your dad used to make you when you were growing up in New York City and you have made for your daughter her whole life afterwards.

“Good parmesan.” She hums. “Let’s be fancy tonight.” Bringing the glasses over to the small kitchen table, she moves on to set out the silverware. A chore when she was younger, it’s now just become habit when you eat together. ‘Working together as a team’ is how you always phrased it and it’s something she loves about her relationship with you now. You’re a team. “I’m going to stay at Ben’s tonight, so you and Santiago can have wild sex.”

“Be safe.” She’s twenty-four, so you’re not going to quibble about her sleeping over with her boyfriend, but you do give her a meaningful look when you set down the plates on the table. “Don’t make me a grandmother and I won’t make you a sister.”

Rachel laughs, it’s the same statement you have been using since she was first dating boys after puberty. “But Mom!” She pouts playfully. “I really want a baby sister!”

“Think I’m getting a little too old for that option, honey,” you huff, but laugh anyway. “Ask Santa for one at Christmas.”

She grins at you, bringing over the basket of breadsticks that are an Olive Garden copycat. Plain frozen ones that you brush with butter and garlic salt. So many of the meals you have together are mocks of the restaurant meals she had wanted when she was younger and you couldn’t afford. As an adult, it’s humbling to see the lengths you went to in order to make her happy.

“You’re coming back tomorrow, though, right?” Though you typically aren’t one to make a big deal out of such things, Santiago had offhandedly mentioned to your daughter a few weeks ago that it was a shame you weren’t doing anything for your birthday and Rachel had jumped on board with talking you into a party. The backyard barbecue will be small, but a chance to meet your boyfriend’s friends and have a few of your own friends from work come over. “It was half your idea, after all.”

“Yeah, I’m going to be there.” She promises. “Oh, is it okay if I bring Ben?” She asks. “He’s got another party to go to if not, but he said he would rather spend time with me.”

“Yes, you can bring Ben.” He’s a few years older than Rachel and has had a very different life experience, but you like Ben Miller. He’s doing his best to make an honest way in the world and he treats Rachel with love and respect. And probably in ways that you want to know absolutely nothing about. “There’s going to be plenty of food. Santiago and I are managing that end.”

She snorts and shakes her head. “Of course you are cooking for your own party.” She huffs.

“Get sassy with me and I’ll send every stitch of leftovers home with other people,” you threaten, though it’s hollow and comes with laughter.

“Not like you won’t make enough to still bring home food.” She shoots back with a grin. If there was ever a party, you always made too much food. It might be pasta salad, but you and she would be eating it for a solid week after everyone had gone home.

“Nothing fancy,” you assure her even though you know she’s right. “Burgers and dogs. And veggie burgers for the few people that skip red meat. All the accoutrements. Santiago is in charge of the grill, which he’s very happy about. And I’m making that cheese dip you like along with my guac. Salsa is coming out of a jar despite protests.”

“Let Ben bring the salsa.” She volunteers immediately with a grin. “He’s got some recipe he got from friends he used to serve with.” She explains. “He was going to make it for their party but we can hijack it and bring it to yours.”

“Deal.” That’s one more thing off your checklist and you’re fine with that. “And the cake is coming from an actual bakery, not a supermarket. I do listen to your protests most of the time.”

“The buttercream is far superior.” She huffs happily and lifts her glass when you are both sitting down at the table. “To a wonderful birthday weekend.” She offers. “One you never forget.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” You tap your glass against hers and smile. “Forty-two feels like it will be a good one.”

******

“We have the cake, the burgers are all ready to throw on the grill. Fish is bringing the baked beans, Ironhead is bringing the potato salad and you said Rach’s boyfriend is going to bring the salsa?” He arches a brow in concern. “What do you know about this guy? Is it good salsa? Because I’m going to be offended if it’s Pace.”

“I was told he has a recipe from somebody he served with.” The Pace is in its jars in the cupboard where Santiago can’t be offended by it, and you slip past him to look at your checklist taped to the cupboards one more time. “Coleslaw is made, cheese dip is made, and you filled up the outside fridge last night so that’s all set. I think we’re okay. The last thing is the guac and that only makes a few minutes.”

Santiago slides behind you and wraps his arms around your stomach and hums. “So we have time to go back to the bedroom?” He asks playfully, even if he would haul you back there if you said yes.

“Only if you’re planning on disappointing me,” you tease, knowing he never has and never would. Not on purpose. Still, you twist to kiss away the pout that has certainly formed there. “People are going to be here any minute.”

“We could always tell them to go the fuck away.” He laughs as he suggests it and then the doorbell peels out right afterwards. “That’ll be Ironhead.” He predicts. “Will’s always early.”

“Is that his real name? Will?” You call back when Santiago goes to open the door. You can make guacamole with your eyes closed due to the fact that you’ve had this recipe longer than your daughter has been alive, and you go to the fridge to get the ingredients.

“Yeah!” He calls back over his shoulder before he opens the door to find his friend on the doorstep. The smiles are genuine, almost guilty considering the shit they’ve gone through for the past five months since South America. Grief and sorrow have pulled at them, but it also has finally started to let them live again. “You made it!”

“Of course I did. You didn’t think I’d miss out on seeing your ass do something domestic, did you?” Will ‘Ironhead’ Miller slaps Pope’s shoulder. “Nice place she’s got. You tried to move in yet?”

Pope chuckles quietly and shrugs. “Maybe in another month.” He jokes. “Gotta get in good with the kid first.”

“Right, the kid.” With another friendly slap, Will Miller steps inside the house. It’s well-appointed, clean, and obviously loved. “She coming today?” He thinks so, but he can’t remember. Although a barbecue and pool party seems like a kid thing. But somehow Will remembers the kid not being kid. Teenager? He can’t remember now.

“She spent the night with her boyfriend, but she’ll be here.” Pope nods. “Although she’s already said she won’t call me daddy but I can take her for ice cream.”

“Nobody ought to be calling you ‘Daddy’,” Ironhead huffs.

Santiago laughs and shrugs. “You’re right.” He admits, knowing that he’s not father material. One of the reasons you were an attractive option was that your kid was grown. He didn’t have to play daddy, although from what he’s understood, the dad was your first love and was too immature to stick around. “Benny didn’t ride with you?”

“His girlfriend’s got a family thing today.” Will shrugs slightly, but honestly he’s impressed. His kid brother is crazy about this girl. It’s six months in and he’s starting to use some very committed language — which is fucking thrilling to Will as it signals Benny finally starting to grow up where sex and relationships are concerned. “He’s gonna come by later.”

“That’s good. I want him to come and have a few beers. Fish should be here shortly.” Pope will be happy to see everyone, it’s better than just checking in and having a beer. This will be a good time to really catch up. “How’s things with Marie?” He asks Will softly, knowing that Frank has been a little closed mouth about things between him and his lady. South America hadn’t been great for their relationship, although no one really likes her, she’s the one who was dabbling in drugs and got Fish hooked on coke.

“She was throwing some fit last night about Fish being out with another woman.” Which is obviously bullshit. Frankie would never step out on the mother of his child. But living in the apartment next to Frankie and Marie means he overhears plenty of bullshit. “All he was doing was asking if she wanted to come today. So who knows what kind of mood he’ll show up in.”

“Shit.” Pope sighs and shakes his head as he escorts Will though the living room and towards the kitchen where you are. “He needs to just bite the bullet and leave her.”

“We all know that. But it’s Fish. Too loyal for his own fucking good.” Will hadn’t been expecting to see anyone standing in the kitchen, let alone you, and he clears his throat. “Um—sorry, ma’am. Soldier’s habit,” he apologizes.

“It’s fine,” you promise him, actually laughing at the sheer display of manners. “I survived my daughter’s teenage years. You want to know who swears more than soldiers? Teenage girls.”

It’s been a long goddamn time since Will has been around teenage girls, but he just nods politely and offers his hand. “Will Miller.” He introduces himself. “Santiago has talked you up to be some kind of Wonder Woman, and it looks like he was underestimating your worth.”

"That's very kind of you, Will." You take his hand and introduce yourself easily enough, reflecting momentarily that Santiago has pretty friends. Blonde and blue-eyed isn't your type, but good looking is good looking. "Would you mind helping us get the last few things outside? And the pool is open, I hope Santiago told everyone."

“Absolutely, ma’am.” Like any good solider, Will is going to follow orders and he immediately picks up the heavier items to carry outside. “You have a beautiful home.”

"Thank you." It's something you worked hard for, and you continue to work hard for every day. Everything in your life has been to make sure your daughter is healthy, happy, and well taken care of. It was a lucky break that you got a well-paying job in your field to boot. "And you don't have to call me ma'am. Though I appreciate the manners."

“We need to give her a nickname before Taz does.” Will snorts.

"Taz?" You haven't heard that name before, and it piques your interest as Santiago helps you set things out on the table on the deck.

Will chuckles. “Youngest in our team.” He explains. “Short for Tasmanian Devil. Brother’s like a whirlwind of stirring up shit.”

"Got it." The Army nickname thing had taken you a second to get used to, but you're on board now. It's a brotherhood thing, and you like that Santiago has such a tightknit group of friends still. It's not something you've really had much of in your life, so you're glad to see when it happens for people you care about it. "Well, I told Santiago, but whenever your friends get here just let them into the backyard. The bathroom is off the living room, but everything else worth getting at is outside."

“Yes ma’am.” He smirks slightly when he says that again before disappearing out of the sliding glass doors.

"Are all your friends polite and helpful?" You glance back at the man you've been seeing for the last few months and crack a smile. "I'm glad you invited them. It's about time we started to meet each other's friends."

“Until they are assholes.” He jokes, giving you a bittersweet smile. “We lost a friend half a year ago and it seems like we’ve had a hard time getting back in the routine. Thought this might be the little jolt we needed.”

"Then we'll make sure it's a fantastic day." He hasn't confided too much about his years in the service or about where he was before moving back to Florida a few months ago, but this is probably a large part of the reason why. Either way, you slip your arms around him for a comforting hug. It's the least you can do, when he's gone through something terrible and is willing to open about it a little.

“It’s your day.” He protests, turning and kissing your lips. “It’s supposed to be good for you, not me. We will have a few drinks, have a few laughs and then…” He waggles his brows. “Well kick everyone out and I’ll make you cum until you pass out.”

The hum that forms in the back of your throat is as pleased as it is dirty, and you kiss him once more before your doorbell rings again. "I'll get it," you nudge his nose with yours and step back, albeit reluctantly. "Go hang out with your friend."

People trickle in little by little. Friends from work, mostly, and the one mom from Rachel's school days that you stayed friends with despite Rachel and her son never actually having been friends. Eventually the text comes through from your daughter that she's a few minutes away and that makes you smile brighter than just about anything else today.

Pope pulls out his phone and texts Frankie, wondering when he’s coming – or if he’s going to come at all. He is worried about him, knowing that he’s under a lot of pressure. Marie blames him for losing his license and then going down to South America for two weeks when it was only supposed to be one. He couldn’t even tell her what happened and that was causing issues.

Had to wait for the babysitter. On my way now. Says the text that comes through a few minutes later, but there is a temporary distraction from waiting for Catfish: Rachel's car pulls up and parks outside the house, expelling both your daughter and her boyfriend onto the front lawn.

“Come on, Ben.” Rachel grabs his hand and rushes him towards the door. They are running behind because of the pre-party activities he had talked her into and while she’s not regretting that in the least, she wants to get inside and wish you happy birthday.

“Sounds like everybody’s out back, baby,” he steers her toward the fence surrounding the backyard instead of the front door, but when that brings him closer to the actual driveway of his girlfriend’s house he frowns — deeply — in confusion. He shouldn’t recognize the two vehicles sitting behind Rachel’s car and her mother’s, but there they are: Pope’s slick vintage Corvette right next to Will’s jacked up picked up truck. There’s no denying the two vehicles, he’s seen them together far too often. “The hell?” Benny breathes, but Rachel doesn’t hear him. She’s too excited to see her mom and moving them through the gate before he can hang back to do a double take at the cars.

“Mom!” Pope looks up at soon as he hears a familiar happy cry but then he’s immediately frowning. Watching as Ben Miller moves through the fence gate with Rachel. “What the fuck?”

“I told you she was bringing her boyfriend, didn’t I?” Santiago’s level of confusion is confusing in its own right, but you ignore it in favor of meeting your daughter at the edge of the porch to give her a massive hug. “Hey sweet pea!”

It helps that Benny looks just as stunned as Pope does, Will stopping short when he sees his younger brother and doesn’t hesitate to call out. “You made it!” He huffs out and shaking his head at his brother’s fickleness. “Girlfriend’s family already kick you out?”

“Nooo…” Benny blinks against the sunlight, having left his sunglasses in his truck. “You’re at the wrong party, assholes.”

The ball busting smirk immediately slides off of Will’s face, due to the knowledge that there is no way they could be at the wrong party. “Benny…” He glances at a stunned Pope and sighs heavily. “We’re at the right party.”

It only takes about a second more, but by the time Benny breathes “Ohhh shit.” He’s also cackling with laughter. “Are you telling me—” The younger Miller brother looks around and drops his voice for the sake of not embarrassing the girl he adores. “Are you telling me Pope is banging my girl’s mom?”

Will snorts and shakes his head. “Looks like.” He agrees quietly. “Hell of a birthday surprise.” He hopes that it won’t change your daughter’s mind on dating him, Rachel has been fantastic for Ben.

“Fuck….” Pope snickers quietly, shaking his head at the irony. He should probably go spell this out for you so you don’t take it the wrong way. No one knew. Even after hearing about Benny’s girlfriend for months, only Will and Fish had met her so far.

Rachel pulls back and gives you a beaming smile. “Happy Birthday Mom.” She hums, winking at you. “Santiago spend the night last night since I was with Ben?” She’s not been paying attention to the guys, too focused on you.

“We fell asleep watching our second movie.” It’s mostly true — true enough that you can play it off as innocent because you did technically nod off during the second movie — but the empty bowl of popcorn and wine glasses in the living room had waited until this morning to be cleared away once you hauled each other off to bed. “Did Ben have a fight last night or did you guys just go out?”

“No fight.” She shakes her head. “Next weekend, so we just got to go out. Although he wants to know if you would like to come to the fight.” You’ve met Benny and she thinks you like him, but she wants you to get to know him better. Which is why she had suggested they go to your party today instead of his friends’.

“If you want me to.” You don’t feel too excited to watch your daughter’s boyfriend get beat up, but you do want to get to know him better. Rach is so obviously head over heels for him.

“It’s up to you.” She smiles and looks back at Ben, curious to find Will here. “Um— what’s his brother doing here?”

“Whose brother?” Turning to follow her eyes, your head tilts slightly in interest. Santiago and Will are deep in conversation with Benny already. “That’s one of Santiago’s friends. Will.”

“Mom…” Rachel’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s Will Miller…Benny’s older brother.”

“That…” You swallow, slowly registering the situation as you watch the men interact. “That makes things interesting…” You’re dating a man who served with your daughter’s boyfriend…this is going to get complicated…

“Oh god.” Rachel bites her lip as Benny and Pope quickly break away and come over to the two of you. “So…”

“So, this is interesting.” You repeat the phrase almost disbelieving.

“Kind of a funny coincidence, huh?” Benny wraps his arms around Rachel and plants a kiss in her hair.

“I didn’t know.” Rachel promises you with a small shake of her head. “Shit, Ben. I can’t believe I didn’t know it.”

“I think I know why.” You observe, clearing your throat and accepting the comfort of Santiago’s arm around your waist as you look up (and up) at Ben. “I’m going to guess that your nickname while you were serving together was Taz?”

“Yeah.” Benny nods and looks back between all the other men. “Oh fuck, we’ve been just using our nicknames and they didn’t know.” He groans. "I'm sorry baby." He turns to Rachel with an apologetic look. "Pope was talking about his new girl and spending as much time as possible with her, so he missed the last fight you were at."

“It’s a little unconventional,” you admit, wondering what Santiago thinks of all this. “But not terrible, right?” As close in age as you and Rachel are, it wouldn’t be the first time you have had mutual friends. Just the first time you were ever dating mutual friends.

"He's a good guy." Pope assures you, like it's the first time you've met Benny. "And we can kick his ass if needed."

Benny snorts and rolls his eyes. "You wish, old man."

“Rach?” Your fingers run through her loose curls gently and you give her a questioning look. While this isn’t the day you want to have — after all, you do like Santiago — it’s ultimately up to her. Everything is and always has been in your life, and you made that decision for a reason.

"I don't think that you need to stop seeing Santiago just because he knows Ben." She rationalizes. "I think it's fine, what do you think?"

“Just as long as you’re comfortable with it.” That goes for the men involved, too. But they don’t seem to mind beyond being apologetic.

Rachel snorts and shrugs. "Just as long as they don't share sex stories." She giggles and shoots Santiago a smirk. "And we won't either."

“I was not planning on it, sweet pea.” You might be close, but that’s a step too far even for you. “Never ever.”

Agreeing completely, she walks up to Pope and gives him a hug. "So if you make my mom cry, I'll have my boyfriend beat you up." She teases.

“Got it.” She’s a grown woman, but he can’t resist the urge to mess with her thick hair, watching her face wrinkle in disapproval before she moves back to Benny, who smooths the familiar curls with care. “Now we just need Catfish to get here and we’ll have everybody.”

"I'm here!" A hand appears over the fence before he opens it, hat pulled low, and he grunts when he picks up the cooler full of ice and beer that he had stopped and picked up on the way. "Sorry I'm late."

“Fish!” Benny kisses the side of Rachel’s head before peeling off to grab the cooler from him and take it to the porch so his friend can catch his breath. He doesn’t see the tick in the tilt of your head or the way your eyes widen just a second later.

'Fish', or Francisco Morales, looks up and smirks at Benny when he grabs the cooler. Thankful, although he wouldn't make too much of a fuss about it. Getting older sucked and he's still feeling the effects of that workout he helped the other man do just two days ago when his normal sparring partner was sick. "'Bout time you made yourself useful." He huffs playfully and looking towards Pope to wave. Freezing with his arm halfway up in greeting when he sees someone that he had never expected to see before – you.

The way you shrink into yourself immediately is instinct. As much shock as anything else. But within seconds you’re stepping forward to block Rachel from view and shakily a demand an explanation. “What the shit is going on?” You hiss, though you’re not exactly sure who you’re talking to, you just don’t want to make a scene in front of your coworkers. They consider you to be such a calm, collected woman.

Frowning, Pope turns towards you, reaching out to touch your arm and stepping closer to you. "Babe— what's wrong? What are you talking about?" He follows your gaze back to Fish and he grunts in confusion. "Fish? He's another teammate. One of my best friends."

“Fuck.” Deflating on the spot, you feel like you could just collapse where you stand but that wouldn’t help the situation any. “We—we, um—know each other,” you explain quietly. “But it’s been a long time.”

Feeling like he's been kicked in the chest by one of those fucking mules, Frankie stumbles forward and murmurs your name softly. "I— what are you doing here?" He asks, frowning slightly.

“This is my house.” You wonder if Santiago even explained where he was inviting him, or if you have a nickname to their group just like they all do to each other. “I wouldn’t expect you to still remember my birthday.”

All the blood drains from his face and it falls into a wounded look. Realizing that you have to be Pope's girl. "I— remembered." He murmurs quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Seven billion people in the world. Figured someone else would have the same day too." It's almost a kick in the teeth, that comment of yours. Considering he had a fight with Marie because he had said your name this morning when he was talking to himself after waking up. You were the reason he had fought, again, with the mother of his child and she had pitched a fit and left. Making him wait on a babysitter so he could come to this party. To find out that it was for you. He's so fucking lucky that Marie isn't here. He clears his throat roughly and bites his lip. "Happy birthday, gatita." He uses the nickname from a million years ago and steps back. "I should go."

A press of overwhelming guilt and the instinct to stop him makes you reach out, grabbing his arm before you can stop yourself. “No. You shouldn’t.” You admit, even though it hurts.

"No," He shakes his head and gives you a wry smile. "I should." He sighs softly and looks over at Pope. "This is your girl, huh?" He asks, confusing the other man even more. "Keep her and take care of her." He tells him. "You'll regret it if you don't." He reaches for your hand and pries it off his arm gently, squeezing it before letting it go.

“Where’s Fish going?” Benny returns from the deck just a second too late, but just in time to watch Frankie leave again and see the bewildered looks on his friends’ faces.

"I don't fucking know." The entire day has been one big bag of surprises and Pope doesn't particularly like surprises. He turns towards you for some kind of explanation, although the nickname gatita sounds familiar, like Fish has mentioned it before. "You know Frank?"

“We grew up together.” It’s the best you can hiccup out before you take off like a shot, following Frankie through the gate. “Frankie!” He’s already down at the street, but he pauses when you call his name and it gives you time to catch up.

Waiting for you as you rush towards him, Frankie takes off his Standard Oil hat and scratches his hair. Struck by how nostalgic the moment is, waiting for you to catch up to him so many times once upon a lifetime ago. “Look, I’m sorry.” He sighs when you are closer. “I didn’t know, okay? I’m going.”

“I think you should stay.” Not as fit as you once were, you puff a little and put your arms around your waist. “We, uh—for Santiago, if nothing else. You’re his friend and I—I’m somebody you used to know.” And there is so, so much to tell him…

The idea that you might want him there makes him pause and he frowns slightly as he stares at you for a moment. “Only if you’re sure.” He still hesitates. “It’s your birthday after all.”

“It is.” And you’re not sure. You’re really not. But since he’s reappearing in your life almost twenty-five years later, the lump in your throat is winning over logic.

“Last time I saw you was on your birthday.” Frankie frowns, wondering how he could have been such a shit head back then. “Seems like the circle is complete.”

“Eighteen was a long time ago.” It was right before he left for boot camp, and you’d been pushing him to commit to you before he left. A stupid thing to do at such a young age. You know that now. But you were so stupid in love with him back then and there was so much going on.

“Yes it was.” He can admit that, biting his lip and shuffling slightly. “And I was an asshole.” He had broken his own damn heart, even if he hadn’t known it at the time.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.” Squeezing your eyes shut makes you feel like your heart is going to burst, but the universe has decided that it’s time to finally time to come clean. “I was scared. And I’m sorry.”

“I was stupid.” Frankie has so many regrets from that time of his life, just compounded over the years and he almost steps closer to you, but he doesn’t. He can’t, he doesn’t have that right anymore. “I proved you right. I didn’t come back.” The argument is still confusing in his memory, just as much as it had confused him then. You had pushed to get married before he left and he had wanted to wait. It had become a sticking point and in his stubbornness, he had broken up with you.

“You didn’t come back and you didn’t have a cell phone…and then your parents moved.” With their only child moved on, Frankie’s father had accepted a transfer upstate from the Standard Heating & Oil Co that both of your fathers worked for. “I had—I had no way to talk to you. To—to tell you—” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, surprising you since you thought you had cried every last tear you had over Frankie Morales.

“Tell me?” Frankie frowns and he does step closer, hating to see tears in your eyes again on a birthday. Especially because they seem to be because of him again. “Tell me what, gatita?”

“Fair warning.” Wiping at the corners of your eyes, you can’t quite look him in his even when you straighten out again. “You’ll hate me. And you probably should, at this point.”

“I don’t think I could hate you.” Frankie admits quietly, unable to even imagine a world where he would.

“You might.” Wiping your hands down your face and breathing out a deep, frustrated groan, you look up again to see the eyes of the boy who was your first everything looking back at you, and you crumble. “I didn’t have any way to contact you,” you repeat again, knowing you could and should have tried harder anyway. “And I was scared of losing you because — because I was pregnant.”

The way his brows pull down is instantaneous and he immediately puts his hands on his hips and twists around as he absorbs your news. “You— you were pregnant?” He chokes out, looking back at you with a wounded expression. “I— what? No? What— pregnant?”

“That’s…that’s why I was pushing you so hard to propose.” You admit, eyes cast down at the ground.

“You didn’t say a word.” Frankie shakes his head. “Why— why didn’t you tell me? If I had known—”

“I thought if I told you that you’d only run away from me faster.” Which, at eighteen years old, had seemed like pretty sound logic to you. “By the time I was scared enough to just want you there regardless, it was too late. You were…you were gone.”

“By the time—” he shakes his head, eyes wide and he swallows harshly. “What happened? Don’t— I— what are you saying?”

"I'm saying that you have a daughter." A fact which sticks in your throat now like you had tried to swallow a pinecone. "Who is smart, and kind, and headstrong, and stubborn as hell. But she's doing so well for herself that a lot of that stubbornness just slides right by."

Frankie blanks out for a minute, staring at you before he turns away. Grappling with his emotions as he bends over and tries to take a breath, groaning slightly in disbelief. “No.” He shakes his head, turning back to you. “No! Don’t tell me that!”

"I'm sorry." It isn't worth much, as apologies go, but you kneel down beside him on the grass and wonder if he'll be mad enough to strike out if you put a hand on his back. "I really am. You should have known a long time ago."

“Twenty-four,” he chokes out. “You are telling me I have a twenty-four year old daughter?” His face screws up in the regret and tears. “Please tell me you’re fucking joking.”

"I had no way to tell you." It's a lame excuse, or at least it feels lame, and you do rest your hand on his back but it's so gentle you don't even know if he can feel it.

“Oh fuck….fuck, fuck, fuck…..” Frankie moans, closing his eyes and his fists bunch against his thighs. “I-I-I— don’t— I can’t –”

"Frankie?" His breathing sounds panicked, and you soothe one hand in circles around his back. "Breathe, okay? Just breathe. Everything's okay. She—she's grown. She's raised. No one is asking you to do anything."

“I—I missed it.” He manages. “I missed everything.” Closing his eyes as he realizes that his trajectory of his life would have been vastly different if he had known.

Oh. It's the opposite. The exact opposite. He's not panicked that you're going to expect him to stay, like you thought he was. He's upset that he missed Rachel's childhood. "There's...there's still the whole rest of her life ahead."

“I— I should have been there.” He drops his head down even more. “Fuck— you must hate me. She must hate me.”

"It's my fault you didn't know. Why would I hate you?" As much as it has ever hurt to lose him, you've never actually hated him. Just missed him. Which isn't the same although they can be confused for each other. "And Rachel— Frankie, she knows the truth. That we were young and lost touch."

“Rachel.” He shakes his head, focusing on her name and it’s so goddamn familiar. “Her name is Rachel?”

"My aunt Rachel died right before she was born," you explain, wondering if he even remembers meeting your mother's sister a million and a half times at different family functions while you were together. He was always invited for every holiday.

“God.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, hating that he had been such a fucking idiot back then. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers.

"I am, too." More sorry than you can possibly say, but what else can you do at this point but try to move forward?

“So I managed to ruin another birthday of yours.” He pushes aside the grief and sorrow that is threatening to overwhelm him and locks it down. Compartmentalize, shutting down, it’s what he knows best. He can freak out about this later when he’s left.

"It's not ruined." It's awkward, and it's uncomfortable, and you're not really sure what to do now. But it's not ruined. "It's—it's not—I don't know what today is, but it's..." you sigh heavily and stand up again. "I don't know, Frankie. If you want to leave that's up to you. But our lives cross now, and I know...I know Rachel would want to meet you."

“Oh god. Is she— is she there? Here?” He asks, shaking his head. “Can I meet her?”

"If I wasn't going to let you meet her, I would have just kept my mouth shut about the whole thing," you needle him gently. Just wishing he could or would do as much as crack a smile. It seems desperately needed.

The huff, the quarter of a smile is almost involuntary. Almost in disbelief and he looks over at you with a heavy stare. “I want to meet her.” He tells you quietly. “If I had known, things would have been so different for us, gatita.”

"No use crying over spilled milk, I think." Twenty-four years of regret is a lot to process, but you nod in acknowledgement. Just a small motion of thanks that he is at least saying out loud what you suspected.

“Fuck.” He huffs again and uncurls his hands to wipe them on his jeans. “I’m nervous.”

"Telling you not to be seems cruel," you huff, though you're not sure what else to say. "No one planned this. No one saw this coming. It will be as much of a shock to her as it is to you. As—as it was to me to see you."

“Forty-two.” He shakes his head and looks back over at you in awe. “You don’t look a day over fucking eighteen.” It might be a small embellishment, but you look amazing and so much like the girl he has loved for so long.

"You're not so bad yourself." Santiago may be on the other side of that fence, but a part of your heart has always and will always belong to scrawny Frankie Morales from Brooklyn. Even if he isn't scrawny anymore – which is a thing you can't help but notice.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, centering himself before he nods. “We should go back.” He murmurs.

"I promise she's not scary." Although you'll understand when it is a complete shock to her. And to the others. "Just...let me tell her first? I ran after you so fast that I didn't explain to anyone else yet."

Both of you stand up and he scrubs his hands on his jeans again. “Sure, sure.” He agrees, knowing that it could be sort of a shock, even if she’s known about him her whole life.

"Remember to breathe," you advise him with a wry chuckle, even though it's good advice for you too.

“When I remember how.” Frankie snorts, slightly pacing in place as he glances towards the back yard gate.

"Come on." Nodding toward the yard, you take a step in that direction to see if it will spur him on. The urge to offer him your hand is misplaced, and you have to quell it by putting your hands in your jeans pockets. "We've kept them waiting long enough."

Frankie exhales roughly and trails along behind you, wanting you to take the lead. He has to tell you about Luna at some point, but he will do that after he meets the daughter he never knew he had.

“Sorry about that.” Once you’re on the other side of the gate again, you see Rachel standing in the midst of Santiago, Benny, and Will all looking concerned. “That was…unexpected? Shall we say?”

“Mom?” Rachel moves closer to you and frowns as her eyes slide back to where Frankie is hanging back. “Why are you upset with Fish?” She asks softly, looking back at the other three men and then back at you. “You said you knew him? When? I don’t remember you dating him.” Your dates had been few and far between, even rarer that she had met them, but she would have remembered someone called Catfish.

“I’m not upset, sweet pea. I’m just surprised.” It’s a lie, but a prudent one. You are upset, and it’s because your little slice of peace has been disturbed. But no one did that on purpose, so you’ll just have to live with it. “Why don’t we—we should talk about this inside.”

“No. Here. Now.” She has inherited her stubbornness both you and Frankie. And she’s eyeing the man she had met a few months ago and hung out with suspiciously. He looks like he’s about to be sick and she’s not above taking a baseball bat to his knees if needed, whether or not she had liked him before.

“Rach, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” you murmur, looking around the backyard. Most people are milling about and a few are in the pool, but they obviously all know something is up.

Rachel stares at you for a minute and then she shoots Frankie a glare because you look so upset before she turns around and marches towards the house.

“You guys, too,” you decide, figuring it’s probably best to get all of this over with. Santiago is dating you, Benny is dating Rachel, and Will is bound to find everything out soon enough.

There’s not a lot of hope for him with the glare shot his way, so Frankie hangs back for a moment. Reconciling the fact that Rachel is the girl that Benny has been dating. His daughter is dating his friend. His friend who has been bragging about his girl to him. And their sex life. He’s going to throw up or punch Ben in the mouth.

Once everyone is inside, you check to make sure the bathroom is empty and close the sliding doors tightly. Everyone outside can wait. This is far more important. “Everything is okay,” you start, making sure that right off the bat Rachel knows you aren’t mad and Santiago understands you don’t hate his best friend. His best friend. Fuck. “It was just—as surprising as it was to find out Santiago and Ben are friends…this is an even bigger surprise.”

Frankie leans on the side of the wall, staring at the tip of his boot as he tries to wait for you to tell Rachel. He can’t blurt it out, she’s your kid. Not his— not really. He hasn’t done a goddamn thing to help raise her, but he has to admire the job you’ve done.

"The thing is, Rach." Blowing out a breath, you reach out for your daughter's hand and just pray she won't hate you. "You wouldn't remember when I dated Frankie. Because it was before you were born."

“Hermano.” Pope’s eyes widen and the nickname clicks. He knew he had heard it before. “Gatita? This is—” he whistles quietly. “Mierda.”

When Rachel still looks confused, you breathe deeply and try your best not to shake. Or to chicken out. "There are a lot of blanks to fill in along the way, but...sweet pea...Frankie is—" Oh god, you're going to throw up. You're absolutely going to throw up. "He's your father."

You could hear a pin drop, or a mouse fart, the room is so quiet. Every head snapping towards Frankie in judgement and he doesn’t pay them any attention, focusing on the one person right now that matters. His daughter.

"I don't understand." Rachel stands bog still, clutching your hand with eyes as wide as saucers as she looks frantically between you and Frankie. She had liked this man. He is a good friend to Ben. But now she doesn't know what to think.

“Your mom and I were high school sweethearts.” Frankie isn’t sure what you might have told her, but he’s going to tell her what he knows to be true. “More like middle school, but you know?” He shrugs. “I didn’t know she was pregnant.” He promises. “I swear I didn’t know.”

Will sighs from the other side of the room. “Oh shit.”

"Everything I ever told you about him was the truth." You had worked hard to always be fair to Frankie when you were raising Rachel, even if it led to never telling her very much about him unless she asked. "He didn't know, and I had no way of telling him. It's been...it's been twenty-five years since we even spoke to each other. So you can understand why I was surprised to see him walk in today."

“And he’s friends with your boyfriend and mine.” There’s a note of disbelief in her voice that Frankie doesn’t blame her for.

“We were on the same team for years.” Frankie explains. “I was their pilot.”

“That’s why we lost touch,” you remind your daughter gently. “He left for boot camp.” Considering Ben isn’t the first Army boy that Rachel has dated, you have always sort of had a suspicion that she was subconsciously searching for her dad in these men. It just never occurred to you that it would actually work.

She looks at him, almost accusatory in her gaze. “Why did you never come back?” She demands. “If you loved her, why did you just walk away?”

That makes Frankie wince, and he shoves his hands in his pockets again. “Have you ever done something dumb and been too goddamn proud to admit you were wrong?” He asks quietly, and Pope, despite his own feelings about the entire situation, won’t let Frankie’s daughter twist in the wind.

“He used to talk about his gatita.” He interjects. “Regretting not making up with her and wishing he could get in contact with her.”

“It was harder back then, honey.” The gentle reminder is important, because Rachel might not have grown up in a world of luxury but she’s definitely never known a world without cell phones or social media. “When I told your grandparents that you were coming, we moved. It was just a little further outside the city, but the place was bigger and the neighborhood was safer. Your grandma found a better job and— and with neither of our families still in Brooklyn, we couldn’t have found each other. Even if your dad had come back looking for me, or tried to call our old apartment? We wouldn’t have been there.” At least she hasn’t ripped her hand out of yours yet. You’re considering that a good thing “We were kids, and we made mistakes. Very big ones. But you know he didn’t leave because he didn’t love you.”

“I would have never.” He promises, his voice thick with emotions. He shakes his head and frowns slightly. He doesn’t know why he didn’t realize who she was to him now that he knows. She looks just like a perfect combination of you and him, with your nose, thank God. But her ears curl just like his.

“Oh god…” In trying to process everything, Rachel glances up and looks at Frankie’s hat again, groaning to herself and wiping one hand at the bottom of her neck just like he does — but neither of them ever noticed the simile gesture. “I always just thought the hat was a funny coincidence,” she admits with a huff.

“My hat?” He takes it off and scrubs his hair quickly before putting it back on his head. “Had it since I was a kid.”

The Miller brothers look confused, and you offer them a wilted smile with your explanation. "Both of our fathers, Rach's grandfathers...they both worked for Standard for forever. That's how Frankie and I met."

“Oh shit.” Benny frowns slightly and moves over to Rachel’s side, squeezing her hip supportively.

"I know this is a lot." It's a lot for everyone, but you're mostly just talking to Rachel. Your whole adult life has been lived for your baby girl and now emotions are unraveling at light speed. "But nothing has to change. You're a grown woman, sweet pea. And whatever relationship you want with your Dad is up to you."

“I’ve spent time with him.” She admits quietly. “After a fight of Benny’s.” She looks back at Frankie and bites her lip. “But I’d like to get to know him as my dad.”

"I know this just got sprung on everybody," you murmur again. The fact is that right now you have a yard full of people and all you want to do is disappear under your comforter and pretend it isn't happening. "But...life throws you curveballs, right?"

“Yeah.” Frankie huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling like his entire world has turned on its head. Wishing like hell he could snort a line but he promised himself he wouldn’t touch that shit again.

"We should give you guys some privacy." When Will finally speaks up, it's to motion to his brother and to Pope that maybe they should step outside. There are a lot of emotions creating tension in this room and they're not going to be made easier by having an audience.

Pope shuffles slightly, wanting to stay, but he also needs to think about this entire thing. The situation is blowing up and he doesn’t want to make things worse.

"Maybe you could throw the burgers on the grill? And we'll be out in a few minutes?" He had offered to be in charge of the grill today but that was before everything had gone to hell and now you have no idea what he's thinking. "And I promise we'll talk through everything, too."

“Of course.” He nods and doesn’t lean in to kiss you like he might have just a few minutes before walking in this house. Feeling almost guilty for the entire situation right now.

That missing kiss is enough to tell you that everything has changed. Santiago has never shied away from affection or from public displays, and this is exactly the time that a partner might have offered that kind of comfort. Whatever you end up talking to him about later, you're now prepared for him to end things. But you can't fault him for that. You had a baby with his best friend – even if you didn't know each other then.

“Baby?” Benny looks at Rachel, checking with her before he leaves.

"It's okay," she promises him, going up on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I'll find you when we come back out." And she's going to find a White Claw or six in the garage fridge, too. Fuck.

“Okay.” He shoots Frankie a worried look, not liking the despair on his friend’s face and shuffles to the door.

"I figured it might be easiest to just tell them the facts up front and then let all of us talk," you tell them both, now wondering if that was the right move at all.

“Yeah.” Frankie nods, understanding why you did it, but he looks over at Rachel with regret and waits for her to say something.

"Do you, actually...do you mind if I talk to Frankie—" Rachel hums awkwardly over it, before reconsidering. "If I talk to my father alone for a few minutes?" She sort of feels like they're ganging up on him, and while she has questions and she's sure that you do, too...hers are going to be very different from yours.

“I don’t mind.” Frankie glances back over at you for approval.

"I should go make the rounds outside." As much as you don't want to, it is your party and they are your guests out there. Most of whom noticed that something odd has happened even if they don't know what. Still, you nod and lean over to hug your daughter. "Come back out when you’re ready. Ben looked like he'll worry until you do."

“I will.” She promises and Frankie catches your eye as you glance over at him.

“Thanks.” He murmurs, thanking you for the opportunity to talk to Rachel. He knows you could have been very different with this entire thing. Blowing out a breath when you walk out and shut the door, he looks back at his grown daughter. “So hit me with it.” He tells her.

For a second Rachel is dumbfounded. She just stands and stares at him, but then her shoulders slump and she shrugs and she blows out a long sigh. “I guess I know the real reason my middle name is Francine,” she poses, shaking her head. “Mom said it was because The Nanny is her favourite show and I completely fucking believe that because she worships Fran Drescher, but I’m willing to bet that’s one of only like six lies she’s ever told me in my whole life and it’s actually because of you.”

“Francisco Alberto Morales.” He introduces himself to her quietly, nodding and trying not to be humbled by the fact that you gave your daughter a version of his name. Something to connect the two of you.

“And you guys were…you were together for a long time?” She knows the story. She’s heard it from you over and over again. But something in her feels like she needs to hear it confirmed from him.

“Seventh grade until her 18th birthday.” He frowns at the way that makes him sound, how callous it could be construed. He has just walked away after so long.

“And she wanted to get married.” Rachel prompts, needing these landmarks of the story confirmed for her.

“We had a plan.” He shuffles slightly and looks around the neat and well decorated home. You’ve done well for yourself and it shows. “I was going to get through boot camp and my ‘A’ school while she started college and then when I got to my first duty station, she would transfer to a school nearby.” His shoulders round when he remembers that last fight, the missing piece now clicked into place and with maturity, he can see that you had been terrified, not overbearing. “Her birthday, she blind-sided me with getting married.”

“She wanted to skip forward and get married first, and you didn’t agree.” She can see it from both sides, now. As an adult it makes sense why an eighteen-year-old planning his life would think his girlfriend was just trying to trap him — or even that she wanted the wedding more than she wanted him. “But…you never got married at all? Even after Mom?”

“No.” Marie isn’t married to him, he couldn’t do that even if he had been inclined to. She was still technically married to some guy in her past, or so she claimed. “But….”

“Oh god, don’t say Marie.” Rachel bursts out, talking before she can even think. “She’s awful, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. I didn’t feel like I had a right to say anything before but I totally do now and she’s abusive and terrible, and I will absolutely help you leave her if you need help. I’ll babysit Luna anytime and — oh my god Luna is my sister—”

Frankie shuffles and looks down at his feet. Marie hadn’t been at her best the first time that Rachel had come to the bar after the fight. She had been pissed off because his hearing had been postponed again and he wasn’t closer to getting his pilot’s license back.

“Look, if you’re happy, it’s whatever.” Rachel shuffles, not realizing she’s moving the same way as Frankie, and shrugs. She senses she’s hit a nerve. “I’ll still help with Luna whenever you need. I—I always wanted a baby sister…”

“She’s not bad.” Frankie had dealt with her for a long time and it seemed harder to leave than it was to stay. “That was a bad night.”

“If you say so.” She doesn’t believe him, but the very first day she meets her father isn’t the day to push too hard.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he looks around the house again. “Did you and your mom struggle?” He asks quietly.

“My grandparents helped.” The short answer is yes, but she doesn’t want to make him feel guilty. “We lived with them when I was little, then we moved down here when I was about thirteen. Mom got a job with Disney.”

Frankie nods, frowning slightly. He has his retirement and his Thrift Savings Plan from the military, which he will hopefully be able to not use once he gets his license back. He’s not in the best position to offer any kind of help, but he will. “You’re in school, right?” He asks.

“I’m getting my masters at UCF.” Rachel nods again. “I still live with Mom. Here, I mean. She didn’t make me leave or anything when I started college.”

She’s dedicated. Frankie knows that college, especially graduate programs, are expensive. “That’s good.” He bites his lip and wonders if the offer would offend her. “I have my G.I. Bill.” He mentions. “I can gift it to a spouse – which I don’t have.” He shrugs. “Or a child.”

It's a very sweet offer, but that doesn't really surprise her. She already knows Frankie is a sweet guy. "Save it for Luna," she tells him. "I have great scholarships, and that way she'll be able to look forward to school without worrying about student loans."

It’s feels like a rejection, even though he knows it’s not. He nods and clears his throat. “That’s good.” He has an odd sense of pride for her achievements, even though he had done nothing to contribute.

"What do you want to know about me?" There's probably plenty, but now Rachel feels a bit self-conscious. She's at least heard stories about him. All he knows about her is whatever Ben has told him.

“Everything.” The word tumbles out before he can stop himself and he looks embarrassed. “I— I want to know everything.”

"Everything is a lot," she laughs, but understands. She wants to know everything about him too. She's wondered about her father forever. "What if...what if we did some father/daughter stuff? I could come over and spend time with you and Luna or we could grab a drink sometimes? Just...exist together. And all the get to know you stuff will come in time?"

“Yeah.” He nods eagerly and smiles at her, his eyes crinkling and his face lighting up at the idea. “I like that. Any time. Any time at all.”

“Okay.” She’s feeling bone tired by all of this so she can only imagine how you and Frankie feel, but as Rachel moves over to the notepad on the far table to write her number down for him, she purses her lips slightly and tilts her head. Her thinking face. “Don’t…please don’t be too hard on Mom?” She asks, holding the slip of paper out to him a second later. “She doesn’t ever say it, but I know she’s missed you. And she worked so hard to raise me alone, she just…she deserves the world.”

“I’m not mad at your mother, querida.” He promises, taking the paper and looking down at it before he folds it up carefully and tucks it into his pocket. “I’m mad at myself.” He explains. “Too goddamn proud to admit I was wrong, and I apparently missed out on a hell of a life.” He looks up at her with pride. “And a hell of a daughter.”

“Well shucks, Paw,” she laughs, obviously very touched by the sentiment. “I guess we both have a bunch to catch up on. But we can do that.”

He snorts and huffs out a grin. “By the way, I’m going to punch your boyfriend in the mouth.” He warns Rachel. “So don’t go screaming at me when it happens.”

“Benny?” She makes an audible huffing sound. “What did he do?”

“You’ll find out.” He won’t say now, but he shrugs. “He deserves it, and he’ll know it.”

“Seems weird, but okay.” Men do weird things sometimes. She’s not so young that she doesn’t know that.

He chuckles and sweeps his head off his head again. “You look like your mother when you wrinkle your nose.”

“It’s funny.” She wrinkles her nose again but consciously, wondering if she really does look like you that way. “She always said I had your smile. And your ears.”

Frankie reaches out and brushes her curls back behind her ears and smiles. “You do have my ears.” He admits.

“Is it weird? She asks, stifling a laugh. “To realize that?”

“Surreal.” He admits with a sigh. “I don’t know what to think. I went from being too old to have a six-month-old, to being the dad to a grown ass woman.”

“I was teasing Mom about wanting a little sister last night,” Rachel admits with a groan at the irony. “Shows me right.”

Frankie smirks slightly and shrugs. “Isn’t life sometimes a kick in the teeth?”

******

“What a Fucking kick in the teeth.” Will pushes out a sigh in the backyard, cracking open the beer he grabbed from the cooler Fish brought.

“Yeah.” Pope frowns at the grill, pushing the perfectly aligned burgers with the spatula. “Who would have thought?”

"What are you gonna do?" It's not as though Pope has had a lot of time to think, but Will knows him long enough to know that the wheels are already spinning. They have all heard Fish talk about his gatita, and now that they know who she is? It at least warrants a reaction.

Pope glances over at Will before he looks back at the grill, his movements a little stiffer than just a moment before. “What can I do?” He asks rhetorically. “She was his first.”

"Just because she was his first doesn't mean that he has to be her last," Benny offers, not quite sure what else to say. They all know that Pope had been starting to fall for you, even if it had never been said. Now he is very obviously pulling back.

"No, but she would want him to be." He admits quietly. "She had told me about her first love. She didn't tell me his name." He says pointedly when Benny opens his mouth to ask the obvious question. "But she told me enough to know that she's still in love with him. And we know that Frankie never got over her."

"So it's not about stepping back," Will observes, sipping his beer in the hot Florida sun. "It's about letting them be together."

Closing the grill, Pope sighs, hands on his hips as he looks around the backyard and comes to his decision. "Don't you think Fish deserves to be happy?" He asks quietly.

"Of course he does." The idea that Will might think otherwise practically makes him clutch his proverbial pearls.

"And fuck knows we want Marie gone," Benny huffs under his breath.

"His gatita is the one to make both of those wishes come true." He's sure of it and he will bow out like a gentleman. It's the least he can do since the last half year of hell in his personal life is partially his responsibility. He had pushed Fish to come to South America. Pope looks back at both of the other men. "Want to help me fix Fish's life?"

Benny is the first to smirk, clapping his hands together and rubbing them dramatically. "You gonna pull a binder out of your ass or are we talking this one through?"

"First, I'm going to get really drunk and pretend like I'm not falling on a sword." Pope snorts, snatching the beer out of Will's hand and taking a drink. "Then, we're gonna figure out how to get Fish custody of Luna." He tells them quietly. "That little girl is the reason he's still with Marie."

"We just need proof that she's the one with the drug problem." Will mumbles, not wanting to say those words too loud. "And we need his hearing to go through so he can get his damn license back."

"Yeah." He sighs and points at Will. "Can you talk to your ex?" Pope asks, knowing it's a big favor. "She's still working in the DA's office, right? Maybe she can help us? Or know someone who can?" Being a paralegal isn't the same as being an assistant DA, but she knows people.

"I'll see if she can at least point me in the right direction," Will nods in agreement, knowing that as uncomfortable as talking to his ex-fiancée will be, it's definitely the right course of action. "She always like Fish. It shouldn't be too hard to get her to give an e-mail or phone number of who can help."

“Marie isn’t going be happy learning about Rachel.” Pope glances at Benny. “You know that.”

"She's going to be furious." Ben agrees, wiping his hand through his hair and blowing out a raspberry. "She's gonna think Fish kept it from her on purpose."

“Poor bastard looked like he was about to fall over.” Pope sighs. “I hate this.”

"We're gonna make it work," Benny promises him. "Sorry you got shoved into the middle of it, though."

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t and it actually really hurt that he was going to have to end things with you and pretend that he’s just friends with you, but his brother is worth it.

"Better to find out now than a year from now," Will offers, knowing it isn't a whole lot of comfort. But at least it's honest.

“Yeah.” You walk out of the house and he immediately turns to watch you. “Better now.” Santi murmurs, his heart aching.

******

Most people leave around dinner time, splintering off to nighttime plans or to go home to their families. Santiago, Frankie, and the Miller brothers stayed long enough to help you clean up and Rachel is loading the dishwasher when you realize Santiago has gone temporarily missing. On a hunch, you go down the hall to your bedroom and frown to see him there, tucking things back into his duffel bag.

"Decided not the stay the night?"

He hates that you caught him and he stands tall after shoving in a t-shirt and tamping down the guilty feeling. “It’s been a…surprising day.” He tells you. “Figured it might be better to change the plan for tonight.”

"Just for tonight?" You have a feeling you know the answer, but you want it out in the open. No questions or doubts.

His eyes slide away from you and for a moment, he falters. Wondering if this is the wrong thing to do. “No.” He admits, walking over to you and cupping your cheeks in his hand. “I am— was— falling in love with you.” He won’t lie to you. “But you’ve been in love with Frank for far longer than you’ve loved me.”

It's enormously frustrating for him to be both presumptuous and right. The last thing you want is to admit it, especially as tears press at the back of your eyes, and so a protest comes out of your mouth instead. "He's with someone else," you point out, knowing that someone mentioned it earlier. One of the Miller brothers, you think. "He's—he's—it's so complicated, Santi."

“I know it is.” His brow pinches together and he leans forward to kiss your forehead. “And if it’s too complicated, I won’t let you twist in the wind.” He promises. “But you deserve to find out if your love for him is still there.”

"This isn't how I saw today ending." Overwhelmed and next to tears was definitely not on the docket, but you're not going to beg him to stay. That's not the kind of girl you are anymore. You haven't been in a long time. "What a shitty birthday."

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Pope closes his own eyes and leans his forehead against yours. “I can stay if you want.” He offers in a whisper, feeling guilty all over as his resolve crumbles.

"You'd feel guilty if you did." He's a good man, that's why. It's part of what you liked so much about him when you met, and part of what's grown on you. "Like you were betraying Frankie."

“I would still stay.” He promises.

"You'd feel guilty and then you'd start to resent me." The defense mechanism of crossing your arms over your chest might guard you in spirit, but it doesn't stop you from feeling like utter dogshit in this moment. "Just...know that this isn't how I wanted things to go between us. That's all."

“I know.” He murmurs softly, the slight smile on his lips ironic. “I know, baby. I didn’t want this either.” He admits. “But I’m still going to be here for you. That won’t change.”

“Could I just ask you one favor before you go?” All things considered, it’s very minor and sort of the least you could possibly ask.

“Anything.” Pope would do anything for you, he’s proving that, but he wouldn’t deny you simple request if it’s in his power to take care of it.

“I don’t know if you’re going to see them at all tonight or not but just…don’t tell Rachel yet? She’s going to spend the night with Ben again and I know her. She’ll come straight home to be with me instead. I don’t want to ruin her night.”

He chuckles softly, aware of what that says about you as a mom. “You are a good woman.” He murmurs, leaning in kissing your forehead again. “I won’t say anything to her.”

“I’ll tell her tomorrow.” You promise him. It’s not that you want to hide things from her — it’s that you know she’ll act rashly out of loyalty to you if she finds out tonight. She might even break up with Ben, which is the last thing she actually wants or that you want for her.

“When you tell her is up to you.” He would never think that he should have an input on your relationship with Rachel or when you tell her. “Whenever you are comfortable.”

“Well…” A shrug and a half sigh are the best you can do, not really sure of what else to say. Maybe you’ll get on Pet Finder tonight and look for a cat. Or three.

“Oh…” Pope reaches into his bag and pulls out your gift. “I didn’t want to give this to you in front of everyone.” He tells you quietly. “But this is for you.”

“You didn’t have to.” Especially now. Especially with everything that’s happened today. But you still smile weakly and accept the bag. Yup. It’s gonna be me and three cranky, elderly cats. That’s my future. “I—um, thank you. It’s…very sweet of you. You’re a very sweet person.”

“No, I’m not.” Pope snorts as he steps back. “But you are worth the effort.”

Impulsively, it does make you want to ask why he’s leaving, then. But you know the answer. You know this is about you and Frankie having a past and that nothing is going to change Santiago’s loyalty to his best friend. What’s even more annoying is that you like that about him, it hits harder and hurts more. All you can say without letting the emotions through the floodgates is just to excuse yourself to grab the book of his that you borrowed because it’s downstairs in the living room.

Staring at the door, Pope sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket to text Will. Deciding that he needs a drink after the emotional rollercoaster of the day.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

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pearlywritings · 8 months

Text

"Bring your kid to work" day

synopsis: but sometimes it's very much unplanned.

pairing and characters: Zhongli x fem!reader, Xiao. Your family name is Rex-Lapis. Childe plays part in it too.

tw: modern AU, University AU, established relationship, fluff

word count: 2.8k+ words

a/n: Also a part of my University modern AU with history professor Zhongli

The day started perfectly. Your older daughter was already at school with your permission to stay at her friend's house for a sleepover later, you had your day off, lounging in the living room with your son cuddling to you with his most favorite dragon shaped toy pressed between your bodies, listening to your husband walking around the bedroom, getting ready for the lectures at the University, being blessed with afternoon classes.

The day was perfect indeed. Until it absolutely isn't.

Sometimes you really want to kill your boss. It must be today that you are called to work to help with an emergency, that no one knows how to deal with except for you. And the fact that your boss does not consider any possibility of you having trouble with doing what's required, makes you fume harder.

"Li, I don't know what to do!" You cry in frustration, buttoning your shirt. "We can't find a babysitter in ten minutes! You have to go to work, I have to now too, we can't just ask Ganyu to cancel her plans, she's been waiting for this sleepover for weeks, and I can't take Xiao with me - by the sound of it I won't have a single moment to look after him."

It's been no longer than five minutes since you received that call, but you are already as stressed as after a week of non-stop work. Why must've the stars aligned this way!?

Your husband - bless his soul - is fully dressed and is holding your little son perched on his arm, supporting his back with a hand, watching your frantic movements with sympathy.

"I don't think I'll have many spare moments either, my love. Only breaks between lessons. Let me think," the man hums, leaning Xiao’s body more onto his shoulder and reaching for his phone with a free hand. The boy wraps arms around his neck, watching you brush your hair with a pout. The plan was to spend the whole day together with mama, watching cartoons, playing, maybe going for a walk or, ideally, taking a nap, finishing it all with making dinner and welcoming papa home. Now, it seems to him, all these plans are thrown out of the window.

However, Xiao was always a very perceptive and patient kid - he sensed somehow when the situation couldn’t be helped and him throwing a fit - not like he would - would only cause more trouble. That is why he is quietly waiting for what comes next.

And finally Zhongli finds a solution.

“I’m calling Ajax. He mostly spends time at the teacher’s lounge. As far as I know he really loves kids and has several younger siblings, he should be able to handle our son. And during breaks I’ll be taking over” “Oh,” as good as it all sounds, there is an instant hesitation in your mind. “‘Li, you sure you can ask him that? It’s a big deal after all…” “I know, dear, I know. That’s why I am calling him now in advance to make sure it’s alright,” your husband dials the number of his department’s secretary and puts the phone to the ear. “I don’t even mind paying him if he agrees.”

In reality you had nothing to worry about. The gingerhead was more than willing to watch your five-year old son. Maybe willing isn’t the right word even - the young man is excited.

Zhongli is lucky to arrive before the current class ends - the less attention is drawn, the better. He collected everything he could think of to occupy Xiao during his time at the lounge in a bag, which he passes to Ajax the moment his son and him are introduced. However while the secretary is wearing a wide and kind smile, the boy is glaring up at him from under the brown bangs, boring his strikingly golden eyes in the tall figure.

“Dad, I don’t like him,” the little boy pouts, hugging his plushie even tighter and throwing daggers at the gingerhead from behind the dragon’s mane.

“Ouch, little guy,” with a dramatic gasp, the young man clutches the shirt on his chest and presses the back of his hand to the forehead. “How will I live? Hated by Mr Rex-Lapis’ son…”

“Now, now, Xiao,” Zhongli gently pats his head, bending down to look into his eyes and finding displeasure there. “It’s only for today, baby. Me and mom are really sorry for not spending time with you today. I promise that soon I’ll be home for two whole weeks.”

To that the boy’s eyes widen.

“Two weeks… That’s fourteen days?”

“That’s right, sweety.”

“That’s a lot!” He jumps, elated by the news, no trace of dissatisfaction written over his cute smiling face.

“Haha, it is, dear.”

“Wow, Mr Rex-Lapis, your son is really smart!” The secretary stopped playing hurt, instead clapping his hands together in praise and nodding his head in approval. “How old is he?”

“He is five. Yes, he learns really fast.”

“No wonder, he has you and your wife as parents.”

The remaining 20 minutes before his first lecture Zhongli spends in attempts to make his son comfortable not only around Ajax, but also at the new place as well. All that time Xiao doesn’t let go of his ever-present companion - a toy dragon, which he is hugging close to his chest. He politely greets every professor that comes to the lounge, which makes the secretary’s jaw drop since he is the only one who’s been initially rejected and, Zhongli can swear, he saw his boy smirking in the toy’s fluffy mane.

Other professors can’t help but mention how much the son resembles the father, even making small talk with the boy, whom they’ve only heard about before or seen in the framed picture of your family on Zhongli’s desk. By how polite (sorry, Ajax) and shyly sweet he is Xiao quickly becomes everyone’s favorite, pockets currently full with all kinds of treats.

When it’s time to go, the man kisses Xiao’s forehead goodbye, promising to be back in an hour and a half for a break, and grabs the materials. Once he leaves alongside his colleagues, Xiao sighs and, ignoring his temporary caretaker, moves to the bag his dad left, starting to dig out all the candies to put them into its side pocket.

“Whatcha doin’, little guy?” The young man is at his side in two long strides, curiously watching the boy’s actions. Xiao gives him a side eye, before deeming the question plausible and turning back to his task.

“I don’t want them right now. I’ll bring them home and share with mom and dad.”

“I am sure they’ll like that,” Ajax hums, busying himself with the contents of the main section. “Oh, would you look at that! It seems that your dad packed some coloring books, toys and… oh, puzzles! You like puzzles?”

The boy quietly nods. Tiptoeing, he tries to see the two boxes his temporary caretaker is holding, and the young man immediately crouches down to let him look.

“This one is new,” Xiao finally points to the box in his left hand. Ocean blue eyes skim over the picture of a phoenix, drawn in a simple yet elegant style. Yes, that definitely looks like something Mr Rex-Lapis would’ve bought for his child’s entertainment.

“Alright, let's get you behind your dad's desk,” golden eyes sparkle and a glimpse of wonder appears on the boy’s face. Dad showed him his own space at the lounge; it's tidy and organized, with all the necessities sorted inside the drawers and some notes and pictures pinned to the corkboard on the wall to the left. He wants to see them closer!

His caretaker drags the chair back, but climbing on it Xiao performs himself. As Ajax is humming something while tearing off the tape on the puzzle box, the boy turns to look at the photos Mr Rex-Lapis has on display. It’s so funny, really - not so long ago this little fella’s father was an image of reserve to students, no one knew who his wife was or the fact he had two kids. The secretary remembers how just half a year ago he used to be among those only ones who knew of the professor’s secret (which, in reality, wasn’t a secret at all). Why hasn't he ever spilled any info to the students who adore him?

Well, what fun would’ve been in it?

“Is that your big sister?” Xiao quickly glances up, taking notice of how the tall (but not as tall as dad) man hovers over where he is sitting and points at one of the pictures. The boy looks at it again.

“...yes. It’s Ganyu.”

“I have a sister too,” the fond expression on that freckle-covered face and a seemingly lightened color of those ocean-blue eyes disarms the five-year old a little. He blinks, waiting for what more he can tell. “Not one actually. Oh, and I have brothers too. One is your age, by the way!”

“Doesn’t it get too… loud?” Small hands reach for the carton box, lifting the lid.

“It does, in a good way though. But when our two huskies join in on the fun… Let’s just say it’s a good thing we have our own house.”

“You have dogs? That’s so cool! I want to have a pet too,” Xiao unceremoniously empties the contents onto the table, yet carefully places the lid with the picture against the monitor of the computer. “Mom promised that when I get older, they’ll buy me a bird.”

“Oh? You love those?”

“Mhm… Maybe we’ll buy something as pretty as…” he pauses, looking at the fiery bird. Ajax quickly realizes the struggle.

“A fo-nuhks,” Xiao prompts.

“Yeah… A fee-niks.”

As the minutes tick by, the boy’s initial hostility seems to evaporate. He still doesn’t talk unnecessarily much, but he does talk to Ajax, so that's progress. He is quite quick to finish the puzzles, and his temporary caretaker makes sure to praise the child. They talk a bit more about their respective families, Xiao even introduces him to his dragon companion. And the gingerhead picks the small fox-shaped keychain his elder sister knitted for him to play toy pals.

For another half an hour it manages to entertain the boy, but as the end of the class is nearing, he grows more and more distracted, glancing either at the door or the clock hanging high on the wall. It’s not hard to guess he is missing his father and is anticipating his return, but both Zhongli and Ajax can do nothing to just speed the time.

What professor can do though, is excusing his class ten minutes earlier, quite happy they got to get through all the material he prepared for this lecture. Bidding the students goodbye, he locks the door of the auditorium with his suitcase inside and puts the key in the pocket of his fancy vest to come back in twenty minutes.

When Zhongli enters the teacher’s lounge, he finds the secretary showing his son something on his own laptop. However, once Xiao’s eyes spot his dad’s figure in the doorframe, the little guy is down from his chair and running all the way to the man.

“Dad!” Mr Rex-Lapis barely has time to close the door and scoot down to catch his son, who nearly bumps into his legs, threatening the man’s balance. Finally in his arms, with his own tiny ones tightly wrapped around strong neck, the carbon copy of Zhongli happily smiles and Ajax has to rub his eyes to make sure he is not hallucinating. Wow, this boy can smile like that (sorry, my guy, you are just not his favorite, though now tolerable at least).

“Hello, Xiao,” Zhongli plants an affectionate kiss on his son’s cheek. “I see you’ve missed me,” the words are answered with eager nods. “Did you have fun with Ajax?” At least some of it.

The gingerhead lifts his eyebrow when the boy looks back at him, holds the gaze of ocean blue eyes for a moment, and then turns to his father once more.

“I suppose.”

The older man has to clear his throat with a polite cough so as not to break into a smile at the image of the assistant's slack jaw.

“That’s good, my dear.”

“Are we coming home now?” His son wonders, fingers playing with the longer locks of dark brown. Unfortunately, the answer is a dejected sigh.

“I am afraid we are not yet, sweety. But mommy texted me recently that she’ll be able to come get you after my second lecture. And then I’ll have one more.”

At the promise of you soon arriving to take him home, Xiao’s just building pout quickly disappeared. It’s okay, he can wait for a little bit longer. And that fox-like man isn’t bad, his company is quite nice. He even showed him some pictures of his family - almost all of them are ginger. Oh, and he promised to download some simple games onto his dad’s computer so he could play. And he still has his coloring books back there and he believes he saw you packing a small book - there is plenty to entertain him with.

Only for all these thoughts and motivation to be shuttered when someone knocked on the door and a second later some student’s head pushed through the gap. None of the three people currently present in the room could’ve anticipated what a black hole is about to be opened.

“Good afternoon, is Mr Rex-La- Oh, professor, you are here! We were wondering if we could take the key to leave our bags inside? As always? Oh, hey kiddo- Wait, a kid???”

“Dad, who is it?”

“DAD!?”

Before anyone could do anything, loud gasps break their way into the lounge. It appeared that almost the whole group was standing in the hall and heard everything crystally clear. Of course students are curious. Of course, they know about professor Rex-Lapis’ kid - the news and that cute picture from an online lecture were still the talk of the whole faculty just a couple of months ago. Of course, they want to see those sweet cheeks for crying out loud!

Ajax is the one who has to get everyone who does not belong in the room out and calm them all down as more than a dozen youngsters beg and plead with Zhongli to bring his baby boy to the lecture. And the said baby boy doesn’t help the situation either, looking at his father with those striking eyes, silently asking to stay with him. “I’m gonna sit very-very quiet,” he even promises.

Is it really a surprise that Xiao ends up sitting at his dad’s desk with his coloring books while the man is reading a lecture? (Students almost crumbled when their tall, handsome, enigmatic history professor walked into the auditorium with his son’s tiny hand clasped in his? Look, he even had to bend his body a little to do so!)

And, as much as students want to gush all over their favorite professor’s small-sized carbon copy, they keep their best behavior, because the situation gives the “once in a century” vibes and they’d be damned to destroy the magic of the moment.

Well, maybe a little, because the smallest interactions between Zhongli and his son as the man lets his students finish writing down information from the current slide are mind-blowing. Groupchat-blowing too.

Even cuter the whole occurrence becomes when the boy stops drawing and lifts his head, curious of what his dad is speaking about. He turns slightly in order to see the presentation, golden eyes skimming over the pictures and words, though he does not understand most of it. But it’s alright though - he can listen to his father instead.

Zhongli is pleasantly surprised when no one can answer one of his revision questions and Xiao lifts his hand, giving him the answer he wanted (he misspells the word a little, sure, but he knew the right response nonetheless). Aaaand that’s probably when the students finally lose it.

By the time the lesson is over and Zhongli meets with you in the teacher’s lounge to pass your very happy and very proud son to you so you two could be on your merry way home, the man feels a little drained. Nothing that can’t be fixed by your tender cheek kiss and soft rubbing on his back, but he still exhales heavily and swears that when he comes home, you are in for a new story.

And by what Ajax had time to tell while you’ve been waiting, you're sure it’s going to be a hilarious one.

taglist: @meimeimeirin Cause I remember how you once said you'd love to see more of this AU

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x fem!reader #zhongli #xiao #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact modern au

526 notes · View notes

2neaky · 27 days

Text

𓇼°₊.𝚃𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 ❀ 𝙵𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚝 🥭

—Want you to suck it sloppy, make it spitty. I'm 'bout to call your phone, so come get with me.

Know you don't drink, can you sip me?

‘Dunk Contest,’ Cash Cobain

Last Installation of this ‘mini-series’ … P.1 here -> P.2 here

not the best editing, i know. this fic has been in the drafts for abt a month & ... it's time for their story to be closed out.

10.06k!Warnings: oral (masc. receiving), handj*bs (fem. & masc. recieving), mutual m*sturbation, filthy talk, *verstimulation, low refr*ctory periods, technically w*tersports (minor), edging, excessive amounts of ej*culation, squ*rting, descriptions of character’s body parts (curvaceous/thick/girthy), use of the n-word (all characters & the writer are Black), original characters

The next time the group gets together it’s well into the fall.

Months of distance and busy schedules kept the friends separate. Yet, on a random weekend in October, the stars aligned to grant the friends a day of freedom to meet and catch up.

He won’t admit it aloud—that’s a bit too corny for him—but Ajani missed his people. The life of a working adult only gives but so much time for social gatherings. Especially with a whole friend-group.

Even then, it’s not like he hasn’t seen any of them since the party.

“I’on understand why you couldn’t just ride with me.”

“All my stuff is at my mom’s, ‘Jani.”

If he just closes his eyes, he can see the pout on her face. He glances at the screen, eyeing the contact name: Princxss Dia.

“Really? ‘Cause I almost tripped over your flat iron when I was getting in the shower.”

She groans out loud into the mic. “I knew I left it!”

He smiles, eyes now on the road as he makes a swift turn onto a busy street.

“Fuck,” he mumbles upon seeing the traffic.

“But if I came with you … then they’d know.”

He kisses his teeth, face screwing up. “Man, I care less and less ‘bout that shit every day. I’m pretty sure they know—“

“‘Pretty sure’ is not a confirmation. And I wanna make sure the time is right when we tell them.”

He spots a parking space in front of the restaurant Boku had chosen for the night. No doubt, he’s going to snatch that shit up.

“Why shit gotta be ‘perfect?’” he asks, looking at his rear view camera as he backs into the space.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles. He can hear her moving around on the other side of the line. “I’m trying to … figure out a way to introduce it without … making everything weird,” she sighs out.

“How ‘bout, ‘hey guys, me and Ajani have been dating for a few months now,’” he mocks her voice.

“No.”

He sucks his teeth. “Why not?”

“That’s too blunt!”

“Exactly. What more is there to say? You wanna tell them the whole backstory? ‘Cause I’on really think they need to know that.”

“I’m not saying they do. I just think we need to … soften the approach.”

He puts his car in park before shutting it off, the engine dying down. “I’on know … what approach you talking ‘bout, but when you ready to stop hiding, you lemme know so I could book my appointment.”

“Appointment?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? I wanted to get your name tatted on my forehead.”

“ … Shut up.”

He laughs quietly to himself as he pulls down his sun visor. “You almost ready,” he asks, checking his appearance in the mirror.

It’s quiet for a couple of seconds. “No.”

His smile drops and he kisses his teeth. A second passes as he glares at the phone. Then, he picks it up. “Yo, answer my FaceTime.”

The mode of the call switches, bringing both of them into view on either’s screen. He licks his lips, getting a clear view of her pretty face as her phone is propped up against her vanity.

“Why you only got your makeup done?”

She frowns, setting powder decorating her face. “Because I did my hair first. It’s hair, makeup, then clothes.”

He only releases a sigh, unable to even be really upset.

“Aight, then hurry up. I told you we gonna have to work on that late shit.”

She smiles, reaching for a brush to dust off the powder. “Sorry, baby.”

He hums, eyeing her as he holds his phone closely. “You look good.”

She exchanges her brush for a lip pencil. “Thank you.” She tries not to smile too hard, careful not to mess up as she applies her liner.

“What you wearing?”

She blends out the harsh line of her dark brown liner with a finger. “A dress.”

He waits for her to explain further, but the explanation doesn’t come. “That’s it?”

“Mhm.” She quickly glances at the screen, looking away before she cracks a smile.

“Can I see it?”

“Nope.”

Now she’s smiling, a devious little one, too.

“Yeah, okay,” he scoffs. “You just make sure it’s no crazy ass shit. You know how Big Daddy gets.”

Her head jerks back as she looks at the screen, flabbergasted. “Don’t ever in your life … call yourself that again.”

“You just make sure you know,” he pushes before breaking into a smile, almost laughing. “But nah, forreal. That ass ain’t been getting smaller so … keep it cute.”

She rolls her eyes with pursed lips. “Shut up.”

He scoffs, looking out the window of his car. “Yeah … you think I’m joking.” He scoffs.

“Are you?”

He looks back at her, noting her nonchalance as she applies gloss over her lip combo.

“Play with me if you want to.” He licks his lips. His gaze falls to the exposed middle of her chest as her robe has slipped open. “I’on need niggas eyeing my shit.”

“Okay, Ajani.”

“Nah, it’s not Ajani,” he mocks her voice, earning a glare. “That’s Big Daddy to you—“

“I’m hanging up!”

She reaches forward, snatching up her phone.

“Don’t you wear nothing crazy!”

“Bye!”

The call ends abruptly, leaving him to shake his head. Not too long after pocketing his phone, he leaves the car.

The only thing that’s on his mind being her.

Just before he enters the restaurant, he shoots her one last text.

Jani: lmk when u ready Ima call a uber

His face almost splits in half with how hard he smiles as he daps up his boys.

“Finally, nigga! We expected your ass to be here sooner,” Boku tells him.

“Chill, it was mad traffic,” he laughs.

“Nah, facts. It’s mad people out tonight,” Mykel says.

The three are huddled close in the waiting area of the restaurant. All of the constant shifting to make way for entering and leaving patrons has pushed them to the corner.

“Forreal. Yo, why you pick this place?” Ajani looks to Boku. “I seen this shit blow up on TikTok.”

“Nigga, that’s where I got it from.”

All three dissolve into boisterous laughter, because Boku would be the one to make such a mistake.

Mykel shakes his head. “I’m already knowing the food and service ‘bout to be ass.”

“Nah, facts,” Ajani agrees.

“Aight, now. Not too much,” Boku chimes in. “‘Long as the drinks good, I could give less of a fuck about what they onion rings taste like.”

He and Mykel break off into a mini side conversation of their own, a usual occurrence between all three of them.

As they do so, Ajani pulls out his phone to check his notifications. Even though he doesn’t see one, he constantly refreshes the screen for a possible hidden text message that he just happened to miss.

None.

“‘Jani, you know where the girls at?”

Hesitantly, he looks up at the guys. “Nah,” he shakes his head, face blank. “Why would I know?” He makes a face.

“I’on know,” Mykel looks off to the side. “I thought Diamanté would’a told you something.”

“Why it gotta be Dia?”

“Nigga, don’t act dumb,” Boku butts in. “‘Cause y’all be talking.”

“I talk to Aleya and Sevyn, too.” When he laughs—the loud music masking its awkward tone—his eyes shift between his friends.

“Not like you talk to Dia,” he scoffs. “That’s for damn sure.”

Sucking his teeth, Ajani wear a mask of confusion. “Nigga, shut up. You still on that shit—“

“‘Cause I know your ass still likes her!”

“Yo, I’m not even gonna lie,” Mykel starts. “I’ma have to side with Bo’ on this one. You might as well tell her at this point.”

His face contorts with annoyance.

Nigga, shut up.

“That’s if he not already fucking her,” Boku laughs.

His brows pull together at Boku’s brash statement. “Yo, what?”

Mykel rolls his lips inward, watching the two with caution. He questions, should he step in between this?

“Nah, I’m just saying! You’on gotta be embarrassed—”

“I ain’t embarrassed, nigga. There’s not shit to say, fuck I’ma be embarrassed for?”

Boku laughs, glancing at Mykel for backup. The other man remains quiet.

“Aight, then stand on it! Just say you fuckin’ her—“

Ajani doesn’t even realize that he takes a step forward. “Yo, shut the fuck up talking ‘bout her like that—“

“Alright, chill out now.” Mykel steps between them, placing a hand in front of Ajani to keep him back.

Boku pulls his brows together. “Yo, wassup with you?”

“Ain’t shit up with nothing, you just make sure you keep shit respectful.” The scowl on his lips only deepens.

Boku raises his hands in defense. “My fault, bro. I wasn’t tryna offend—”

“Yeah, that’s ’cause you just open your mouth to say bullshit.” Ajani backs up the more Mykel pushes against him. “Like she not your fuckin’ friend, too, my nigga. What?”

“You good, bro. You good,” Mykel tells him. “Relax.”

“Just fuckin’ talkin’,” he rambles.

Before he can acknowledge the apology, his phone buzzes in his hand. Fully stepping away from them, Ajani checks his messages.

Princxss Dia: I’m ready

He wastes no time to order Diamanté’s Uber ride.

With the distance between them and the Lou music playing overhead, it’s hard for him to hear. He knows Mykel and Boku are talking about him.

He refrains from even thinking much about it, though. Because just talking to Diamanté is putting him in a better mood.

Jani: its coming in 5 min

*screenshot of the Uber order*

Princxss Dia: tyy daddy🤗

Jani: 🙄

Princxss Dia: 💀

Jani: send me a picture

I wanna c u

Princxss Dia: it’s gonna ruin the surprise

Jani: surprise

🤨

Princxss Dia: 💀

Jani: stop playing Dia

read

Thankfully, Aleya and Sevyn arrive not too long after. Their presences lighten the atmosphere considerably.

Especially when Sevyn and Boku fall into conversation—a playful argument as usual about some dumb shit.

“Oh my God, I miss Dia’,” Aleya pouts. “Where is she?” She does a full-body turn, looking to Ajani.

Boku keeps quiet this time.

The question garners attention from the others within the group, who are now curious of his answer.

He kisses his teeth. “Why yall not asking her? Damn, what the fuck?”

Sevyn’s face screws up as her neck jerks back. “Nigga, calm the fuck down.”

“Right,” Aleya eyes him as her lips twist into an ugly scowl. “I just thought you’d know since y’all seem to be close.”

Sevyn hums in agreement. “Real close.”

Now, he’s making a face. “What that mea—“

“Hi guys!”

The much softer voice breaks the conversation, catching everyone’s attention.

Walking towards them, Diamanté’s bright smile lights up the dimly lit space.

Her straightened, black hair flows down her back. Being pulled back, it leaves her entire outfit exposed: a simple black Skims dress, flowing to her ankles.

The classy, white Hermes slides on her feet show off her white French toes. A small white crossbody purse ties the dress with the shoes.

Yeah, she’s cute and all—Ajani would never deny her that. But even underneath the restaurant’s dim, multicolored lighting, he can see every detail of her body “hiding” beneath the thin, ribbed fabric.

Down to her fucking belly piercing.

His eyes flick up to look into hers. He’s staring hard.

“Finally!” Aleya screams.

She runs to meet the short woman halfway, throwing her arms around her. Sevyn is right behind her, doing the same.

The women hug each other and their bodies sway like palm trees in the wind. Ajani’s happy for them—Diamanté, at least. It’s been so long since she’s seen them.

However, the happiness is short lived.

Others seem to be enjoying the women’s show happiness, too. Ajani looks over them, catching a small group of guys watching them.

What hint of a smile that was on his face shrinks immediately.

“I missed you guys,” Dia tells them as she pulls back, covering her mouth.

“We need to go out more,” Sevyn says. “‘Cause not seeing each other for this long is fucking ridiculous.”

“I know,” she pouts.

“Girl, you look so fucking good—” A sharp gasp slices through Aleya’s sentence. She reaches out to grab Dia’s arm, pulling her forward to peer down her back. “Girl, your ass!”

Looking too, Sevyn’s mouth drops in shock. “Damn, bitch!”

Diamanté only laughs as she looks between her friends.

“It looks so fucking big,” Aleya says in awe. She looks over at Sevyn. “No, like deadass. Like it looks bigger.”

“How she get more ass and mine getting flatter?” Sevyn jokes.

“Drop the routine!” Aleya reaches behind Diamanté, grabbing a good handful of her ass. She sticks out her tongue.

Diamanté only laughs harder.

“Fuck a routine,” Sevyn declares. “Who you been fucking?” The interrogative expression on her face is intense.

“Oh my God,” she says, hand over her mouth as her smile only grows.

“It’s so heavy,” Aleya says in amazement, using both hands to lift her ass. Squeezing tightly, the dimpled skin can be seen through the fabric. “I can’t even hold it all, what the fuck!”

As the girls continue to laugh, Ajani only continues to watch the leering men.

It takes everything in him not to go towards the women and tell them to stop.

Playfully, Diamanté rolls her eyes. “You guys are chatting.”

“No, girl. Your shit is mad fat, like what the fuck?”

“Okay, okay,” Diamanté says. “Can we sit now?”

Sevyn purses her lips, eyeing her friend. “Mhm. Look at you, you just so tea. Like you come up in here glowing, ass fatter, face card on 10, inches—you just showing out tonight!”

“Facts,” Aleya agrees.

Finally, they return to the other half of the group. Diamanté breaks away from her girls to greet the guys.

“Wassup, Dia,” Mykel gives her a side hug.

“Hey,” she sings.

She pulls away to give Boku the same embrace.

“Hey, Dia.”

“Hi, Boku,” she smiles.

Boku and Ajani make eye contact for a split second. Quickly, Boku looks away just before pulling back.

Ajani doesn’t get the chance to really mug that nigga how he wants to as Diamanté makes her way over to him.

“Hiii,” her voice is much softer.

She’s trying to fight back a smile, he can tell. But, it’s too cute as her teeth slowly come into full display.

The corners of his mouth lift uncontrollably. “Hey.”

Wordlessly, she steps into his embrace, resting her head on his chest. His arms circle around her waist, pulling her body closer.

“Why you ain’t text me when you got here?”

His chest vibrates with each word. She can even hear the smile in his voice.

“I forgot.”

“Would’a came out and got you.”

She pulls away with a laugh, careful to keep their interaction brief enough so that they don’t get their friends started.

“Damn, Ajani. She wasn’t going nowhere.”

Clearly, that didn’t work.

His smile drops as his eyes flit over to Aleya, who wears a smug grin on her lips.

“Aight, now that all y’all niggas is here, I’ma see if we could check in for the table,” Boku announces.

He parts from the group to make his way to the hostess’ booth.

Conversation between the remaining five is quite mellow. Ajani finds himself standing back, only admiring Diamanté as she speaks.

Even when she’s quiet, he’s paying close attention to her body language and the way she reacts to things said.

“Let’s go,” Boku says as he rejoins the group.

“Thank you, God,” Aleya praises.

“Facts, these heels are killing my feet,” Sevyn complains as she starts after Boku.

As everyone else follows, heading towards the table, Ajani stays behind. Before Diamanté can catch up, he grabs ahold of her hand, stopping her in her tracks.

“Hol’on, ‘cause I didn’t get a proper ‘hello.’”

He pulls her body back in close, missing the feel of her against him. He almost sighs when her soft body presses against his.

Diamanté allows herself to smile as big as she wants to. She angles her head up for a kiss. The gentleman he is, Ajani meets her halfway and presses his lips against hers.

A small peck isn’t enough, as he finds himself going back in for a couple more. And as he does so, he doesn’t resist the urge to reach behind her and cop a feel of her ass himself.

His lips plant mini smooches from her cheek all the way down to her neck. She turns her head to the side, giving him more access.

“You look mad good,” he says into her skin.

His muffled voice tickles her skin, pulling a bubbly giggle out of her. “You told me that already.”

“Aight, and I’m telling you again.” Ajani pulls back just far enough to look her in the eyes.

Damn, he really meant that shit. It’s almost unbelievable how bad she is. Sometimes he wonders how the fuck he was able to bag her.

“But I also told you not to come outside wearing no shit like this—“

She squeals as he lays a harsh smack to her ass, gripping the fat immediately after.

“Ajani!” She whisper-shouts, eyes wide with shock.

He only bites down on his bottom lip, eyes flitting past her to see the group of men from earlier still in the same spots.

Except this time, they’re glaring.

“Told you I ain’t want you showing off my shit like this.”

His other hand cradles her neck, squeezing just enough as he plants another smooch on her lips.

When he pulls back, he sees the inkling of a dazed look in her low eyes. Even from behind those big ass glasses.

“Okay,” she whines softly.

“Mmh.”

She begins to laugh, because she can definitely feel herself slipping into a mood.

“C’mon, before I fuck ya lil’ ass up out here.” His hands fall from her. “Got niggas looking at you all crazy.”

He holds his hand out for her to take. When she does, they make their way over to the table.

However, before they get close enough, they place some distance between themselves.

Conversation at the table is all smiles and laughter over their platters and drinks.

Speaking of drinks, no one at the table is too good to pass up a bit of alcohol. Not even those who drove here.

“See this? This right here?” Sevyn taps an acrylic nail to the glass of her fruity drink. “I’ma need me some more’a that!”

“Mhm,” Aleya hums, sipping on hers through the straw.

Liquor seems to bring the conversation out of the friends. But, Ajani refrains from specifically addressing Boku. And Diamanté finds herself becoming more and more quiet.

Even with her besties around her, she can’t seem to make herself speak. What can she say, when all of her thoughts are filled with Ajani? Definitely not anything that should be said out-loud.

At the very least, on a FaceTime call with just the girls.

Hiding behind her lemon drop, she watches him from across the table with low eyes. Every time he smiles, he does so just enough to give a peek at his grillz.

Fuck, he looks so good. He smells even better. And the way he was choking her up out there, smacking her ass—

No lie, it made her wet. Her clit was thumping for sure. The liquor isn’t helping as it’s bringing up memories.

Like how just a couple of nights ago, she was staying over at his apartment. It was a time.

Two shots of Don was all it took for her to end up on her tummy, getting dicked down.

He fucked her stupid that night. She almost wished she wasn’t on birth control. But that was just the liquor talking.

Her eyes flutter close as her thighs squeeze together. She has to take a deep breath.

“And Dia’s ass is already off the shits!”

A chorus of laughter sounds throughout the table, knocking her from her thoughts. As she looks around her, she offers a shy smile.

“Y’all some damn lightweights,” Sevyn continues to joke.

“I ain’t—look—I ain’t no fuckin’ lightweight,” Boku shouts, holding his glass up.

“Maaan,” Mykel gives him a look. “You better slow down, nigga.”

More laughter sounds. With the spotlight off of her, Diamanté’s thoughts circle back to Ajani.

And speaking of, he takes a sip of his alcohol to hide his smirk. He’s not oblivious, he could feel her staring this whole time.

Of course, it flatters him. If it’s one thing about Diamanté, it’s that she gets freaky off the liquor. And he can tell what’s running through her mind.

Because he’s thinking about the same thing. He’s just got to hold out for the rest of the night.

Leave it up to Boku to plan some weird ass shit. Who the fuck goes bowling after dinner and drinks?

Shit, at least the place serves drinks. And if Ajani was fucking with him right now, he’d commend him for at least picking a good spot.

The alley is surprisingly busy around this time, for it being almost eleven pm. It’s mostly dark in here, just like the damn restaurant.

Why doesn’t Boku ever pick places with good lighting?

“On my soul, I’m washing y’all niggas,” Aleya swears. She shoves a foot into the rented pair of shoes.

Mykel shakes his head, strapping up his pair. “Here she go.”

“Oh shit … I don’t got not socks, y’all.” The usual rasp in Sevyn’s voice is worse due to the drinks.

“Me neither,” Diamanté says, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she fans herself.

Not only is she just a bit horny, but she’s fucking hot. The only downside to drinking. She only hopes she doesn’t sweat her silk press out.

“There’s a booth that sells them,” Boku says.

“Honestly, I don’t think I’ma play. I’ll just watch y’all,” she smiles.

“Ugh! Boringgg,” Aleya groans, throwing her head back.

Sevyn looks to Diamanté. “Okay, well, you could come with me while I buy my socks?”

She nods, prompting her to stand up.

“Can’t wait to wear them shoes. Fuck these heels, bro.” Sevyn holds on to her shoulder for support.

“Aye, if y’all get lost, call one’a us,” Ajani says. “It’s too many people in here tonight.”

“Sure thing, officer!” Sevyn scoffs.

Ajani gives her a scowl, and Dia gives him a short wave before the two of them are off.

“Damn, that’s a long ass line!” Sevyn scowls seeing the bodies fill the area.

“Oh my gosh,” Diamanté frowns.

“I do not wanna be standing on these fucking heels any longer!”

Kissing her teeth, she reluctantly joins the line, Dia in tow. As they wait, both women are scrolling through their phones trying to pass the time.

But it doesn’t take long for them to get to talking.

“If I ask you this question, you gonna be honest?”

Diamanté peers up from her screen to look at Sevyn. Her brows pull together in question. “Yeah?”

Sevyn eyes her for a moment. “You and Ajani fucking? Like—and be honest. Don’t lie to me girl, I hate that shit.”

A sigh leaves Diamanté. Clicking her phone off, she fully looks her friend in the eyes. “Yeah—“

“I knew it! I fucking knew iiit!” Sevyn jumps up and down on her supposedly aching feet. “Fuck! Since when?”

Trying to keep herself from smiling, she stays quiet.

A gasp. “It was after the party, wasn’t it?”

She nods, her smile growing.

They move up in the line.

“Bitch! I fucking—nah, ‘cause I checked your fucking lo’ and your ass was still there after we all left. Uh-uh, y’all so damn nasty.”

“Okay,” she rolls her eyes. “Don’t say anything about it. I’m still trying to … figure out a way to tell the others.” She frowns to herself.

Sevyn makes a face. “Girl, what you mean? Just drop the tea,” she laughs. “Shit, you could do it in the fucking chat. Matter fact, I don’t even think niggas really give a fuck. We all grown, Dia’. And it’s not like we all didn’t see it coming…”

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes. “But, I just wanna tell ‘Leya at least, before I really … break the news.”

“Aight, I feel you.” Sevyn looks her over before breaking out into a dirty smile. “So he the reason your ass been getting fatter.”

“Oh my gosh.” She looks away from her, shaking her head.

“That’s fucking crazy. Who the fuck knew he was putting it down like that?”

Just before she can respond, her phone lights up with a message.

Jani: wya

U got lost ?

“Speak’a the fucking devil,” Sevyn says over her shoulder, spotting the message.

“Hush,” Dia laughs, typingout her response.

“I like how he ain’t even ask about me. So it’s just fuck me, then.”

“What if the ‘y’ means y’all?”

Sevyn rolls her eyes before her face settles. “But, at least he’s crazy about you. That’s all I want for you.”

Diamanté looks up at her friend with a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“Mhm. I seen y’all at the restaurant.”

Her smile drops and her eyes widen just a bit. “Sevyn.”

“What?”

“If you saw why did you ask?”

She smirks. “I just wanted to see if you would lie.”

The shorter woman groans out.

“Yeah, ya lil’ ass is mad freaky, eewww.” She laughs obnoxiously. “Never thought I’d see you get choked up like that. Or him smacking ya shit—”

“Stop, please!” She hides her face in her hands.

“Oh, I just know he told you not to wear that shit,” she cackles. “You in trouble,” she sings. “That nigga had that crazy look in his eyes. Especially when he seen them niggas staring in the restaurant.”

“Are you serious?”

“Mhm,” she nods with crossed arms. “You just make sure you stay on his good side. Before I become an aunty too soon.”

Diamanté shoves her shoulder. “Don’t wish that on me.”

“Oh, bitch, I’m actually wishing that shit and more. You know I always wanted a little niece or nephew—even if ‘Jani’s annoying ass is the father.” She rolls her eyes.

“I rebuke kids,” she laughs. “Hell no.”

“Yeah, okay. If you say that, you better not tell me that y’all be fucking raw.”

Diamanté doesn’t say anything to that.

When the game commences, Diamanté is the only one to sit it out. And she’s having just as good a time as any.

Mykel had ordered wings for the group—lemon pepper and garlic Parmesan. Drinks, too, of course.

She nibbles on a couple of wings, courtesy of Ajani feeding them to her.

He’s had his fair share of extra drinks. And with each sip, he’s caring less and less about hiding shit from their friends.

Speaking of drinks, Dia’s been washing her food down with sips of water and gulps of fruity, alcoholic drinks. And she really should’ve stopped herself.

Because now she’s got to go to the bathroom.

“Nah, I dead gotta go, too,” Sevyn says.

“I’ma come with y’all.” Aleya gets on her feet.

“Damn, y’all just gonna pause the game like that?” Mykel says, biting into a wing.

“We’ll be back!” Aleya declares.

The women make their way over to the bathrooms, which—unsurprisingly—has a line.

“Fuuuck! All these fucking lines!” Sevyn groans, stomping her foot.

“I know,” Dia says, shifting in her spot as she holds her lower stomach. “I gotta go … so bad,” she huffs.

“I bet you the men’s bathroom not even full like that.”

Sevyn scoffs. “I’m not going to no niggas’ bathroom at a bowling alley. ‘Bouta smell like funky dick and straight piss in there.”

Dia laughs.

“But, shit, since we here…” Sevyn turns to her. “Tell her.”

Aleya looks to Diamanté.

“Oh, um … Ajani and I—“

“I fucking knew it!”

Sevyn throws her head back in laughter.

“Y’all could not hide that shit!” Her eyes are wide as she points back at their lane. “When I seen that nigga feeding you them wings, it was certified!”

“Bitch, you don’t even wanna know what I saw,” Sevyn says, clinging to her.

As she and Diamanté catch her up on everything, they inch closer to the bathroom door.

Diamanté tells them about the most recent date they’d been on together. And while it’s an interesting story, Sevyn can’t help but to feel eyes on them.

She turns her head, to see a group of men looking their way. They make eye contact, as it appears that they’re pushing their friend to make a move.

“Oh fuck no.”

Aleya and Diamanté look at her.

“Y’all, is that them niggas from the restaurant?”

They look over at the men, one of them immediately making eye contact with Dia.

“Please don’t tell me they about to come over here,” Aleya scowls. “Ugh, I hate niggas!”

She says it loud enough for them to hear. And yet, one of them is still making their way over.

Sevyn kisses her teeth. “Bruh.”

The guy making his way over has his eyes dead set on Diamanté. His long locs are pulled back into barrel twists and a mature beard sits on the lower half of his face.

His dangling cross earring makes Sevyn scoff. “This corny ass nigga,” she mumbles.

“Wassup,” he greets, only looking at Diamanté.

Rude, she thinks. Her nose wrinkles as the smell of weed fills the space.

“Hello to you, too,” Aleya sasses.

“My bad,” he laughs. “I just wanted to come talk to you,” he nods over at Dia.

“Okay,” she says quietly.

“You fine as shit, I’m not even gonna cap,” he smiles, showing a gold canine tooth. “Not on no creep-shit, but I seen you at The Palacades and,” he shrugs. “Don’t hurt to try, right?”

“Proceeds to be on some creep-shit,” Sevyn says.

“Right,” Aleya agrees.

The two share a laugh, causing the man to glance at them. He doesn’t let that deter him, though.

“You … saw me there?” Diamanté asks, her face creasing with confusion.

“Yeah you and that guy.”

Now it’s Aleya’s turn to make a face.

“Hol’up,” Sevyn laughs, shaking her head.

“Y’know, I just wanted to shoot my shot. Like, you never know. Y’all might not even be serious—“

“Well, they are. And you’re mad weird for asking.” She twists her face up. “What the fuck? Nigga is you cool?”

“Hold on,” he says, turning to Sevyn. “I don’t remember asking about you. So, I don’t know why you tryna get involved.” He’s getting visibly irritated.

“She don’t have to,” Aleya steps in. “If you seen my friend with her nigga, why are you harassing her?”

Worry makes itself evident on Dia’s face. She’s not sure where this conversation is going to go. And she definitely forgot her pepper gel at home.

“‘Cause that corny ass move that nigga tried to do wasn’t shit,” he laughs. “He think smacking ya ass was gonna scare somebody off? I don’t give a fuck about that shit,” he laughs.

“Okay, no—“ Diamanté starts, but Sevyn is too quick to come to her defense.

“Get the fuck outta here, you weirdo ass nigga. She don’t want you!”

“She said that, though?”

“She ain’t say she wanted you neither,” Aleya says.

“Man, y’all bitches kill me.”

“Bitches?” They all say in unison.

“Yeah. It’s always the ugly ones talking the most shit—“

“Nigga you look like a fucking dog in the face yourself!” Aleya gets to pointing.

And as their voices climb, both sides growing more aggressive, Diamanté finds herself paralyzed with fear.

She is not sober enough for this.

Back at the lane, the guys keep themselves busy. Mykel cheats, taking the girl’s turns for them—and throwing horrendous gutter balls.

Meanwhile, Boku and Ajani are seated, munching on the leftover wings. Well, Ajani doesn’t eat as much as Boku, but he’s got a couple of bites in.

Neither of them address the other. And it’s … annoying.

Although Ajani is still upset about what was said, it sucks that this is how their first time hanging out in a minute has to be like this.

But he’s not a pussy. And he’s damn sure not speaking first.

A nudge to his shoulder brings him out of his phone. He looks up, seeing Boku stare at him.

“Yo, I’m sorry ‘bout earlier, bro. I should’ve never said that shit. I just be talking sometimes, you know that. And I be saying the wrong shit.”

“Mmh.”

“And Dia’s my friend. It’s not right’a me to be disrespecting her like that. If you want, shit, I’ll even apologize to her, too.”

Ajani watches him for a moment.

Their silence is broken by a shout from Mykel in the distance, cheering as he scores a strike.

“Nah … you ain’t gotta do that,” he finally says. “I respect the apology. But watch your mouth ‘bout her.”

Boku nods in understanding.

Silence falls over them again as the sounds of the alley machines, the music, people talking, and the arcade games fill the space.

Ajani almost feels himself dissociating again as his tipsy brain thinks. And one thing about him, is that his mouth runs.

Swallowing, he looks away from his friend. “Nah … you was right, though.”

Boku wears a questioning look on his face. “What you mean?”

It takes a second before Ajani finally looks at him. “We fucking with each other.”

He tries to conceal his excitement. But, he just can’t stop himself from dapping him up.

“My nigga—uh, no disrespect, though.”

Ajani shakes his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Y’all better come play before I do your turns!”

“Nigga, fuck the game! Come over here, Jay got something to say!”

Reluctantly placing the ball back onto the rack, Mykel heads over to them.

“What you got to say?” He takes the last garlic Parmesan wing, earning a glare from Boku.

“Guess,” Boku says.

Mykel turns to Ajani, eyeing him. “You and Dia?”

He nods, earning another smile from their standing friend. “That’s what I’m talking ‘bout,” he laughs. “You asked her?”

“Yeah,” Ajani says, keeping it short. But his smile says everything, as he reminisces on that night.

“When y’all got together?” Boku asks.

He kisses his teeth, feeling the liquor in his system. “Uh … at the party.”

Both men stare at him with wide eyes.

“Nigga—that’s almost six months!” Boku shouts.

“It’s no way y’all hid that shit for that long,” Mykel laughs.

“Wasn’t my idea,” Ajani says. “She over here, scared to say shit. But me—I’on give a fuck.” He scoffs. “I’a get her shit tatted, she keep fuckin’ with me,” he shakes his head, toying with the ends of a braid.

Boku and Mykel share a look, and a thought—this nigga is drunk.

Before either of them could voice it, however, Sevyn’s raspy ass voice enters their ears.

“Y’all hear that shit?” Mykel asks, twisting and turning to find the source of the voice.

“Why the fuck she yelling?” Boku asks, looking for her, too.

“How they still not back from the bathroom?”

It’s Ajani that spots her first—in a nigga’s face.

“Yo,” he says, sitting up, more alert than ever.

The guys notice, too. And it doesn’t take long for Ajani to get out of his seat. He’s the first to make it over there. And immediately he’s hit with the smell of weed.

“What’s going on?”

He immediately looks to Diamanté, who has discomfort written all over her face.

“Hell no, come get this nigga,” Aleya shout, pointing at the man.

Ajani watches him back up an inch as he raises his hands in defense. As he stares at the guy, he finds him just a tad bit familiar.

“What’s the issue?”

“It’s no issue, bro—“

“Clearly, it is!” Sevyn cuts in. “‘Cause you was throwing that ‘bitch’ word around a lot—“

“Look, I was just tryna get at your friend,” he says, pointing to Diamanté.

Ajani’s brows furrow as he looks between her and the guy.

“She don’t want you,” Aleya screams.

Then it clicks; This guy was apart of that group that caught themselves staring Diamanté down.

“Go back to your fuckin’ group,” Ajani says. “You a fuckin’ cornball,” he spits.

“Bum ass nigga—and he stink!” Aleya points at him.

“Man, get the fuck outta here, she don’t need no other nigga.”

Ajani steps forward as he speaks, the other man stepping back.

“Aight, my fault—“

“It was. The fuck?” Sevyn says.

Finally, the man walks off, leaving the friends alone once more. The women seem to let out a sigh of release, and Diamanté seems to cling to Ajani’s side.

“That fucking weirdo. Shit just pissed me off I don’t even wanna pee no more.” Sevyn crosses her arms, her anger slow to dissipate.

“No, I’m still gonna use the bathroom,” Aleya scoffs.

“Me too.”

Diamanté’s quiet voice grabs their attentions, especially Ajani’s.

His brows furrow. “Nah, you could use the bathroom home.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“Yeah, fuck all this shit. We going.”

“Ajani—“

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’on give a fuck. That nigga got me fucked up.”

Aleya and Sevyn share a knowing look.

“Tell ‘em niggas we gone,” he says, taking up Diamanté’s hand.

Too tipsy to really object, she tells her friends ‘goodnight,’ promising to text them tomorrow.

Sevyn and Aleya’s farewells are drowned out by their quickly increasing distance and the overall loudness of the alley.

When they finally make it outside, the cool breeze of tonight hits her clammy skin. She squeezes his hand tighter.

“Fuckin’ bum ass nigga—I knew I seen him.”

She peers up at him, his eyes staring off into the distance as he speaks his thoughts.

“Should’a fucked him up, if I’m being honest.”

When they reach his car, Ajani opens the passenger door for her. She climbs inside, relieved to be off her feet.

But before he closes the door, he bends down to look her in the eyes.

“You good?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“He didn’t touch you or nothing?”

“No, Ajani. I’m good.”

With a nod, he shuts the car door and walks over to his side before sliding behind the wheel.

The drive to his apartment is quiet for the first few minutes. Even his music plays low over the speakers.

She watches his side profile, noting the lowness of his eyes and the way his shoulders sag.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes don’t leave the road, but his brows furrow. “For what?”

She only shrugs, the small action enough to garner his attention for just a second.

“You ain’t do shit. That nigga was just a creep.”

“Yeah,” she exhales.

“Shit, but I definitely shouldn’t be driving right now.” He drags a hand down his face. “Just tryna get in my fuckin’ bed.”

Licking her lips, Diamanté busies her hands by toying with her phone. “Are you really tired?”

He gives her a quick side eye as a lazy smile presents on his face.

“Depends … what you tryna do?”

She looks forward at the nearly empty road ahead of them. Then she shrugs.

“Yeah, I seen the way you was looking at me back at the restaurant... Lil’ freaky ass.”

She laughs just a bit. “It’s been a couple days … what do you expect?”

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat as he leaves one hand on the wheel. “You really sumn else,” he says low, rubbing his chin.

Chewing on her lower lip, she stares at him as a thought brews in her head. Her silence cause him to look her way.

“What you thinkin’ ‘bout over there?”

She releases her bottom lip. Her eyes drop to his lap.

“Can I touch it?”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Could do whatever you want … it’s yours.”

With caution, she slowly reaches over the console and spreads her hand over his lap. She traces the barely-hard length through his jeans.

He retains his composure even as he struggles to focus on driving properly.

“You smelled so good today,” she whispers.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes out. “So fucking good. She laughs softly, pulling a smile out of him.

The more she rubs up on him, the harder he gets. She licks her lips and reaches over with the other hand to unbutton his jeans and zip them down.

She slips a hand between the layer of his jeans and his boxers, feeling him up through the thin fabric.

“When we was at the restaurant, I was thinking of last weekend, when I stayed over.”

Cradling the underside of his dick, her thumb swipes over his fat tip. Excitement races through her as she feels every curve of the mushroom-shaped head.

A faint twitch makes her smile bigger.

“How you was fucking me.”

Her voice slightly lifts at the end of her sentence, as if the thought alone was enough to get her going.

He found that shit so sexy.

Her thumb continues to rub circles into him. However, she also begins to squeeze him in her palm.

Ajani shifts in his seat, his legs widening on their own.

“Fuck, you were so deep, baby.”

She’s squeezing him harder, her little hand working his tip.

“So fucking deep—“

He barely hears the tiny moan that slips out. It takes his attention off of the road for a couple of seconds.

Just long enough for him to catch her with her other hand now between her own legs, dress hiked up around her waist.

He quickly looks away. The sight sends another rush of blood to his dick, and she can feel it as he pulses in her hand.

As one of her hands feels along his length, the other presses against the seat of her damp panties. The pressure pulls a shiver out of her.

“Oh, shit,” she gasps, quietly. “Fuck, I still have to pee.” Her thighs clamp around her wrist as she remembers her plight.

He glances at her again, trying to fight the melting of his brain as she continues to get him off.

“Keep going.”

His raspy voice catches her off guard.

“W-what?”

He licks his lips and swallows, taking a turn onto a major roadway. “Keep touching yourself.”

“I still have to pe—“

“Hold it.”

Her silence earns another look her way.

“I mean it, too. Just got this shit detailed … so don’t fuck up my seats.”

The gentleness of his voice makes her clench.

His head almost falls back when a tight pressure surrounds his balls. It’s hard to keep his eyes open.

Kicking off her sandal, Diamanté pulls a leg up onto the seat. Her French-tipped toes dig into the shiny, smooth leather as she opens herself up wider.

She rubs herself through her thin panties with a full hand. As she falls into a rhythm, both of her hands sync together as she pleasures both herself and Ajani.

Her legs open up even wider as she changes from using her full hand to just her middle and ring fingers.

Pushed together, she rubs slow, sloppy circles over her clit. The swollen bud pulses, pushing through her thick folds and even creating a small bump through the thin material.

Her wrist aches, but she doesn’t stop. Her pussy clenched repeatedly and her breathing grows unsteady.

Slow, lazy blinks come before her eyes roll back closed. She whimpers to herself.

Ajani tries not to swerve as his brain tries to focus on two things at once. But, he can’t stop his hips from fucking into her hand—even if just a little bit.

Diamanté sends three, solid smacks to her pussy. Upon the third one, her thigh snap shut and her eyes squeeze closed. Her mouth hangs open as her body freezes.

Before she can stop it, her body lets loose for a split second. Just a tiny stream lets out, creating a small soak-spot into her underwear. Immediately, she regains control, stopping her release.

The pace she’d been able to keep up falters as she grows weak from her own hand.

“Keep going,” he tells her.

She shakes her head first. “I … I can’t.”

“Dia—“

“I can’t, I can’t—“

“Move ya hand.”

He pries her thighs open with his free hand, and snatches hers from between them.

He replaces her with his touch, cupping the fat mound before sliding his fingers against her. He feels the small wet spot, and it makes his dick harder.

“Told you to hold it.” He lays a smack down on her clit, and her legs try to close around his arm.

A louder moan leaves her this time. But, she holds it as best as she can.

“And keep squeezing my shit,” he says, his voice deep and heavy with lust.

Mewling, she gives her focus to his dick. Rubbing and squeezing it. And when that’s no longer enough, she pulls him out of his boxers.

“Shit…” he exhales in relief.

The hot, length stands stiff in both of her hands. Dribbles of precum run down his length. She’s quick to swipe it up as she twists both hands over him, pulling at the veiny skin.

“Mmh … fuck, baby. J-just like that.”

Ajani doesn’t let that distract him, however. Hand between her legs, he rubs his middle finger over her protruding clit.

She almost cries out as he neglects to touch her, keeping her underwear between them.

His pointer finger drops down to join the middle. And he pinches her bud. She yelps out.

“Hold it,” he says, pinching harder. “Hold it.”

Her head falls back as she cries out. The dam is about the break, she can feel it.

Her body goes numb for half a second, and then she feel the wet spot spread just a tiny bit bigger.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming—“

He cups her once more, feeling her clench down on nothing in his hand. The pink G-string clings to her lips, conforming to their shape.

Her hands freeze around his dick, unable to focus on him as she tries to keep herself from finishing completely over his seats.

“We almost there … almost there,” he soothes, turning into his building’s parking lot.

After regaining her composure, Dia tucks him back in his pants and zips him back up.

Ajani removes his hand as he parks in his designated spot, giving her the chance to fix herself.

When they get out the car, it’s a bit of relief. However, Ajani still has to make it to his apartment without being caught with this boner.

Watching Dia walk ahead of him to get into the main building, he gets an idea.

It’s hard to concentrate as they stand there waiting for the elevator. There’s no one in the lobby, but that doesn’t make her any less nervous.

Standing, her backside pressed to his front, she feels his dick poking at her.

Ajani’s so hard, it almost aches. He kisses his teeth, and his hand on her hip squeezes harder.

“Where this fuckin’ elevator at? Not tryna be waiting here all night.”

As he talks, his hips move just a bit, pushing his dick harder into the fat of her ass. It’s not helping, honestly.

But, much to her relief, the elevator finally arrives with a sharp ding. They walk in and Ajani is quick to press the button to the eleventh floor.

It seems like time slows as the shaft achingly climbs the floors. Dia doesn’t get to watch the numbers change as a hand comes around her neck and squeezes—her eyes flutter shut.

“Can’t wait to ruin yo shit,” he whispers in her ear. “Have you bouncing on my dick.”

She moans softly as his hand tightens.

He sucks his teeth. “Matter fact—“

It must be the liquor that has him doing this, and what’s got her letting it happen.

In one second, she’s bent over, her hands bracing the wall before her as he stands behind.

“Should just fuck ya lil’ ass in here.”

He smacks her left cheek before rutting into her. He spreads her ass with both hands, rubbing his clothed dick into her core.

“O-oh fuck,” she whimpers. The friction has her legs trembling.

“Keep fuckin’ moaning,” he pants, fucking against her. His eyes almost roll back and his balls tighten in his pants.

“Baby—“

Slapping a hand over her mouth, she tries to keep quiet … and from cumming.

Backing up just an inch, he instead holds her by her waist and bounces her hard against him. She almost wails, her pussy craving to be filled.

But her torture ends soon as the elevator dings again, announcing their arrival to the eleventh floor. They waste no time getting out and making their way to his front door.

When they come to it, he hands her his keys as he remains behind her. She almost fumbles them, her hands shaking.

He grabs onto her hips again, gripping tightly.

“Hurry up … you’on feel that?”

The gravel of his voice makes her shiver, and the way his dick is pressed into her ass almost makes her eyes roll back.

His face drops into the crook of her neck and shoulder to press a kiss into her warm skin.

“He missed you, baby.”

The slight slur in his voice drives her crazy. But, not more than the way he presses his hips harder against her.

Click, the door goes as she finally unlocks it. The rush of air that hits them as she pushes it open is refreshing. It clears her senses for just half-a-second before her brain is plunged back into a hot pool of lust.

Ajani’s got his hands on her, spinning her around to press a wet kiss onto her lips. A heavy moan slips out of her as he squeezes her throat.

He sucks on her tongue like it’s his only lifeline, enjoying the taste of her spit too much.

His free hand encircles her waist and heads down to grip as much fat as it could.

The burn of his grip has her clenching in her panties. He pulls out of the kiss just to look her in the eyes.

“Take this stupid ass dress off before I rip it.”

His grip on her throat tightens and she feels herself go dumb a little bit. She nods.

He lets go of her completely, just to watch her pull the black dress over her head.

All she’s got on is that tiny ass, pink G-string, no bra. The fabric is drenched with a wet stain as it clings to her. And her lips are damn near spilling out of it.

“Not even gonna be able to walk when I done with you,” he mumbles, staring at her as he squeezes his dick through his pants.

“Wait, I wanna do something else first.”

Diamanté’s gaze drops to the hard outline of his dick—so thick and long.

“Yeah?” He looks at her with low eyes, paying keen attention to the outline of her fat pussy. “What you tryna do?”

She starts towards him, walking slow.

“I wanna suck it.”

His brows lift as an inkling of a smile is on his lips. “Oh, word?”

“Yeah.”

She stops right before him. A gentle push to his chest sends a big enough of message—he falls back onto his couch. And his eyes follow her as she gets down on her knees before him.

She crawls to him, sitting between his legs. Even pushes them apart wider. He almost shivers at her delicate touch on his knees.

“Would you let me?”

She blinks up at him as her hands snake their way up his thighs and into his lap. He slips further down into the couch, biting his lip as he watches her undo his pants for the second time tonight.

She gets a peek of those grills again, and she just finds them so sexy.

“Awe shit, baby, you could do whatever you want…”

His aid comes as he lifts his hips as she drags the heavy denim down his legs. Drunken giggles pour out from her lips as she eyes his print through his boxers.

Even through the thin fabric, the familiar heat of her palm makes his dick twitch. He has to stop himself from humping into her hand as she grips along his length.

Her laughter melts away as she watches his face with a luring smile.

“You’re so wet, baby.”

He almost doesn’t even hear her soft voice. But when he does, he looks down and notices the dark spot on his boxers.

“Shit … that’s all you,” he mumbles. His eyes bore into her as she pulls him out of his underwear.

He’s stiff and heavy in her hand. Her smaller fingers squeeze him just a bit tighter, a weak attempt at trying to get a better grip on him.

It amuses him, seeing how the tips of her fingers don’t even meet when they’re around him.

The warmth blossoming under his skin goads her to run a fist over his length.

“You know how to do it?” he asks her.

She nods before looking back up at him. Looking into his eyes, she can tell that he’s fighting to stay present.

But with the liquor in both their systems, and lust running through their bodies, she can understand how difficult that must be for him.

“You don’t gotta … take it all,” he swallows.

His thigh twitches; Her tongue laves against the underside of the warm, soft tip. She holds him as she circles her tongue around the head, shining it with her spit.

“Fuck,” he hisses softly, body melting into the couch cushions.

She brushes her tongue against him, picking up a perfect bead of precum just as it dribbles out.

He inhales, shifting in the seat. “Spit on my shit.”

Puckering her lips, she spits it back out on his tip and spreads it across his skin.

“Yeah,” he breathes out.

Holding him at the base, she takes his head back into her mouth. His stomach swoops and his breath stutters.

Diamanté almost giggles, feeling his tip pulse in her mouth. She pulls off of him with a pop.

She repeats the action a couple of more times, going pop … pop … pop! She enjoys too much how he groans above her.

“Stop playing, baby, c’mon.”

The sound of him begging makes her clit pulse.

“Okay, okay,” she says softly, batting her lashes up at him.

Taking a deep inhale, she places her mouth back over the head. Slackening her jaw, she slowly descends his length.

“Awe … shiii,” he stares down at her in shock.

Already, her jaw aches, having to accommodate his size. She gets about halfway.

“Mmmh.”

The vibration of her hums make his toes curl. He jumps with a hiss. The movement gags her, and the sound only arouses him.

“T-take your time, baby—“ he grunts. “You don’t gotta—“

He chokes on his own words as he watches her continue to swallow him with a bit of effort. The sight has him clutching the couch cushions.

Her throat constricts around his dick as she bottoms out. She nuzzles her nose against the small bush of dark curls at his base.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, shifting his hips a bit.

Her eyes flutter close as she relishes the heavy weight her throat holds. His dick twitches, pulling a soft gag out of her.

He loves the sound.

Spit seeps from her mouth, dripping down his length. Trying to swallow around him is difficult.

Carefully, she lays her head against his open lap. She exhales through her nose, trying to relax as she suckles on him.

It’s almost addicting, having his dick stuff her mouth to the brim. She’s content … until she remembers her own arousal.

Her knees burn, but nevermind that. She brings a hand between her thick thighs, whimpering as she caresses herself.

The pads of her fingers slide back and forth over the soaked scrap of fabric covering her pussy.

Her thighs clench around her wrist. But still, she continues, sliding the tips of her acrylic nails against her aching pearl.

He watches her eyes open for just a second, only to showcase how they roll back. Her shoulders twitch.

“You touchin’ yourself?”

She barely nods as another twitch rakes throughout her body.

The already wet patch of her panties grows warmer as she leaks more arousal. Her fingers rub harder and her pussy spasms.

“Mmh—“

She whines around his dick, and his hips stutter.

“So fuckin’ nasty,” he groans. “Like my dick in your mouth.”

Another whimper.

Peeling a hand from the armrest of the couch, Ajani reaches for her straightened hair and gathers it in a tight ponytail.

“Relax your throat,” is his only warning.

Long, slow strokes have her gagging on him. The back or her throat makes wet clicks as his dick fucks the back of her throat.

Tears bubble in Diamanté’s eyes as her head bobs. Shaky fingers push her soaked panties to the side as she rubs through her sticky, creamy folds.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” he says through gritted teeth.

She plays in her mess, webs of cream sticking to the pads of her fingers and her pink clit.

His hold around her hair tightens and his pace quickens. Her gags become harsher and louder as he face-fucks her.

A squeal sounds at the back of her throat as she DJs herself quickly. Her chest stutters as it gets harder to breathe with her choking on him.

Her body tightens then releases; She sprays against her fingers and the hardwood floor. The hard stream catches his ears, making him sit up to watch.

The whites of her eyes are the only things that show as she cups herself between her legs.

A gooey mess of her spit and his precum drip down his balls and even her face, droplets falling on her bare chest.

“Shit, baby … awe shit,” he groans, head thrown back and mouth dropped open.

His stomach clenches as his brows pull together.

“I’m bout’a … c-cum—fuck.”

He pushes her head all the way down, holding her there as he fucks up into her. She tightens her throat around him, sending him over the edge.

Ropes of cum shoot down her throat, sending her pulling off of him in a coughing fit.

When she calms, she pulls her hand from between her shaking thighs. It’s messy with the remnants of her cream and squirt.

She wraps it around him and spits his cum back on his dick.

It’s a bubbly, frothy mess. She jerks him off, milking him for the rest of his release as she mixes their cum and her spit together.

“So fuckin’ dirty,” he rasps, his body sagging against the chair.

The squelches of her fist over his dick is music to their ears. Her hand glides with ease as she squeezes him tighter.

“Beatin’ my shit so good.”

Breathy laughter pours out of her as she sticks out her tongue and flattens it. Staring into his low eyes, she taps his dick against the bed of her tongue.

She slides the pink muscle against him before flicking it twice against his leaky slit. He shivers beneath her, and she feeds off the reaction.

Taking his head back into her mouth, she sucks on it with her lips as she digs out his slit with her tongue.

He’s a whining mess as she overstimulates him.

“Fuck baby … fuuuck baby—fuck babyy—“

Ajani’s head falls back against the cushions and his eyes roll back. He opens his mouth to cry out:

“F-fuuuuuck—“

Lifting from him quickly, she taps him against her tongue as he erupts. His cum paints the pink muscle in white ropes.

“So good,” she hums, still tugging at him.

His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath and calm his beating heart. His ears ring and his vision’s got dots.

It takes him too long to return back to earth, as if she had hard reset him.

But, that’s not where their night ends—far from it, actually.

247 notes · View notes

hongism · 1 year

Text

THIS WORLD. - k. hongjoong (m)

➼ genre; smut (some minor angst and fluff) ➼ pairing; hongjoong x fem!reader ➼ au; outlaw!hongjoong, dystopian futurism, lore accurate ateez ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 4.5k

What he’s given you is essentially one chance and night. Nothing more and nothing less.

part of the outlaw miniseries.

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➼ smut warnings; piv, unprotected sex, oral: f, creampie, light choking/asphyxiation, dirty talk, breast/nipple play

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Cool night air brushes across your cheeks as you set foot on the roof, eyes already scanning your surroundings in the hopes of finding what you’re looking for here. Of course, it doesn’t take much — Hongjoong is a hard man to miss unless the government officials are looking for him, in which case he has an uncanny ability to make himself totally invisible in a crowd.

There are no crowds up here though; just you, him, and the night to keep you company.

You see him clearly across the stretch of roof that’s accentuated by gaudy neon signs and other electrical components that keep the bar below powered.

“Closed up shop for the night,” you offer as a means of greeting the man. He’s donned his usual dramatic regalia tonight as well, complete with the patterned bandana pulled up over his nose and the ridiculous cowboy hat he fetched out of a dumpster several months back. It matches the vibe of the bar, he had told you and Mingi. While you weren’t on board, Mingi was more than a little eager to pull together a similar outfit for himself. “Everyone else went home.”

K-Hot Chilli Peppers. When you saw the job listing online, you had laughed at the name before realizing that it’s only half as ridiculous as many of the other bars in Night City, and you weren’t about to be picky given that you were desperate to find a place that lets you actually use your tender’s license on the daily. Upon being hired, you were promptly told to not ask questions when two rugged outlaws came through the doors and went up to the roof without pause. Answers came on their own, naturally and over time as you peeled back the seemingly endless layers to the two vigilantes who had set up shop in your new place of employment.

Whatever the circumstances and however the stars aligned that night you saw the job listing, it all boiled down to this: standing across from Hongjoong on the rooftop under the stars with this magnetic sort of pull towards the man. A pull you shouldn’t even think to entertain mostly because you’d like to keep your job and also a little bit because you’d like to keep your life.

Hongjoong got a message today. You know that much because you saw the small moped buzz by in front of the bar after all the customers left, and though you don’t know who that delivery driver is, you know he always brings something more than crappy takeout. The most convincing piece of evidence came in how Mingi promptly stormed out of the bar without so much as a goodbye twenty minutes later, and now here you stand up on the roof with the last man standing not long after. You aren’t here to ask questions as that wouldn’t be in your right (fairly so).

“I’m gonna close up and lock everything, if you’re done?” you continue pressing when Hongjoong fails to say anything back to you. He turns, gaze sharp as it finds you across the rooftop. The next moment, he pulls his bandana down to rest around his neck and exposes his handsome face to you.

“We’re not gonna be around much longer.”

You pull your lips together and do your best not to frown. “They won’t know you were ever here.”

“They’re gonna come looking here. And they’re gonna rip the place apart trying to find us.” Hongjoong takes slow steps in your direction as he speaks, tone low and quiet as though trying to either threaten or warn you. You don’t think he has a need for either. “When they come knocking, it’s not gonna matter what you do know or what you don’t know. Just being affiliated by name is enough of a crime.”

“Business is too good to be knocked down by a little police search.”

Hongjoong sinks his teeth into his lower lip. The light from the neon signs bounces off his face and casts crude little shadows across the roof. He looks far too worried for your liking, almost like there’s a semblance of care in the man, which was not part of the plan. You think you’re the one to blame for that, considering how you can’t simply leave well enough alone and have to express some modicum of care for those around you, including the vigilante outlaws that frequent your workplace and stay after hours. And well, all these months that have passed in this comfortable routine have made the heart grow fonder in many ways.

You’re quite fond of him, you think, and maybe those feelings are reciprocated to some extent.

The sky is clear tonight, free of clouds but the lights and pollution from the city obstruct the stars somewhat even now. Curfew is about to begin, but there’s no chance of you making it home before the drones start patrolling the streets. You could have left thirty minutes ago — should have most likely, but that chance is well and gone now.

“We leave tomorrow. I don’t know when we’ll be back.”

When is merely code for if, and you’re not dumb enough to think otherwise. If he survives whatever obscene plan he’s ready to deploy, you’re positive that Hongjoong won’t come back or set food near the bar again, even as a hideout. Men like him don’t stick to one place for long, especially not when their heads are full of grandiose plans of anarchy and destruction. You don’t blame him for it, but it does make your heart ache a little more than it should.

Your shoes skid across the stone of the roof as you cross the distance between you and him. It breaks the silence you’ve presented as an answer to him, and Hongjoong’s eyes grow wider as you turn the space into an afterthought. Shaky hands find their way around Hongjoong’s shoulders then come to clasp behind his neck.

“Tell me you’ll survive,” you plead to the night air between your lips.

“Of course I will,” he answers without hesitation, whether a lie or a truth he is willing to truly stand by and believe. You don’t ask that he tell you he’ll return here; some dreams are a bit too far-fetched.

When your hands begin to fall away from him, Hongjoong dips his chin and slots his lips over your parted ones. You scramble to regain your hold on him, fingers stretching up to tangle in the dark blue strands of hair on the back of his head just below where his hat sits. The pressure against your mouth is faint to begin with, something small and searching as he tests the waters and waits for your response. As though pulling him closer and nearly kissing him moments ago wasn’t enough of a confirmation for whatever this is.

“This is all I can give you,” he exhales into your mouth, and you press another heated kiss against his lips. I don’t need more than this. This is enough. This is all I could ask for from someone like you. It would be nice if you could ask for more but this is all the greed you can bear. His hands wander from your hips up to the hem of your shirt that sits against the loops of your jeans. The first contact of his fingertips on bare skin hits you like a bucket of ice water and sends goosebumps all across your body.

“Hongjoong,” you say against his mouth as he palms his way down to your thighs. He does well to quiet whatever thoughts are rushing through your head right now with his lips, breaking from yours to mouth along the line of your jaw. The force of his body moving against yours is enough to push you back, and you fall into step with him in an almost haphazard sort of way. Your back hits the wall soon after, right beside the door you just came out of minutes prior, and now Hongjoong has you pressed against the concrete with a knee slipping between your thighs. “Hongjoong.”

“You can’t stay here.” The blunt tips of his painted nails dig into the flesh above your jeans. A gasp tumbles from your lips as he licks over a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and it makes your knees buckle in turn. “I can have two of my men transport you to a different area of the city in the morning. Earlier the better. We won’t be enacting any plans under the sun’s gone down.” You busy yourself with the buttons keeping his shirt around his body.

“No.”

He pauses where he is, halfway to removing your shirt from your torso, and looks you in the eye. You abandon his shirt in favor of clasping both hands around his cheeks.

“I’m not going anywhere because you’re going to come back to me and get me yourself.” Rather than denying your wistfulness, Hongjoong offers a half-smile and a breathy laugh, one you share in yourself before pulling his face back up to your own. You taste his lips again, but this time you pay more attention to it, the hint of spice on his tongue as he pushes past the seam of your mouth and explores you further. Your hands are busy with his shirt once more under the urging of your eagerness to have him. He responds in kind by hiking your shirt up over your chest and dragging the blunts of his nails down over the exposed skin on his path to your pants.

“Let me go down on you?” Your chest tightens at the proposition and at the way his voice sounds inexplicably strained from the mere thought of tasting you.

“Take this stupid shirt off first, for fuck’s sa—” Frustration wins the battle against his clothing, and Hongjoong leans away from you with a clear, resounding laugh that makes your stomach turn to mush. You ought to kick yourself in the side of the head for not acting on the blatant chemistry dancing between the two of you before now. Still, if this truly is a one-and-done thing, you’re going to do the absolute most to make it worth it. And maybe a bit unforgettable for both of you. Hooking your fingers under the handkerchief still tied about his neck, you pull Hongjoong close once again. He rushes to brace his hands on either side of you, his shirt still dangling from where it remains tucked into his ridiculous faux leather pants. His mouth goes straight for your neck, pulling the skin between his teeth and sucking so harshly at it that you feel tingles rush up to your skull. Your whine is music in the distant noise of the city, softly exhaled against the side of his head and disturbing the hair behind his ear. His hat is beginning to get in your way now too, especially as he kisses a path down to where he left your shirt. You catch the brim just before he goes lower, stripping it off his head with the hand you have draped around his shoulders. When he looks up at you from between your breasts, you smile, close-lipped but with an arched brow meant to tease further.

“The amount of filthy, heinous jokes on my mind right now,” he groans, head dipping forward to rest against your chest.

“If you make any sort of cowboy joke I’ll make sure you finish in your hand and nowhere else.” The threat is halfhearted of course, but it makes Hongjoong laugh in that obscenely pretty way again and you revel in the sound as he frees your breasts just enough to have access to them. Your nipples are already hardened peaks thanks to the simple touches from earlier, but the cool air stiffens them even further before Hongjoong has the chance to pull one into his mouth. Your back curls up off the wall, Hongjoong pinches your right nipple, and at the same moment, he pushes you back to the wall with enough force to punch a moan out of you.

“F-Fuck, Hongjoong.” You’re suddenly rather grateful to have something to hold onto because otherwise you would be digging your nails into your palms and making yourself bleed. As it is, you might run the risk of ruining Hongjoong’s treasured hat with how tight you’re gripping it at present. Your other hand sits on his bicep, atop the black-lettered inking that dances across his arm and reminds you that this man in your arms is one of a kind. You wonder, far and away in the back of your brain, how many have had the pleasure of being in your current position. He disperses those runaway thoughts mere seconds later; his hand sneaks down from its perch cupping your breast and locks onto the button keeping your pants together. The resulting lewd and wet pop! that comes from him pulling his lips away from your nipple makes your neck heat up.

“Bet I could make you cream your panties without even getting in your pants,” he quips as the button comes loose. Deftly, he works the zipper down in the same smooth movement.

“Who are you trying to impress, cowboy? You’ve already got me for the night.”

The muscles in his neck strain as he laughs and tilts his chin to the side, and your breath hitches watching him sink to his knees between your legs. Hongjoong folds his fingers around your wrist — the hand that currently holds his hat by the brim — and slowly, he guides you to place it back where it belongs atop his head.

“There. Now you can call me that again.” You can’t hide the unsteadiness of your breaths from him like this, even though he’s currently occupying his focus with stripping you of both jeans and underwear in one go. You brace a hand over your heart just to make sure it's still part of you despite racing like you’ve just run a marathon. Hongjoong’s lips skate against the inside of your knee when he lifts your ankle and carefully pulls the boot from your foot. Fabric follows suit quickly, then he commits to the same routine for your other leg — complete with the ghosting kisses and soft drags of his nails over the bare skin of your thighs. The growing pit of arousal in your stomach is so heavy that you think it might simply drip out of you the moment he touches your folds.

“Hongjoong,” you whisper. His kisses climb to the inside of your thighs, close enough to exhale heated breath across your pussy, but he doesn’t push further than that. Content to sit between your legs in the lewdest of positions and stare up at you through fluttering lashes.

“That’s not what you called me.” Hongjoong grins, cheek brushing against your thigh so close to your sex that your muscles twitch. “Maybe I’ll consider it—” he enunciates the word particularly harshly “—and do whatever you’d like?”

“You’re so — ugh, I want you to eat me out,” you mumble into the cradle of your hands, hardly able to look down at the man and be expected to speak like a normal functioning human being in this sort of predicament. He’s silent in return. “Cowboy.”

The veil of seriousness drops at that, and you’re the first to laugh at the sheer absurdity of calling him such a thing right now. Hongjoong can’t seem to keep himself together either, huffed laughter spilling out of him in turn.

“I wasn’t serious about you calling me that, y/n, I was just teasing. But I guess you want it pretty damn bad, huh?”

“Shut up!” Your tone contorts into a cracked gasp as Hongjoong wraps a hand back and around your thigh and spreads your legs over his face. Your hand flies to cover your mouth — something done out of pure instinct — and the man beneath you is quick to tut his disapproval.

“Let me hear you, pretty. I don’t want you covering anything up.”

“I-It’s the middle of the night,” you argue through your fingers.

“And? Wake the whole damn city if you have to, I want you to cry on my cock.”

You let your hand fall away and come to rest atop Hongjoong’s head (his hat, rather). Your view of what he’s doing is entirely obscured except for the slightest glint of his eyes when he tilts his chin against your cunt. You can’t seem to tear your gaze off of him regardless, lips parted and quivering as he presses his tongue between your folds and takes his first taste of you. The tension in your gut is wound into a knot so tight that your eyes burn and sting at the corners. Hongjoong takes you into his palm, onto his tongue, and into his deft fingers, and unravels you gloriously.

Two fingers dip lower and press against your entrance. He teases you with the pad of his middle finger only, toying with your hole and pushing into you ever so slightly before retracting to circle your clit with his tongue. He can’t run his mouth as he very much loves to in this position, but you’re finding that he makes use of his mouth in other more devilish ways, another talent he keeps tucked under his belt that you’re reaping the benefits from.

You can’t think of the last time you got laid, and trying to think of the last good fuck you had would be an even taller order. To imagine when a man last ate you out with actual passion and not simply as a means to an end might be impossible, or perhaps Hongjoong is simply keen on blowing every last sexual experience you’ve had out of the water in one go. When his fingers finally, at long last, stretch you open, you cry out with a moan so loud that it would be a miracle if no one heard it.

“Gonna make you taste yourself on my lips, pretty. Make your little cunt cream all over my cock until I fill you up with cum.” You jerk Hongjoong’s head almost violently, a sharp response to the way his fingers curl against your walls, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest from the task at hand. He pulls your clit between his lips and sucks until your knees give out under you. It sends his fingers deeper into your cunt in the same motion, nearly making you come undone.

“T-Too much, too much, Hongjoong, it’s — fuck, fuck, ah!” You fold in on yourself, free hand moving to press against your stomach as the pressure in you reaches an unbearable degree. Hongjoong works his fingers in and out of you at a steadily increasing pace and almost seems to be making a game of the way he curls them each time he flicks his tongue against your clit just for another moan to climb out of your throat. Each sound is more broken than the last, sweat beads on your forehead, and you think there’s a euphoric end in sight just for him to pull away without warning. Your walls clench tight around nothing as his fingers are now gone from you and sucked between his own lips. Dazed and frustrated, you pass an incredulous stare his way just for him to grin back at you, tongue teasing the vee between his fingers.

“Hm? Did you want something?”

“I—” Hongjoong eases your body back against the stone wall and hoists one of your legs around his hips. Your cunt is still tense and pulsing to the rhythm he spent all that time building. “If you don’t get inside me right the fuck now, Kim Hongjoong, so help me—”

He makes good on his promise to have you taste yourself on his lips. His tongue shoves its way into your mouth as well, eager to tangle with yours and push your arousal onto your own taste buds. You delight in the fervor with which he kisses you, and in the sound of his belt jingling because it means more pleasure is on the horizon. You feel a hand against your hip, and that’s the only real warning you get before he’s pushing the length of his dick into your pussy and burying himself to the hilt in you. You scramble to grab hold of him somehow. It’s a slight miracle that you don’t bite both his and your own tongues in the process because you cry out into his mouth. Your moan remains unbroken even when he pulls your mouths apart and rushes to cradle the back of your head before you whack it harshly against the concrete behind you. There’s not a second to catch your breath in Hongjoong’s mind; his other hand is busy at work, and he presses the pad of his thumb into your clit. He rubs once, twice, three times before you unravel on his cock.

“You’re so tight, fuck, if you could feel yourself, your cunt is so tight.” There are stars behind your eyelids, clearer than the ones in the sky, and Hongjoong begins to rock his hips up into yours as the weight of your orgasm barrels down on you. “You feel so good on me, pretty. Fuckin’ made for my cock, yeah?”

“Yeah, y-yes, yes, yes.” Your voice cracks at the tail end of your agreement. It turns into something more akin to a sob than a moan. Hongjoong’s pace is relentless in every regard. The lack of pause doesn’t let your body come totally undone or relax, still wound tight around your previous orgasm to the point where it feels like it won’t end.

“Keep taking it, lovely, I won’t be able to pull out with you squeezing around me like this.”

Whining, you drop your head to the side, chin coming all the way down to your shoulder. Hongjoong snakes his hand around to your neck and braces his index finger and thumb on either side of your jaw. Your head lolls in tune with the way he moves you and without resistance — every ounce of strength in your muscles has melted into goo in his hands. When he presses you back to the wall, your breath hitches. The sensation of his fingers at your neck has you feeling floaty and a bit detached from your body in the most pleasant way imaginable. His thrusts jerk your body enough to offer more pressure against your neck every so often but it’s not as persistent as you wish for it to be.

When you reach between your bodies and clasp your fingers around his wrist, Hongjoong seems to think that you want him to pull away because his grip loosens instantly.

“More,” you grit out, yanking his hand harder into the column of your neck. The steady rhythm he’s found falters momentarily for him to resituate his grip, but once he’s settled back into it, each thrust comes with a delightful headiness as your breath becomes shorter.

“’m close,” he announces. He shifts a hair to look down between your bodies and watches his length disappear into you a few more times before pulling his focus back up to your face with a groan. “Gonna cum in you, pretty, you’re still so tight.”

“Wanna cum with you, t-touch me again,” you pant, licking your lips between each phrase, “please.”

Despite his own shaky hands, Hongjoong reaches down to where his cock pumps in and out of you. He finds your clit with ease and rolls two fingers over it in a similar rhythm to his thrusts, pace only growing as he races towards his finish with you in tow. His motions fail as he orgasms, but the sudden feeling of his cock twitching inside your walls and pumping you full of hot cum pushes you over the edge with him. You almost don’t even feel it with all the sensations hitting you at once, and Hongjoong’s body falls against yours so harshly that your moan is positively unholy.

His hands keep roaming — tracing every inch of skin he can reach like he wants to commit it all to memory, and you simply let him do as he pleases because it feels good and it feels damn good to be wanted by this man. He pulls you towards a different section of the rooftop with your pants and underwear in hand. When he tugs you down to the messy pile of blankets that he and Mingi leave up here for particularly cold nights, you don’t even complain either. He lays himself down atop you, easing between your legs and caging you in with elbows pressed to concrete on either side of your head.

Hongjoong kisses you softly, and you smile against his lips. He finally settles down beside you after a few more exchanged kisses. His hat gets put aside with the other stray pieces of clothing — including his shirt that he’s finally decided to rid himself of far after the fact. The aftermath is peaceful, if a bit hazy as your brain still feels a jumbled mess of putty, and the stars above are bright.

“I’ll have someone pick you up in the morning to take you over to my men. The bar won’t be safe for a few weeks minimum. They can give you some cash to help cut your losses in the meantime too.”

“Okay,” you answer quietly. Beside you, his hand searches the blankets for your own. You let his fingers tangle with yours and squeeze until it hurts.

“Just don’t let Wooyoung try to convince you to buy into any scheme he might come up with.”

“Who?”

“Trust me, he’ll let you know who he is.” Hongjoong laughs at his own comment but falls into silence when he glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Come back for me please.”

Hongjoong is quiet beside you for several lingering seconds, then he leans across the empty space and kisses your temple.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

You believe him.

────────────

please like & reblog this work and consider leaving a reply or sharing your thoughts in a reblog or ask!

this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

#ateez smut #hongjoong smut #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #ateez fic #ateez ff #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez fluff #hongjoong fic #hongjoong ff #hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong imagine #caly.writes

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gothamcitycentral · 3 months

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OH Oh oh, I would love to hear a Charlie canon vs fanon rant if you're up for sharing?

Ok ok mainly I was thinking of someone recently saying “Charlie represents a shallow christian view of redemption in which you just try really hard and don’t do drugs! you’ll be a good person that easy!” (paraphrased) and well. No. Definitely not.

What Charlie represents is the emotional idea of redemption.

Charlie’s chosen existence is based fully upon the idea that there is no category of “bad person” that excludes someone from being human. As such, everyone is capable of redemption because ‘there’s good in everyone deep down inside, she knows there is.’ People like to think this as naivety (which is. a whole other thing) but this is the stance the show takes every seriously. So many, and I mean so many, are under this impression that Charlie is at some point going to be proven wrong about redemption. That not everyone can actually be redeemed. But she just won’t be because the point is always that Charlie is right. With Angel, with Pentious, against Lucifer, against Adam and against Sera, she’s proven right.

“You build something nice, you invite people in and offer them everything and they just bring VIOLENCE and CHAOS to your doorstep. It doesn’t matter how well intentioned you are, they’ll always disappoint you.”

…He says, as the hotel crew work together to keep each other safe and out of harm’s way even at their own risk.

In any case, Charlie’s view of redemption is that of loving-

-and being loved.

This is what the series shows. Every fully realized character loves, and is loved by, someone.

No exceptions.

It’s a deliberate point of humanization because the show argues everyone has humanity. Which is what Charlie argues! The show is always in alignment with her values. As such, it doesn’t make sense to argue any of this is something she is meant to grow out of.

Now, where the above statement is drawn from is that she doesn’t have the practical understanding of redemption. Hence the parody of America’s famously ineffectual D.A.R.E program. This done because Charlie is very much throwing shit at the wall (done through looking at common behavior in hell and having her patrons do the opposite to appeal to Heaven) in very desperate hope something will work and Heaven will recognize her people… as people. Importantly, the significant thing of Angel Dust and Sir Pentious being the actors in this scene is that through understanding them Charlie learns a practical idea of redemption. That being as (and what the show properly conceptualizes redemption as) the correction of behavior that harms oneself or those around you. Which is why we go from:

To:

“Heavenly people, the porn star chose a night of debauchery, that’s not a soul worthy of being in Heaven!”

“Are you really telling me you haven’t had a drink with friends at the end of a hard day?”

She’s not bending over backwards to make Angel as appealing as possible to Heaven, she’s making a stance that disagrees with their perception of ‘bad behavior’, reminding them to acknowledge his hardships and what influences his behavior, and making it clear that these specific actions aren’t having a negative effect on anyone, and therefore doesn’t contradict her statement that Angel has improved.

Then people see the part of Charlie’s arc which is learning to have a damn backbone (to put it bluntly) and go and argue that the end point for Charlie’s character is to “stop being nice.” Well, first of all, Charlie being nice is the only reason everyone isn’t dead, so jot that down, and second, while yes Charlie fights against Adam, the ultimate result of that conflict is:

“He’s had enough.”

Charlie is always going to choose mercy. She is always going to extend humanity. She is always going to offer the olive branch. People think Charlie is going to come to some grand revelation about having to be cruel and that just, isn’t the point. Because the big thing is that people believe Charlie is defined by her naivety (and that eventually that naivety must be destroyed) but she isn’t.

The only moment I can really think that suggests Charlie being such is her singing in the pilot during the newsbroadcast despite being warned otherwise. Besides that, I just don’t see it as a major point of characterization. Because we see Charlie acknowledge not everyone wants to change, but she doesn’t get to deny any the opportunity, deny them the hotel. Because they were entitled to the opportunity to change and improve by process of being alive. “How can I turn him away? I can’t. It goes against everything I stand for.”

In general I think there’s a failure of people who view Charlie as just… naturally happy go lucky at factory default and miss that Charlie’s kindness is a choice.

Charlie was born into a broken world with a decomposing kingdom to her name. Her optimism is a developed coping mechanism because it’s the only way she can believe everything can maybe work out. Because Charlie has been surrounded by this constant death she felt powerless to stop and everyone has just! accepted it! This constant misery that she unavoidably bares witness to, and it feels like she’s the only one who cares.

So she has to be kind. She has to believe things can tangibly improve. She has to put the entire world and then some onto her own shoulders and live with every action she takes having millions of lives dependent on it. Charlie doesn’t even think she’s any sort of properly equipped to do any of this, but she’s the only person who’s bothering to try.

As Charlie deeply internalizes what people say about her. Hell’s clown, a joke, a fool chasing an impossible dream, destined to fail. Whenever anything goes wrong, Charlie directs that entirely at her own self. Adam is going to slaughter the hotel? What a horrible person she was to give the them false hope. Heaven decided to personally purge Charlie and her family because they dared to believe in their own personhood? Well she should have done a better job at convincing them otherwise.

Charlie doesn’t like herself.

So she masks it.

Sometimes the mask, the optimism, breaks.

I think Charlie’s optimism is as to Alastor’s cruelty, that’s why this scene compares them the way it does. Those aspects of them, they’re not fake exactly, but they are conjured to shield their fears. Charlie is afraid of failing everyone and Alastor is afraid of… being afraid in the first place frankly.

Because again, Charlie views everyone as her responsibility. She needs no reasoning beyond Hell being her people for her to dedicate her entire being to them. People seem to not acknowledge how closely she and Vaggie manifest their feelings of self loathing, even if they pretty much do it on opposite ends of the spectrum. Vaggie is a living extension to Charlie, Charlie is a living extension of Hell. The knight and the princess, both sworn to their own duties even at their own suffering. And the princess would burn herself to ash to warm her kingdom. Charlie is the self chosen sacrificial lamb.

#my asks #hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #not sure. if this makes sense. but what can you do

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chaosheadspace · 1 month

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#30 for the smooch prompts, you know which pairing ❤️❤️❤️

Hi, thank you for sending in a prompt! One serving of Dreamling coming right up! 30 is "for comfort", and it's been just a liiitle bit inspired by my recent short vacation, lol. I hope this hits the spot, enjoy!

The storm outside whips rain against the windows of Dream's two bedroom flat, a haven of buttery light and radiator warmth and steaming tea amidst raging, salt-heavy air.

I miss you terribly, Dream types into his phone, hesitating to send, but then he presses the button anyway. Dream sighs. He says this too often, but he too often feels it. It's not ideal, being in a long distance relationship, but the fact remains that research about maritime biology is best done in proximity to the sea.

Hob's job, likewise, sadly requires him to stay in proximity to the University for good chunks of the year. When engrossed in his work, Dream does not mind, does not notice. But when he is here, at home, trees shaking in the seaside wind, it almost rends him apart. He misses so fiercely, so completely that it hurts like a wound.

They see each other two, maybe three times a year when the stars and their schedules align and it is always the best feeling imaginable and at the same time the worst, because Dream cannot have this every day, cannot even have this most days. He would very much like for Hob to be more than a sometimes, and yes, phone calls and video chats come close, but every photo Hob sends, every cheerful story he recounts for Dream comes with a small pang in Dream's chest that he wasn't able to be part of it, wasn't able to be there.

They have been together for three years now, and the only thing that hurts Dream more than physically being apart from Hob is the thought of Hob not being in his life at all, and so they make do with what they can manage. Hob has brought so much peace, so much ease and comfort into his life that Dream just has to hold onto him, no matter the cost.

Hob still hasn't answered his text like Dream's heart demands he do, while his brain sensibly chimes in that it has only been a few minutes, that Hob has things to do, that Hob always answers. Dream looks out the window, the late hour painting the trees and dunes in shadows and darkness, foggy through the rain, weeping like his soul.

Dream's phone plings.

“I've got something for that,” Hob's text reads.

Then there's a knock at the door. Dream goes, puzzled due to the late hour, exasperated due to the interruption.

In front of his door, dripping on the carpet there's Hob, windswept, rain-drenched, wet index finger leaving marks on his lit-up phone screen.

“Hob?!”

Hob looks up in an instant with a smile. “Hey darling,” he says, “surprise!”

“It is after ten,” Dream says, still shocked, stepping aside to let Hob in.

“There was no bus,” Hob tells him as he steps inside, zipping down his jacket. “Had to walk from the station.”

Dream leans into the small bathroom to grab a towel for Hob's hair. “But what are you doing here?”

“D’you want me to leave again?” Hob chuckles from under the towel.

“No!” Grabbing his waist, Dream pulls him close, uncaring about Hob's trousers that are drenched from the knee down.

“Don't worry,” Hob emerges from the terry. “Let me just get my shoes and pants and I'll tell you.”

Dream makes them tea, just like Hob likes it, while Hob sits on his couch under a blanket in his pullover and boxers. He's borrowed warm socks from Dream, but there's no way he can squeeze himself in one of his trousers.

Dream sits down next to him, offering him a steaming mug and taking one for himself. Hob brings warmth everywhere he goes, and so Dream feels his flat is now cozy rather than lonely, their own personal island in the storm.

After taking a sip, Hob sighs with contentment, fingers curled around the mug to heat them.

“I have an interview tomorrow,” he says after a pause. “They only told me this morning, and I didn't want you to fuss with preparations when I can just go grocery shopping for us after the appointment.”

“An interview,” Dream says slowly, feigning ignorance, not daring to let this much hope into his heart yet, not when he still might have misunderstood.

“A job interview, at the University one town over. As soon as I saw the ad I knew I had to,” Hob smiles.

“So you might—” Dream says, unable to speak further, happiness splitting open his entire being, hopeful, alight.

“I might,” Hob agrees. “So you—”

Dream kisses him.

With a hum, Hob blindly extends one arm to put his tea on the table and then draws Dream in, leaning back into the sofa. The kiss is languid, unhurried, because Dream now knows that he might have many, many more, maybe even all of them. That he might have Hob for longer than a few days at a time.

“We are going to look at flats,” he says as soon as they resurface.

“I still have to get the job,” Hob says.

“That is irrelevant.” Dream turns a little tip snuggle up against his side, pulling out his phone. “We do not have to message anyone right now, but we will have a look.”

“Right now?” Hob pulls at the blanket, almost unseating Dream again, before getting it free and draping it over both of their legs.

“Well, until you fall asleep on my couch, at least.” Despite being less clothed, Hob is warm against him, radiating comfort through Dream's own clothes, and he shuffles closer, hooking his legs over Hob's.

“Night owl,” Hob says fondly. “Can we at least relocate to your bed, soon?”

“Only in deference to your age,” Dream says with a sideways glance, already pulling up a website. “I do not want you to damage your back permanently.”

“Oi, I'm four years younger than you!” Hob lightly smacks Dream with one of the small sofa pillows.

“Only on paper.”

“Yeah, well, we can't all win the genetic lottery, but you make it sound like you'll be pushing me around in a wheelchair in ten years time.” He briefly presses his nose against Dream's hair and tightens the arm around Dream's shoulders in a short hug, taking a deep breath.

“Only if you keep up your usual cheek. Do you suppose we could be content with three rooms or do we need a fourth for a library?” Dream asks.

“Library, definitely,” Hob says earnestly, switching from banter to practicality with ease.

Dream kisses him again, for good measure. Because they're both greedy at heart, ravenous, and the more of Hob he gets, the more he wants. He's not sure if even a hundred years would be enough to sate this particular longing, but he will just have to try.

Send me a kissy prompt or read the other ones here

#Dreamling #dream x hob #chaosheadspace's writing

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familyvideostevie · 1 year

Text

august: a no good at waiting one-shot

Almost a year has gone by since you arrived in Hawkins. You and your enemy-turned-friend-turned-love-of-your-life Steve Harrington are feeling a little restless as summer passes. Your anxieties will not leave you alone: Are you going to move in together? Does Steve want to leave Hawkins? What will you do if he goes somewhere else? It all comes to a head on a day spent at Lover's Lake.

fluff, angst, miscommunication, musings about making choices, and lots of love! [5.4k]

this is a one-shot set after the events of no good at waiting, a farmer's market au, so it's best if you read that first! | au masterlist

Everything is perfect.

Well, not exactly. But you're happy.

Okay, again, not the whole truth. You're mostly happy. You love living in Hawkins, you love working at New-Bee's and the library, and you love Steve. Your boyfriend, your short-lived enemy, your favorite person. Who is kind of pissing you off right now.

Almost a year has gone by since you arrived in Hawkins not knowing what you wanted or who you were or how things were going to go. This summer has been fantastic -- dates with Steve and nights with your friends, drives to amusement parks and county fairs and visiting Robin's campus. It feels right to be here and you're glad that you decided to stay. You think that maybe you've finally figured out how life is supposed to feel: like this. Like love.

But at the moment, Steve has you in a bit of a rut. A few months ago he told you he really wanted to go on a trip this summer. Something just the two of you, a week or two, exploring a new place. You loved the idea because you love doing anything with Steve, but for some reason he's hardly mentioned it since then. And with the end of summer fast approaching, you know your chances at getting away are running out. As far as you can tell, he hasn't planned anything secret. Sure, things have been busy: El broke her arm last month so Steve took on extra shifts, there was a huge storm that flooded some of the fields, you got a promotion and the library and thus more hours, his car needed new breaks. The stars haven't aligned but there also hasn't been any...effort.

And that's just one thing.

The other thing, which is maybe bigger and actually makes you a bit mad, is you've been focused on figuring out how to move in together. You live at Bob's still and while you spend a lot of time at Steve's loft you've talked about finding a place of your own and your loose goal was to have it sorted by the fall. But he talks about both the move and the trip like they're just dreams, far away things that will never actually happen. He's vague whenever you bring up the new apartments going up on the old mall property, about the for sale signs you sometimes see around town. He tells you that it'll work out, that he wants to be sure you guys have enough money to be comfortable.

Does he not want to move in with you? It's a silly thought, sure, but what else are you supposed to think? He's spending every minute he's not with you at the farm or on errands he's been calling "Hopper Missions" on some property just outside of town. It's like he's filling the time so there's no room to discuss the future, like he wants to pretend it'll be summer forever.

Being in an adult relationship is hard. It's lots of decisions and compromise and learning how to talk to each other even when you don't want to and you wouldn't trade it for the world. You know it'll all work out, you just wish that it was worked out already, so you could enjoy the end of the summer and stop worrying that your boyfriend doesn't want to live with you. You know that you should just tell him how you're feeling, but that's easier said than done. Every time you try you wonder if you're being oversensitive or ungrateful or reading into things too much and you back out. Feelings are hard, okay?

You're mulling over the weight of all of these thoughts at the market on one warm Saturday morning in August. Market day is routine by now. It was fun to be here for the start of the season back in May, but you prefer the high summer days when there are endless fruits and veggies to buy and everyone is full of energy and excitement at another day. By now you run the stand practically alone -- local kids free for the summer help you stock in the morning and unload and cover when you're otherwise occupied. You've expanded to four standard candle scents and try out a seasonal one every month or so and the soaps were a very popular graduation gift. You've just tried your hand at chapsticks and they're doing really well.

Most people in town call you by your name when they come say hi. It's a little slow this month, with seasonal allergy honey sticks being less and less popular as the season winds down. So you feel okay retreating into your thoughts until someone clears their throat. You snap out of it and find El standing in front of you with a paper bag. There's a crease between her brows as she watches you.

"Hi," you say. "Is that for me?"

She nods. "I said that you looked sad so Steve told me to bring you something because he's 'up to his ears in husk'. He said you didn't eat breakfast." She uses air quotes. You soften.

"Thank you," you tell her. She keeps looking at you for a few moments before giving you a smile and trotting back to the Sara's tent. Inside the bag is one of her newer experiments -- peach scones. It's fantastic. You munch on it and keep smiling at anyone who comes by, though it's maybe not as effusive as you'd like. You really want to talk to someone about how you're feeling (a voice in your head says that person should be your boyfriend but you ignore it) but you're not sure who to go to. Robin is in Boston visiting Nancy at her hot-shot job at the paper, Eddie and Wayne are on a fishing trip somewhere in Michigan, and you're not about to chat to high schoolers about your love life, no matter how much you like them. You're not sure anyone around here notices your mood like your friends do.

"Why do you look like you swallowed a lemon?"

Well, anyone but your friends and...Murray, it seems. The guy is a little weird, sure, but he's friends with Hopper and Joyce and he really buys "a fuck ton" from the market every week, as Steve once said.

"Hi Mr. Bauman," you say. He frowns.

"Cut that Mr. shit out," he says, though it's not harsh. You do this dance every time he comes to buy an alarming amount of honey. "Your mood is going to ruin the honey."

"I...don't think that's how it works," you say. He levels you with a stare that you think must have served him well when he was a journalist in Chicago, as you've learned he was. "I'm thinking about a place to live?"

"You sure?" he says, poking fun at your uncertainty. "You can live anywhere. Trust me. Cars aren't great, but they'll do. I'd avoid tents. Very damp."

"I guess I was thinking a house," you admit, looking at your fingers. You've never put this into words before and you're not sure why you're doing it now. "Somewhere not too big, maybe with some land so I could get a dog. Not in town but not too far from town." You sigh. "It's a dumb dream."

Murray doesn't say anything. You look up at him and he looks confused. His gaze darts between you and the Sara's stand where you can see the back of Steve's head. "Not the dumbest I've heard."

He slaps down a bill and picks up his usual jar and walks away without another word. Whatever, he's a weird guy.

The day winds down and you're a little too warm to be comfortable and you're just sweaty enough that you want to take a shower and you've stewed in your feelings for too long. Of course this is when Steve comes over. Handsome as ever in his work jeans despite the heat and a Sara's t-shirt he's cut the arms off of, he looks like the lead in a teen movie.

You're loading up the crates to take back to the truck. He squeezes your hip in hello before he starts to help. "How did New-Bee's do today?" he asks.

You shrug. "Average. You?"

"Every damn person in this town wanted corn," he says. "I swear it felt like we sold more than we did for the fourth!"

You hum. It's unfair that your mood has plummeted just as he's shown up and you don't want to take it out on him, even if you consider it a little bit his fault. Steve, for his part, is being a typical boy and doesn't notice. "Hey, listen," he says.

"Listening," you mutter.

"Let's go to the lake tomorrow." That gets you to look at him. He wipes his forehead with his pocket bandana.

"The lake? Why?"

"Everyone says it'll be hotter than today and I think we deserve a day to relax, don't you think?" He squints at the sky, shading his eyes. His arms look lovely like this. "I know we haven't gone on that trip so this is like, a mini trip! Staycation? I think that's what it's called."

"I don't know if a day at the lake in town counts as a vacation, Steve," you say. But even as the words come out you find yourself wanting to go because its something to do. You haven't been swimming in the lake despite Steve's summer bucket list item of skinny dipping. You've actually only been to the lake in general a few times, which is a bit strange since it's such a big place in your relationship. You kissed for the first time at the bonfire on the shore, you told him you loved him in the cab of your truck on a cold night.

"So, is that a no?" He's looking at you with a confused expression.

"It's a yes. Is anyone else coming?"

"No, just us. We can have a picnic or some cute shit, yeah?" He rests his hand on your lower back and maybe it's a combination of the heat and your mood and the universe but you don't want him to touch you right then so you pull away from it. You don't look at him.

"Are you sure you don't have super secret Hopper shit to do?" Silence behind you.

"No," Steve says, dragging the word out. "Hey, are you alright? Did I do something?"

You ignore his question. "Are you going to come get me in the morning?" Usually, you'd go home, shower, and then stay over at Steve's place. This is a clear line in the sand that you're not sure is fair to draw.

"Sure," he says. "But, seriously, what's going on?" You do look at him then. He's got a frustrated set to his shoulders and his brows are drawn like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

You chew on your lip, hands in fists at your sides. "Nothing," you say. He gives you an incredulous look. "Okay, I just don't want to talk about it right now." The last thing you need is to not talk about it but you can feel that you're getting actually bothered about this and you don't want to have a discussion that gets taken over by your mood.

"Okaaaaay," he says. It annoys you even more. Your own shoulders creep up to your ears. "I'll help you pack up and then --"

"No," you say sharply. "I can do it myself."

"Woah, woah, woah," he says. "Okay, alright!" He holds his hands up in the air and the fight wooshes out of you.

"I don't want to fight with you, Steve."

"Who said we were fighting? Do we have something to fight about?"

You close your eyes and tip your head back. It all comes out in a rush. "Steve, I love you and we spend so much time together and I keep trying to get you to talk about looking for a place and you just won't and you want to go on a trip but you won't actually plan it and you want to go to the fucking lake tomorrow and it's like you want to do anything except talk about this stuff and I don't really want to be around you right now."

You don't feel any better for having said all of it. In fact, your chest aches and your nose stings. You don't know if you can look at him.

"I didn't know you were that upset about it," he says finally. It sounds frosty.

"I didn't tell you."

"I can see that," he says. You still don't look at him.

The market is really closing up around you, fewer voices and commotion. You wonder if anyone heard this argument. "I can pack the rest. I'll see you tomorrow." You could have told him you don't want to go but maybe the lake is where you can squash this once and for all.

Steve seems to take the dismissal at face value because you hear him sigh. Part of you wants him to fight you on it right here right now, to sort it out so you can stop feeling so worried all the time. But he doesn't. Instead, you hear his steps and then feel the heat of him as he gently kisses you on the cheek.

"Okay," he says. "See you tomorrow."

And then he's gone.

"Fuck," you say to yourself. You shake yourself out of it and try to pack away the rest of the stall with as much speed as you can muster without breaking anything. The scar across your palm is faint by now but you aren't eager to get another one.

You're almost done bringing the crates to the truck when you hear your name. Will stands in front of your stall, a hesitant smile on his face. He's a sweet kid -- 18, soon, you think, so hardly a kid at all -- and you've gotten to know him a little more since you asked if he wanted to draw the labels for the chapsticks.

"Hi, Will," you say. "Sorry I didn't see you."

He's holding a single sunflower. "Sorry to bother you," he says. "This guy is the only one left today and El said you looked a little down earlier so I thought maybe you'd like it?"

You blink a few times. "Did you, uh, hear all of...that?" You vaguely gesture behind you as if the ghost of Steve is standing there with his arms crossed.

Will looks at you for a second, considering something. Then he holds the flower out and says, "Hear what?" Tactful kid.

"Thanks, Will." He tells you to have a good day and goes back to the flower stand. The sunflower stem is velvet-soft in your hand and the petals are a brilliant yellow. It's a bit lonely on it's own but you will put it in a wine bottle and keep it on your windowsill.

Imagining it there, the only stem, standing as tall as it can in the sunshine in your bedroom, makes you want to cry.

The thing you're most scared of is Steve wanting to leave Hawkins after all. You knew it was a genuine possibility when you started dating, knew that he wanted to explore the world just as you started to make yours here. You told him you'd go with him anywhere he wanted and you meant it then. But now you're not so sure. You love Hawkins and you love Steve. You don't know what you're going to do if one of them demands you leave the other.

Your mind churns as you go to bed and as soon as you wake up. Maybe he doesn't want to plan a trip because he's afraid he won't want to come back. Maybe he's afraid to move in together because he doesn't want to invest time and money into something he'll leave behind. Maybe he's already got plans and he's trying to figure out how to tell you.

"Stop it," you tell yourself in the bathroom mirror. You're prone to this kind of overthinking; it's why you made the huge mistake of running from him last fall. And while you know him so much better, know yourself so much better, sometimes it's hard to believe that you not only deserve nice things and a nice life full of love but that you already have them. And that's why you don't know if you can leave even if you told him you could.

You sit at the kitchen table in your swimsuit under shorts and a wax-stained New-Bee's t-shirt and feel a bit sick about yesterday. You know that Steve will come get you -- he would have called if he didn't want to go anymore. You don't leave each other in a lurch like that, even if you've fought. But you're worried that you've ruined the chance of a fun day that hasn't even happened yet.

The frustration with Steve still simmers under your skin. But you want to table it to have a bit of fun, if you can. You hear the crunch of his tires in the driveway and you grab your stuffed bag and head for the door. You're greeted with the sight of Steve getting out of the car and smiling at you a little hesitantly. He's in bright red swim trunks and a ratty Hawkins High t-shirt and sunglasses.

"What is this, Baywatch?" you ask him, breaking the tension. He laughs and meets you on the porch stairs to give you a quick kiss. You chase his lips a little but he doesn't call you on it.

"Well, I was a lifeguard," he says.

"Which I bet you did just so you could look hot in the chair."

"Obviously," Steve says. He takes your bag from you. "Actually, I taught kids to swim, too. Jesus, what's in here, a watermelon?"

You roll your eyes. "Just the essentials. Sunscreen, a book, some sandwiches, grapes, a water bottle, spare clothes, a towel, a hat --"

"Okay, okay, damn," he laughs, putting it in the back seat. You get in the car and he heads for the lake, windows down. He was right about the weather -- it's much hotter than yesterday already. It could be a nice day. You want it to be a nice day. But the churning your gut demands you address the elephant in the room.

When Steve reaches for the radio you catch his hand in yours.

"Steve," you say. "I do want to talk about yesterday." He doesn't look at you, chewing on his cheek and tapping the wheel in what you know is a nervous habit.

"Yeah," he says. "We probably should. But I also want today to be nice, okay?" He kisses the back of your hand.

"I do, too."

It's not much but it's enough for now. It doesn't take long to get to the lake. Steve takes you to a different part than where you had the bonfire and where you told him you love him. This area has a dock and some grass and a shore of sand and rocks that you can see from where he parks the car.

"There's no one here," you say, unloading the backseat. "Are we even allowed to swim?"

Steve grabs the blanket from his trunk and you spread it out on the grass. "Yeah," he says. "Five years ago or something they finished a project with some scientists or some shit to make sure the lake was good for swimming. They built this but honestly I don't think a ton of people come here." He shrugs. "Or they knew we were coming and left it to us."

"Lucky us," you smirk. You spread out your items on the grass before shimmying out of your shorts and t-shirt. Steve wolf whistles. "Gross!" you tell him.

"Sorry," he says, not looking sorry at all. "That's a nice color on you. Have I seen this before?" His eyes rake over you and you plant your hands on your hips instead of crossing your arms.

"Have we been swimming before?" you ask him.

He grins. "Good point." He pulls off his shirt in one motion from the collar like boys do and without another word sprints down the small hill and onto the dock, jumping off the end and into the water with a yelp and a splash.

"Such a child," you mutter, but you're endeared. He surfaces and shakes out his head like a dog.

"Okay," he says. "It's kind of really fucking cold."

You stop in your tracks, feet just on the edge of the dock. "Really?"

"No," he says. "It's only a little cold. Nice, though." You look skeptical.

"Did you put on sunscreen?" you ask, stalling.

"Yeah." Steve swims in slow circle. "Did you? I'll do your back," he says with an eyebrow wiggle.

"I did it already," you say primly. You knew that if you ended up touching too much on this date, you'd never get to talk about the stuff you need to talk about. "So no back rub necessary." Steve shoots a stream of water at you with his mouth. It gets your knees.

"It is cold!" you squeal. Steve looks too pleased with himself. "It's on, Harrington." You take a few running steps and cannonball into the water.

Honestly, once you've been under for a few seconds it's not so bad. You surface and find Steve grinning at you. "That was cute," he says. You splash him.

After acting like children for a little you both float on your backs, hands clasped, watching the sky. Your conversation and teasing fades and in its place returns your anxiety and frustration from yesterday.

Steve seems to think you're hungry. "Let's eat something," he says. "And put on some more sunscreen."

He gets up on the dock first and runs to get your towels. He wraps yours around your dripping shoulders and you stand in his arms for a second, hand pressed to his heart to feel it beat. You love him. You will work this out. You wonder if it's possible for something to go wrong not because you don't love each other enough but because you love each other too much.

"I made you a great sandwich," you say, pulling away. "And you need more sunscreen, too. Your nose is getting red."

"Wait, really?"

You settle on the blanket and lay out your lunch. Steve pulls berries from his own bag and you eat in a silence that is only a little tense until he tosses a strawberry top into the grass and sighs.

"So, I'm guessing now is the time to talk about it?" he asks.

"Do you not want to?" You don't want this to be a fight but you don't know what else it's going to be.

"No, of course I do," he says. "We need to, clearly." He crosses his legs, his tanned stomach rolling in the way you adore over the waistband of his swim trunks. God, you love him. That's why you have to figure this out.

"We do," you say, squaring your shoulders. "I'll start." The frustration returns full force. "What the hell have you been up to, Steve? You're busy all the time and I don't need to know what you're doing because I do trust you. I just don't get why you can't tell me what you're doing on these weird errands and you won't talk to me about going on a trip or moving and I thought those were both things we wanted."

"I do want those things --"

"I've been looking into what we can afford in Hawkins and thinking about places we could go and I'm busy busting my ass at the library when I'm not at New-bee's so that we can live somewhere nice. And it just seems like you don't actually care that much about moving in together because --"

"I do, care," he says over you. "I just don't want to live in Hawkins."

Time slows down. Your heart thunders in your ears. "What did you say?"

Steve looks stressed. He reaches for you but you don't want to touch him so you cross your arms. A look of hurt crosses his face but it fades quickly.

"Let me explain," he says. "I can explain it all. If I had known you were feeling this way I would have much earlier. Why didn't you tell me?"

You shake your head to clear it. He doesn't want to live in Hawkins? Well, what does he want? Does he want you, still? "Because I didn't think you'd make me feel this way," you say hoarsely.

He takes a deep breath. "I wanted to go on a trip this summer, yeah. I thought it would be fun. And then, like, two months ago, I started thinking about how I didn't actually want to leave Hawkins, but I also don't want to keep living the same life in Hawkins, if that makes sense."

Two months? Two months? The timeline rolls around in your mind. He's been thinking about this for two months and he didn't tell you?

Steve is still talking, apparantly not noticing your distress. "And we talked about looking for a place so I realized that maybe a trip wasn't a good use of our money even though I know we both work hard and are doing fine. And then I was on a drive the weekend you went to visit your family, remember?"

You nod. You'd gone home for a weekend and missed him terribly the entire time. Steve taps your ankle and you realize he wants you to reply. His eyes are wide like he's scared and he runs a hand through his hair. What is he scared of? "Yeah," you say hollowly. "I called you every night."

"You did," he says. "The first night you left I went for a drive all around the county, basically. Just to get out of town but not go too far. To do anything other than mope at my place after we hung up. And that's when I found it."

You aren't following. He leans forward and taps your cheek with his knuckle. "The most perfect damn place in the world."

"Don't tell me you bought a piece of land, Steve," you say. It doesn't seem like a thing he'd do and wouldn't make sense if he's just going to leave.

Your boyfriend just smiles at you. "No," he says. "I didn't buy it. Well, not really."

"Not really?" you say, incredulous. What the fuck is going on?

"I'm almost done explaining, I swear, honey." He runs a hand through his damp hair again. "It's maybe half an hour out of Hawkins proper. It's a real nice little farmhouse with lots of open space around it and I saw it and it felt like I'd been struck by lightning, or something."

The pieces start to fall into place but you don't dare hope. "Dramatic," you say.

"Hey, don't make fun of me!" Your joke seems to encourage him. "It looked like no one lived there so I figured out what the address was and turns out that weird guy Murray owns it."

Murray? Who you say yesterday at the farmer's market and who listened to you tell him about your dream property? That he, apparently, happens to own?

"He's not that weird," you mumble.

"He is weird but I don't give a shit because he doesn't use it and after talked to me he agreed to rent it to us for barely anything if I fixed it up a little first. So that's what I've been doing."

Steve looks at you, eyes wide and waiting. You blink a few times and try to take it all in.

"So let me get this right," you say. "When you haven't been working at Sara's or spending time with me, you've been fixing up a house that you're going to rent from Murray? And you told me none of this? For two months?"

Steve frowns. "When you say it like that I sound like the bad guy. Also, we're going to rent it." He seems to realize you haven't agreed to anything by the way his face falls and okay, maybe you're being a little unfair. Yes, he lied, a little bit, but it wasn't anything harmful. You just got in your head about it.

"I just don't get why you didn't tell me," you say, feeling small. "I was starting to think that you didn't..."

"Didn't what?" Steve reaches for you and you let him take your hands this time.

"Didn't actually want to live together. Didn't want to go on a trip. I don't know." You sigh.

Steve looks genuinely upset at that you've thought this. "Honey," he says, voice rough. "All I want is to live with you. This house is for us. Now that I'm saying it out loud I'm realizing I probably should have told you that at the start."

A whole house. You've imagined your first place together to be a dinky apartment on the edge of town. But a house? It's a dream come true. You bring Steve's palm to your cheek and lean into it.

"I thought we were good at communicating," you say softly.

"Apparantly not," he says wryly. "I'm sorry for not telling you. I just...wanted to make it nice and official first, I guess." His thumb strokes your cheek. "But you should have told me how you were feeling a long time ago."

"Yeah," you agree. "I'm sorry. Would have saved me some heartache and you some hard work. I could have helped!"

"You still can," he says, eyes lighting up. "It's not quite done. I still need to paint the outside."

You scoot forward so you're almost in his lap. "Where did you learn to fix up a house, Steve?"

"Hopper," he says. He fiddles with the strap of your bathing suit. "He's been helping. So I really was doing Hopper stuff, kind of?" He licks his lips. Another nervous tell. "So, what do you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"About the house. I know it's a lot and we're still kind of young but renting means we can change our minds and --"

You put your head in your hands. "Steve," you say, voice thick. "I'm still getting over the fact that I thought you didn't want to move win with me and finding out that instead you've found us a house."

His hands circle your wrists. "Only to rent!" he says a little desperately. "I mean, you might not even like it!" You allow him to pull your palms away. Your nose starts to sting.

"I will," you say.

"Oh no," Steve says. "You look like you're going to cry." He pulls you fully into his arms and flops onto his back on the blanket, taking you with him. You land on his chest with an oof.

"I've been really scared," you say into his bare chest. "That you were going to leave and I don't know if I can follow you because I love it here even though I love you, too."

"I know," he says. "But I think this is perfect. It's close but not the place we've been. It's ours until we want something different. And I don't think I want to leave because I want to be wherever you are."

"It's so grown up." You sniffle and he rubs your back.

"I know," he sighs. You can feel his heartbeat under your cheek. "What the fuck."

"What the fuck," you echo and laugh wetly. "Is the yard big enough for a dog?"

"Sure is," he says. "Do you want to drive by when we head home?"

"I do." He hums.

You sit in silence for a few breaths. "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, but please tell me things next time, okay?" He looks down at you through long lashes.

"Deal," he says. "I love you back, but please tell me how you're feeling, okay?"

"Deal." You roll off of him and sit up. "Can we go see our house now?"

He grins toothily. "Hell yes we can," he says. "Well, it's not ours yet. Seriously, we have to work that out with Murray. I think we need a lawyer to draw something up? I don't really know how all that works --"

You kiss him in the middle of his sentence. "We'll figure it out."

"You're right," he says. He kisses you again. "We will."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

#no good at waiting #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington au

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 2 months

Note

Hi Frosty!!!! I just saw you had requests open! Is this true?

If so.... could I please have a brief....Hunter reaction to an accidental seeing reader in a wedding dress? I'm a sucker for this and will reread this trope over and over redone.

Thank you ❤️ and it's ok if not, just discard this then! Love your writing!

Alignment Events [Hunter x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: You and the tattooed sergeant of Clone Force 99 have caught unexpected feelings for one another towards the end of the Clone Wars following a chance meeting in the middle of a friend’s special night. Following the end of the war, your friend has chosen to get married to her soldier sweetheart on her adoptive home world of Naboo. You and Hunter are attending as part of the happy couple’s wedding party right around the time your feelings have gotten a little more serious for each other. While being involved in the preparation means there could be a fair amount of rumination on the future of your relationship, what you don’t expect is how much a fun bit of playful dress-up could end up changing your life. Second Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader. Republic Victory AU (so no Order 66). Limited Mando’a (pet names and familial terms). Minimal Star Wars and real-world swearing. Reference/allusion to alcoholic beverages. Iler Ci is an OC who serves as Reader’s friend for the story. Narrative and stylistic use of italics.

Word count: 4,926

Call it what you like - the Force, an alignment of the planets and stars, maybe fate - the galaxy had a funny way of bringing people together.

Meeting someone special in the middle of the Clone Wars had been an unexpected but pleasant happenstance. It hadn’t been in your immediate plans to make any changes to your dating status, but the first time you crossed paths with Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99 amidst what would later become a celebratory night out with some friends, there was something about him you simply couldn’t resist.

A busier night than most, clumsy encounters and a spilt strong drink were to be expected. Trying to cross from one end of the cantina to the other, one did a fair bit of running into happy couples and hopeful romantics.

Hunter had been neither.

There had always been the fleeting flirts and flings, but never anything serious and steady for either of you. There were no qualms about dating statuses, feelings of loneliness or even the emeralds of envy while in the company of partnered people.

Not until the night you met.

It would be a chance meeting. You and several friends were meant to be working, but the soldier sweetheart to a mutual friend had reached out and asked for help planning a special surprise earlier that morning. It would mean losing shifts and owing favors due to the last-minute nature, but hearing what he had in mind, you and your friends were willing to do anything.

Lane was a pilot in the Grand Army of the Republic, and had been in a long-distance yet serious relationship for some time now with your friend, Cici. They met while Lane had been on an assignment near Naboo almost a year ago. Emboldened by some of his brothers, he’d tried asking her out after a helping or two of liquid courage, but it must have been stronger than he anticipated. Lane maintains that while he recalls her politely declining the first request, he has no memory of her agreeing to get some food instead, or how she had apparently “helped” him back to the barracks.

In the morning, he would find a note, and only then in his sobered state would he realize the Pantoran woman he had been trying to charm all night was none other than Iler Ci. For all her humility and generosity, many would not suspect that she was the heiress to a well-known family of artists on Naboo, by whom she was adopted and raised after her birth on Pantora.

Thanks for a nice dinner and lovely company, Lane. Perhaps, if you ever remember where to find it while you’re still here, we can go to that Pantoran place you recommended? :) - Iler “Cici” Ci (PS: Don’t forget to take something for the headache.)

Though he would be reassigned before they could have a more proper date, Cici and Lane have been smitten with each other since.

It would be in front of a full house at 79’s that you and your friends helped Lane propose to his sweetheart, mere months before the end of the Clone Wars. It had never been so loud within the bar as the moment the pilot dropped down on one knee in front of his brothers and other patrons to present Cici with a ring someone had fashioned for him that very morning.

Soldiers in deployments of every color cheered for their brother when she agreed to marry him, and had drawn in from every corner to congratulate them. Marriages among Clones were less of an officially recognized thing, at the time, but Lane had been too eager, too deeply in love to care. The same could be said for Cici; it would not matter that it would only be another few months before the war was inexplicably over.

Among the last to offer congratulations were five men, each of them clad in grayscale, non-standard armor accented in red.

Standing ahead of the rest, a man somewhat shorter than Lane approached and put his hand forward. “Good to see you again, Lane. I came to offer our congratulations on behalf of the Bad Batch.” His handshake seemed quite firm. The four men behind him offered their respective greetings after that - two waved (one half-heartedly) while another merely nodded, and the fourth offered the only other handshake, even firmer than the first’s.

In spite of having most of the feeling squeezed out of his hand mere moments ago, Lane was almost excited, arguably starstruck, by who had come to offer their congratulations to him and Cici. He would make eager introductions to everyone.

“This is Sergeant Hunter, Tech, Echo, Wrecker and Crosshair of Clone Force 99. They’re the ones who helped us pull off that crazy rescue mission two months ago!”

Quite honestly you missed most of the short conversation between Lane and the sergeant as the other four went down the line and got everyone’s name; exchanging nice to meet you!-s with varying degrees of enthusiasm and politeness, shaking hands as they went. At the other end of the line, you were the last to personally greet each member of the squadron.

Introductions had been going smoothly until it came time to shake Hunter’s hand. Feeling somewhat caught under umber brown eyes, you inexplicably tripped while taking that half-step forward to better shake his hand. To your great fortune, Hunter’s reflexes were sharp; though it proved to be a slightly embarrassing method—strong arms laced across your back that brought the two of you chest-to-chest—you were caught before you would have been seriously hurt.

You could only offer a stammering apology, your composure rather rattled as you all but gawked up into the skull-tattooed face of the sergeant. There was a gentleness to the way he eased you off his chest only once he’s certain you’re unharmed, a softness in the way his aquiline nose bunched as the corners of his mouth turned up in a warm smile.

In a voice smokier than the alleyway behind 79’s, he made a small joke in hopes of lightening the mood. “So long as you’re alright, there’s no need to be sorry about falling for me, mesh’la. I’m rather flattered.” It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, but the level of confidence and self-assurance he has came as a surprise at the time.

Flirting came with the territory at 79’s; passing advances were to be expected now and again from the GAR’s soldiers by Coruscant’s diverse nightlife. But you found yourself especially charmed by the sergeant.

It would only be the beginning.

Though he may have been the one to make the joke about you falling for him, the truth was Hunter found himself equally smitten with you. He couldn’t get you out of his head. Comm numbers had been exchanged, but a bulk of the communication was done through Lane for the first few weeks following that special night at 79’s.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that Hunter was trying to keep you closer than just the periphery of his life; it isn’t every day that Lane finds himself telling you that he’s pretty sure Hunter went out of his way to get a bottle of your absolute favorite body fragrance from a crowded Outer Rim market because he recognized it by smell alone (and heard a rumor it would be discontinued on Coruscant soon).

“He must really like you.”

A month out from the end of the war, there is plenty of accumulated evidence that things are looking a little more serious between the two of you. The near-daily electronic exchanges are a good start. But it’s more than that, of course. Your respective companions have been privy to plenty of instances where you’ve thought about the other, and not to mention the interactions outside of the healthy helping of mutual flirting.

Like the night you had asked Hunter what his favorite mission so far was, his brothers sent you multiple pictures of him—all from different angles, all varying in quality—around their tiny attack shuttle, working on his response for at least an hour or more. Bathed in the blue glow of his datapad, smiling softly to himself.

Or the time you were enjoying a night in with some friends when Hunter would make a near desperate request for holofilm recommendations. They had strict orders to wait out bad weather before returning to command, so they were looking for something Tech could “borrow” in the meantime. There had been much hemming and hawing about certain types of media in the recommendation list you were compiling for him, but your friends gave you encouragement to include them.

“Promise you won’t laugh if half of it’s for kids?”

“Promise. My vode, too.”

Hunter may not have understood what it was about those movies that appealed to you right away, but he kept his promise, and filed the list away for another time, putting it to use later.

A month out from the end of the war, he asks to meet you at 79’s the very same night he and his brothers are due to be planetside. They have some important, short-term business they have to take care of; it’ll take a day at most. It could be his only chance to see you in person after all these weeks of long-distance communications. To great delight, you have agreed to meet him once you get off work, so long as he doesn’t mind that you’re in your work uniform.

You could have worn a full sleep set for all he cared, he would be just as glad to see you.

You’ve beaten him to the bar by a matter of fifteen minutes, finding yourself lucky with skylane traffic for a change. Taking advantage of your extra time, you first make use of the ladies’ refresher, cleaning up your hair and any makeup applied that morning before settling in to wait for him. Securing a two-person table, you wait out any remaining time by glancing over a few personal messages. It won’t be long before Hunter meets up with you.

Pay stub. Spam. Spam. Coupons. Work reminders. Delivery notice. Ooh, good coupons! More spam. Cici and Lane’s wedding plans.

Intrigued, you open the mass message and begin to skim. The happy couple is thinking of tying the knot somewhere large enough to include everyone, having had some concerns that a marriage office here on Coruscant would prove too claustrophobic. Instead, to make sure no one is left out, they’ll be using property within Cici’s family - a charming lakefront villa on Naboo.

You don’t get any farther than that before Hunter turns up, brothers in tow.

Uh oh. Should you have gotten a bigger table?

Before anything can be done, Hunter takes the opposite seat at the table, followed by Wrecker and Tech. They each say hello before the latter carefully begins tipping a few small packages and envelopes out of the former’s pack onto the table. Two small, neatly wrapped packages and a handful of envelopes aren’t a lot of items, but it’s certainly more than you expected. Once everything is laid out on the table beside your bag, Wrecker offers encouragement over his shoulder as the two of them quickly take their leave.

“Have fun, Hunter! You’ll do fine!”

The sergeant must be nervous. Tugging the crimson cloth keeping the curtain of brown curls off his neck and out of his face, Hunter clears his throat before doing his best to flash you a smile, carefully setting a third package on the tabletop.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me here on short notice, cyar’ika.” More tugging, this time at the neckline of the bodysuit under his armor (which appears to be glistening) catches your eye. You gloss over the Mando’a for sweetheart and darling for the moment realizing he must have quickly wiped down his full kit before meeting you here.

He not only called you sweetheart, but he cleaned up for you? Aww.

You chuckle softly. “Of course! I see I’m not the only one who brought something either.” You pull your bag closer, wishing for the moment you had time to wrap any of it. It won’t matter. Hunter appears surprised to hear you have something for him, and offers you the chance to go first, if you’d like. You accept, reaching into your bag to pull ten identical items out. Two are offered to Hunter. “These are for you. I have more for your brothers.” Special micro-weave cleaning cloths from an electronics store are all you have to offer currently, your less practical gifts are either sitting in your apartment or still out for delivery.

Hunter’s nervous energy dissipates as he smiles, dumbfounded. “Guessing you got these for us because we ran out? That was… rather kind of you. Really.” Rubbing the back of his neck in thought, he debates which of the items on the table you should open first. Should he give you the largest package, the one carefully balanced on his knees under the table? Should you start with something small, and leave the best for last? (He should have asked Tech what the best way to do this kind of thing was while they were still at the Marauder. But then again, Tech was busy wrapping everything in old schematic papers.)

Maybe it didn’t matter. Come to a decision, Hunter nudges the pile of envelopes closer to you. “Start with these,” he says. “My brothers got these for you.” Hunter knows he’s made the right call when your immediate response is a surprised “Really?” paired with a smile brighter than the twin suns of Tatooine.

You carefully open one of the flat sleeves to find several stickers and a note inside. The short note is from Tech, explaining he’s taken some inspiration from “nat-born” trends seen on the holonet and everyone has found a handful of stickers you could use to decorate computer terminals or water canisters.

The conclusion and postscript make you smile before you set the note aside and look over the modest assortment of stickers he’s given you.

They are waterproof and weather resistant, so they should last quite a long time. We hope you’ll enjoy them as much as we’ve enjoyed the process of you and Hunter getting to know one another. Postscript: I hope the butterflies will suffice since I was not certain if you have a favorite insect.

You see evidence of how much Hunter has shared about you in the types of stickers each of his brothers have collected for you. Tech’s butterflies are mostly in your favorite colors. Echo’s given you stickers relating to places you’ve been, and planets you have an interest in seeing one day. Wrecker’s envelope is the heaviest out of the bunch; his collection showcases popular characters from your favorite novels and shows, and a few stickers of your favorite snacks have been added for good measure. (The sticker that says “Make today a BLAST!” with a rough depiction of a thermal detonator is probably your favorite from him.) And finally from Crosshair, you were given a few generic yet nice designs of animals you’d discussed early on with Hunter.

The entire spread is swept into their respective envelopes once everything has been looked at, at which point you make sure to thank Hunter at the very least. You trust him to pass along the sentiment for you in case you don’t get a chance to speak to the rest of Clone Force 99 tonight.

It was sweet of them to get you anything at all. You certainly didn’t expect it. When you agreed to meet with the sergeant you had really only expected one little token from their travels at the most, only possibly wrapped; nevermind three from Hunter alone and all of them wrapped.

One thing was clear: Hunter really likes you.

Between chilled drinks and appetizers, more alignment events occur as the two of you have an enjoyable night using the limited time available. Quite honestly, most of what you talk about goes by in a blur between each package you open. From one such parcel, the face of a favorite character from one of the holofilms previously recommended to him peers up at you in soft, fabric form. You recognize this rendition as one you already own, but you see that it’s been customized.

Added in thread, little details that are not typically included in merchandise have been sewn in with such care to make the character more screen-accurate.

“Wow… This must’ve taken a long time.”

Hunter’s chuckle is warm. “For me, yes. Fortunately it’s just an afternoon or two for Crosshair.”

“He did a really good job. I have one just like it at home, but I like this one a lot more.”

There’s some congratulatory commotion from the booth where his brothers are sitting nearby, among which you hear an excited “did you hear that?!” from Wrecker. Hunter waits until they’ve mostly settled back down before encouraging you to open the second of the three packages, watching as you carefully tear back the wrapping. What you find inside thoughtfully ties into one of your hobbies, made from recently-carved wood. It’s a material not-often come by in the jewel of the Core Worlds, so the rich, earthy smell catches you off-guard, adding to your amazement.

“I made this one myself.” He seems quite proud. And he should be.

Made with his own vibroknife, Hunter has given this gift a lot of care and attention. Wide, curious eyes trace the patterns of swirling grain as you repeatedly turn it over in your hands to admire from every angle. Everything had been sanded smooth, eliminating any stiff edges left by the process of whittling and carving.

You smile appreciatively before finding something to say. “I hope you didn’t get many splinters for all the trouble this must’ve been…”

Shoulders bounce in easy-going fashion.

“A few. Nothing too bad.”

That’s relieving to hear. “I’d feel bad if you went through all this trouble for me and ended up hurt.”

“And if I thought you were worth the trouble?”

Hunter’s question has left you stunned, dropping a delicate hush over the table. Hearing you’re worth the trouble - the possibility of pain - is a sincere sentiment you have not heard outside your social circle in quite some time, perhaps even longer than you realize. Feeling now is the right time, Hunter surrenders the last of the packages to you, the one he has been carefully guarding throughout the night. “I hope this is enough of an answer.” he says by way of answering your unspoken doubts.

An answer that carries you through the months to come. It’s a soothing balm to the long distances apart before the war finds an end, and fuel for the even longer nights after. Every time doubt had crept in and questioned the validity of what you have with the sergeant clad in smoke-gray armor, you returned to the note taped to the bottle of perfume to reassure and reaffirm.

In a promise more precious than pearl or priorite, your relationship will only ever move as fast as you’re comfortable with when Hunter asks to make things official.

No amount of playful pushing will change his resolve when friends, family and brothers find themselves gathered on Naboo in preparation for Lane and Cici’s wedding some months later.

There’s a fair bit of work to be done to get the lakeside villa gussied up for the big day, but with everyone pitching it, it’ll be over before you know it. There’ll be plenty of time for pre-wedding activities before it comes time to tie the knot. After a week of steady progress, there’s only one room left at this point.

One of the largest rooms on the property, Cici’s art studio overlooks a large, glimmering lake, so it should make for the perfect place to serve as the wedding hall once everything has been cleared out. It’s probably double, maybe triple, the size of an average apartment on the surface level of Coruscant, crammed with all manner of art supplies. Ignoring the fine layer of dust and disorganization, it feels akin to standing in an art store once Cici has unlocked the studio door and let everyone inside.

“I guess my parents never used my studio while I was away. That means there’s more in there than I thought… But! Between all of us, this shouldn’t take too long. A day at most, I’m sure!”

Wrecker matches her enthusiasm. “That’s the spirit, Ms. Ci!”

The workload is divided among the fifteen or so people who made it to Naboo ahead of time as equally as possible. You and some of Cici’s other friends from work would find yourself spectating the clean-out if you let the men of the GAR get away with it. They’re certainly efficient, and have made a real art of talking and tidying up at the same time, too. Any messing around is kept to a minimum, but the conversations are plenty playful as teams take boxes and crates full of studio items to temporary storage.

Wrecker and Echo are joking with one of your coworkers as canvases (some as tall (or taller) than the demolition expert) get shuffled into the hallway. One of Lane’s fellow pilots has volunteered to help Tech pack the various paint tubes by general color. And though you could easily move things off of the high shelves on your own, with Hunter holding the rolling ladder steady, Crosshair will not take no for an answer and insists upon helping you dust everything down.

“It will be safer to pass them down to me.” The fourth word escapes in a soft hiss, toothpick rolling with building irritation. “I don’t like the look of the fourth rung.”

It was a little wobbly when you’d climbed up the ladder, hoping to spare Hunter’s heightened senses from the dust… “Mind dusting them down for me, then?” Cross takes a decorative box set from you without a word, offering only a nod.

“Thank you, Crosshair.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As a team of three, you make steady progress. Hunter braces the ladder while Crosshair takes care of the larger items, leaving you to take care of the shelves and any smaller items. You would prefer to focus on getting this done as quickly as possible, so you leave the talking to the brothers. Brushing down a decorative bust, the marksman tries getting under the sergeant’s skin with a sarcastic smirk. “Taking notes for later, vod?” A sweeping gesture to bring attention to all the wedding prep is pointedly ignored as Hunter pretends not to hear the teasing question.

“You missed a spot, Cross.”

Maker, he loves you, make no mistake. Hunter is content for the time being to take all the time the galaxy gives him with you, for the time being.

But it’s too early to be thinking about marriage for him, he tells himself.

Maybe one day.

When the last of the crates full of various odds and ends have been moved into storage, and any paint splatters have been scrubbed from the floor, all that remains for the happy couple and their wedding party is waiting for the big day. Time is idled away with plenty of sightseeing and general merrymaking, everyone forging new memories together in the welcome wake of a three-year war.

Perhaps the most exciting of these pre-wedding events was Cici’s final dress-fitting, for which Cici’s mother invites you and the rest of Cici’s mutual friends into the studio late one evening, when the sky has turned dusky and dark. Large changing screens have been brought in for the fitting, and curtains have been drawn over most of the curtains that overlook the lake.

As Cici and her mother duck behind one of the opaque dividers, most everyone’s attention is given to something off in the distance, likely a first time for many. The elaborate structure, another Nabooian villa, glows brilliantly on an island’s lakeshore in the twilight.

“We were hoping everyone would get to see it lit up. That’s Varykino Villa. Isn’t it beautiful?” Cici swoons over the sound of rustling and shifting fabric. “Before a family friend gave my parents this place, he told us he spotted a private wedding on Varykino Island while looking across the water one day. That was, what, almost three years ago, mom?”

Mrs. Ci hums in confirmation. “Before he completely lost his eyesight. It was already starting to go, then, but he was pretty confident the man and the woman were alone, aside from the officiant. A golden protocol droid and a blue astromech were all they had for witnesses.” The last of the zippers are fastened as some speculate on the unusual choice in witnesses, and Cici steps out from behind the divider to a wave of fawning awe.

Wreathed in a flowing dress, Cici looks like a princess with her long hair pulled loosely over one shoulder. The cool-white fabric compliments the blue skin of her Pantoran heritage well. If she looks this good now, you can’t wait to see what she looks like once she’s gone through the hair and make-up process. She’d look like a proper queen.

Smiling, she wrings her hands somewhat nervously. “Do you think Lane will like it?”

It takes no time at all to reach a general consensus: how could he not?

“Lane will love it when he sees you’ve recreated his armor pattern.” you tell her, gesturing to the beaded embellishments in the bodice. Paint patterns were just as personal as their names. Their colors were just as important too, if the way Hunter reacted to you wearing any combination of red and gray was any indication.

He would tell you you looked good in just about anything, regardless of what you wore, but wearing anything in his colors was guaranteed to make your day extra special.

Now that the final fitting has taken place, you expect to enjoy the refreshments and socialize for the rest of the night, but the fun is only beginning.

Cici does more than just redressing in her previous clothing when she ducks behind the changing divider. With help from her mother, she wheels a large clothing rack covered by a large drop-cloth from behind the privacy screen.

Curious murmurs ripple through your friend group. Is this what you think it is?

“Are you ladies ready for a little fun?”

The cover is removed with a flourish, revealing the rack packed full with all manner of fancy dresses and gowns in various sizes and styles. “There’s more behind the screen, too.” Cici promises, inviting you and everyone to look through all the fancy garments. A majority of them are wedding dresses, but intermixed you find ball gowns and cocktail attire in all manner of material. Chiffon, lace, satin, silk, tulle, velvet. The choices are near overwhelming.

“Who’d like to go first?”

Down the hall from the primary studio, Hunter excuses himself from the bachelor party, a scribbled list of additional beverages he volunteered to get from cold storage in one hand with a promise he won’t take forever. From here, he can hear plenty of excited teasing and tittering from the studio. Sounded like the ladies were having a fun time, too. Good.

Hunter starts down the hall, thinking he can slip past the partially open door unnoticed, but finds himself slowing when he hears your friends saying your name.

“Need help, honey?”

“Um, I think I got it!” you call back.

Curiosity and temptation has gotten the better of him; from the door left ajar, Hunter peers into the studio. Just for a moment, he tells himself. Friends of yours are cloistered in a semicircle, trading giggles and whispers as their excitement builds. There’s several racks worth of expensive-looking dresses, and a changing screen in the corner.

Mock fashion show?

While Hunter has seen you wearing plenty of pretty and flattering things for everyday, casual events and special post-war celebrations, nothing would prepare him for the moment you step out from behind the privacy screen, clothed in a large, predominantly white dress.

From the uncomplicated neckline and upper bodice of the a-line dress, the waist’s lacy accents hug you in all the right places before the skirt material fans out and creates a wide pool of silk at your feet, colors gradually building into a golden train with silken accents all the while. This doesn’t look like any sort of fancy party dress, as he initially assumed, but rather something bridal.

You’re modeling in a wedding dress.

Hunter listens to the women peppering you with compliments, all while his heart flutters madly in his chest at the sight of you. Maker, you look beautiful. Radiant.

You look like you could be the rest of his life.

Hunter can’t explain it right now. He can’t tell what’s aligned, what’s fallen into place to make him so certain right now, but the feeling is unmistakable while he watches you show off the bridal gown to your friends. Spurred on by cheers and applause, you twirl and toss the fabric with bright laughter. You’re having so much fun. You have no idea he’s even there, practically entranced by you, envisioning your future, together.

One day, when the time is right, Hunter will make you a part of the rest of his life.

Thank you so, so much for your patience, Dragon; I hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for sending in such a cute request! 🩷

Fic taglist: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit

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soobnny · 1 year

Text

the things we define as love — kim seungmin.

trope. strangers to lovers. college au. just fluff and a rly shy side of seungmin.

synopsis. a study of love through the lens of a tired photography student who has long given up on romance

word count. 2.4k words

warnings. none

note. i thought of this idea during one of my art classes n the stars aligned cuz when i opened pinterest .. low and behold a photo of seungmin with a camera. that’s what birthed this fic basically

What are the things most thought of when asked about love?

Is it the colors you use to paint its beauty in your head? Is it the taste of old chapstick you don’t quite remember the brand of anymore? Is it the reminder of something more painful that left you in resentment?

There are many things Kim Seungmin associates with love – oranges and strawberries freshly picked from the market, the way autumn leaves fall after having held on its tree for so long, the sunrise that greets him when he wakes up, lingering just long enough for him to finish his morning routine, and the way sand falls beneath his feet when he visits the beach.

There are other things too, like photography and its ability to capture moments that otherwise would’ve been gone forever, and like the old couple in front of him.

Seungmin feels a spark in his fingertips, aching to snap a photo of the purest, unadulterated definition of love right before his eyes. He thinks it would be a lovely addition to the project he’s working on for his major subject in photography.

Clearing his throat, he approaches the couple sitting peacefully together by the bench.

They smile up at him, and Seungmin scrunches his face at the thought that he had disturbed their time together.

“Hi. I wanted to… ask permission to take a photo of you two? It’s for a project in my class, we’re supposed to take photographs of the things we define as love, so I was… yeah, I was hoping, if that was alright?”

Seungmin brings a hand at the back of his neck, scratching shyly at his request to which the old woman just smiles fondly at.

“Of course! Honey, did you hear that? This lovely young boy says he wants to take a photo of us.”

She turns to her husband, and Seungmin bites back the urge to take a photo right now – of their excitement, of their sparkling eyes, and of the way they try to fix up the wrinkles of their shirts. The old woman sets her purse down, posture straightening as she loops an arm around her partner. He has a matching grin on his face, actions slightly delayed as they move to angle themselves better.

“Is this alright?” A smile paints their lips and Seungmin nods, sending a thumbs up before grabbing the camera hanging from his neck.

The click of the camera sounds, and Seungmin sneaks in a few shots of them eagerly waiting at a view of the photo.

When he steps forward, they’re already making space for him in between them, and he takes the seat politely. With his camera out to show the picture, he can’t help the way his heart squeezes at their sweet mumbling and the way they thank him for such a lovely photograph.

“This is for your project?” Seungmin nods abashedly at the question, growing even more shy when they ask to see the photos he had taken so far.

While Seungmin has been fairly confident in his skills, he’s suffered through quite a bit of burnout recently. He’s not quite sure he’s escaped it yet which is why he had urged himself to come out today, willed himself to work on his project. He bites down at his lower lip while skimming through the photos on his camera.

There are some of his friend’s pets, the tranquility of the ocean, the stars littering the night sky accompanied by the moon. They shower him in compliments at the sheer beauty of how the images are captured.

“No partner?” A blush sports the boy’s cheeks with the question asked, shaking his head and staring down at the camera in his hands.

In all honesty, Seungmin has long given up on the idea of romantic love for himself. He had the urge of wanting to fall in love years ago – back when he had so much love to give. This had stemmed from the stories and movies where he had caught a glimpse of the love he wished that he had. However, longing and patience can only go so far together, and with years of no one by his side, he’s bound to lose a little bit of hope.

So, he busied himself in his studies.

He finds comfort in believing that someday he’ll know of love that way, but he had long given up on it at present.

As if having read his mind, the old lady places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it too much. You’ll know when you meet them. It will sound like… a train whistle.”

Seungmin is a little lost, a puzzled smile on his lips as he nods his head to urge her to continue.

“There’s this old story by Haruki Murakami of a train whistle in the night. Imagine waking up completely alone in the darkness, and you can’t hear anything, and you don’t know the time. It’s like… like having sunk at the very bottom of the ocean. Have you felt this way before?”

While the old lady speaks in riddles, this is a feeling Seungmin is far too familiar with. He knows all too well the claws of loneliness and the heavy weight of aching hearts and drowning lungs. It has forced its fingers down his throat far too many times, making him believe that if he disappeared right now, no one would even notice.

“But you hear the sound of a train whistle, even if it’s far away in the distance. The clock starts ticking again, and you fall back on the ground. It brings you back to reality, makes you feel heard.”

Seungmin’s fingers pause from fiddling with the shutter, turning to look at the lady. There’s something in her expression… of understanding that he’s never quite fallen into contact with before. Like she’s so sure of it.

He looks back down at his camera, but he makes no move to take another photo.

“It’ll come.” With that, she stands from her seat, flattening down her dress. Her hand comes in contact with her husband’s almost immediately, and they turn on their step to walk back to where they came from.

With a final wave and bright smiles, they disappear into the distance. Huh, how strange.

He emerges back to reality with the sound of his ringtone, and he fishes for his phone tucked in the pocket of his jeans.

“Hey, I have that film you need to develop your photos. I’m at the Soul Cup cafe right now, maybe you can drop by to get them?”

“Ah, thanks Hyunjin. I’ll be right there!”

He gets up from the bench himself, having already forgotten of his earlier interactions as he trots back to his university. With his camera safely packed in his camera bag, Seungmin hurries his steps to catch Hyunjin before he leaves.

The sun hasn’t gone yet by the time Seungmin arrives, and he quickly walks into the cafe in search of his friend.

It isn’t difficult to find the silhouette of a man with long pink hair, especially when the coffee shop he liked to frequent wasn’t the most popular among the campus. Although, it seems that someone is with his friend, sitting at the same table with papers strewn around.

“Seungmin, my photographer, you made it!” Hyunjin gets up from his seat, greeting him with a smile and a side hug before directing his attention to you. “Ah, this is (name). (Name), this is Seungmin.”

Seungmin’s breath gets caught in his throat the moment you turn around to exchange pleasantries. His eyes travel around your face, studying your features.

Seungmin isn’t dense, never judges anyone for their looks, but he finds your beauty to be the type subjected to photographs in art galleries. It’s one someone can spend forever admiring and analyzing and never get tired of.

Really pretty, he thinks as he extends a hand to shake yours.

A certain warmth envelopes him when he meets your hand.

“Here’s your film.” A bag is shoved in his general direction, and he grabs it and hugs it by his chest. And then, he’s forced to say his goodbye’s when Hyunjin’s attention shifts back to his own project.

Kim Seungmin sees you again a few weeks after your first encounter.

You’re crouched down on the sidewalk, paint smeared on your hands and clothes. You must be in the art department with Hyunjin, and something about that makes so much sense as Seungmin looks at you. You’re just the type of person to attract art, whether it’s because you create it or because you inspire it.

A closer look at you reveals your messy hair, blown-out by the wind, and a lopsided grin on your face as you call out to the small puppy just by the distance.

He feels the familiar twitch in his fingertips to take a photo. The sight he’s subjected to is too beautiful to not capture. If he took one quick enough, maybe you wouldn’t notice at all.

Seungmin seems to underestimate the actual distance between you and the loud shutter of his camera when he takes the photo. It’s not one of his best moments, and in the moment, he wishes the ground would just swallow him up so he didn’t have to deal with the consequences of his stupid behavior.

His face is already flush with embarrassment the moment you turn around to catch whatever had made that sound.

“Seungmin?” You remember his name, you actually remember his name, and god it couldn’t have sounded any sweeter. Does honey usually drip down the tone of your voice?

When you walk towards him with confusion etched in your face, Seungmin double backs. In the moment, he seriously considers standing in the middle of the road to meet his death instead of facing the embarrassment of explaining to you that he had just taken a photo of you because he thought the moment looked too pretty not to last forever.

He is all nervous laughter when you stop to stand in front of him, head tilted as you stare down at his camera. “Did you just take a photo of me?”

His own words tumble out of his mouth as he tries to explain himself. “Yes, and I’m sorry, I know I should’ve asked for per—“

“Can I see?”

“What?”

“The photo! Can I see it?” You look up at him with a smile, hands behind your back as you sway back and forth while waiting for his response. Only now does he notice the paint on your cheek and the flutter of your eyelashes and the specs of light in your eyes.

Oh god, his stomach doesn’t feel so great, having you look at him like that.

“Uh, sure. Of course!” He fumbles with his camera, clicking on a few buttons before pushing the camera towards you so you can see better. You nod your head, studying the photo before lifting your head back to look at him curiously.

“What’s this for?”

He gulps. “A project… for my class. I’m… I’m in the Photography Department.”

Nodding your head, you flash him another lopsided smile. “You take really pretty pictures. Photography suits you.”

He sends his own boyish, shy smile directed to you at your compliment, bowing slightly in thanks. You simply giggle, shaking your head and telling him you were just telling the truth.

“Can you take another one? I wasn’t aware you were gonna take one so my hair looked a little funny.” You point out, immediately flashing him a grin and a show of a peace sign as if waiting for him to snap a photo in that moment.

He does.

And since then, he has taken multiple photographs of you.

When you would see each other around, you would jokingly strike a pose, and he would take a photo. It’s one of the moments Seungmin treasures and looks forward to.

Usually, he would simply float through the days, unable to feel the ground beneath him, unable to quite tell the time. However, while his days were usually downcast, he finds a little ray of silver lining in the way you smile at him goofily while you readily pose for the camera.

The habit remains even when you meet each other at the Soul Cafe again, Hyunjin as the common friend.

He takes multiple photos of you and Hyunjin that day, some candid and some planned – but when you laugh with your head pulled back and your eyes tearing up just a little at a stupid joke, Seungmin has his camera down.

This sight, of you laughing wholeheartedly, is something he has to see with his own two eyes. He doesn’t think any lens or any photo could do the sight justice.

Hyunjin asks him to walk you home since your dorms are closer to each other, and he happily obliges.

The walk back is short, but it’s still time together, and that was enough for Seungmin.

“Goodnight, Seungmin. Let’s meet each other again!”

Seungmin blinks, unmoving from his position with his hand still lifted in the air from waving at you prior. Your words echo in his head again and again.

Let’s meet each other again.

You want to see him again soon, intentionally this time. You genuinely enjoy his company that you would like to meet him again. Somehow, it’s something Seungmin can’t fathom.

And then you laugh, and it’s a sound that cuts through years of loneliness.

Blood rushes to the tip of his ears, heat engulfing his entire being – a warmth similar to that when he had first met you. He can’t help but stare at you, unable to do or say anything by how dumbfounded he was at such simple words.

When you smile at him one last time, Seungmin can’t help but think that, of all the things that can be associated with love in this world, he thinks none of them quite does it justice like you do.

Seungmin ponders over your words and your shared interactions for the past few weeks on his way home. A gentle smile sits on his face, all because of you and your pretty smile and the brilliance that encompasses the entirety of you.

And then he hears it – quiet, and from a distance. The sound of a train whistle in the night, one so faint he can barely hear it. The clock starts ticking again, and he feels the ground he’s walking on beneath him.

“Oh.” Realization dawns on him, the nudge in his heart visible in his face.

“I see what the old lady means now.”

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