#they will either be next door neighbors or across the lawn neighbors even when they do move out

[ardeawritten]

Today I learned I'm getting a housemate on Sunday but only for a month (or two) until more housing is ready. I will likely get another housemate in January and have both gals until February, if I know anything about the local housing timescale :P

Sunday gal I have known on and off since she was about six years old. She's now An Adult and I'm kinda excited to reconnect on more peer level than 'kid I used to babysit' level. Also both gals are absolute bookworm cat-loving nerds and I'm not mad about that at all.

(pretty sure one or both is on here somewhere but never shall the online life and IRL life meet so we're going to mutually pretend to not know that)

[bratphilia]

glass window (w. afton x reader)

request: "POOHKIE BEAR HEAR ME OUT!!!! dad's best friend!william. y'all just moved into the neigborhood, and you've been oh so busy with college/working that you hadn't had the time to introduce yourself to william (tho steve for the sake of keeping his identity yada yada) and so like, the moment you get the chance to? william aka steve cannot contain his thoughts abt you oml !! ur just so fucking pretty !! delicate !! those fucking skirts you wear, in the summers of utah (i think thats where the movie/fnaf location is canonically) he'd so.. hungry for you.. bonus points if theres a height/size difference omg JUST HEAR ME OUT POOHKIE!!!- i'll be going under as the 🧚‍♀️ anon!"

note: okay yeah i went a lil crazy with this one but i just loved this request sm. probably my favorite fic ive written so far.

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader

tags: age gap (reader is college age 18-21 and william is 45-50), creepy and stalking behavior from william, oral sex (m + f receiving), slight dubcon, doggy style, mating press, multiple orgasms, william having insane stamina at his age

you and your parents just moved to hurricane, utah, aka the most boring town you've ever been to. the second day in your new house, while you were at your criminology class, your neighbor, steve raglan came by to welcome your family to the neighborhood. they mentioned having a college aged daughter. he didn't think much about at the time. it was a passing comment after all.

a few weeks pass by and steve started to become a frequent visitor to your household. however, each of those times you have either been at school or at work. he had no idea who you are.

that is, until one day you come home in the evening after a class while steve is over having a glass of wine with your dad. you close the door behind you to see the door to the backyard open. curiously, you poke your head out and spot your dad with an unfamiliar face, and you stand shyly in the doorway expectantly.

"hey, sweetie," your dad says. "this is steve raglan. our next door neighbor i was telling you about."

you walk towards him when steve holds his hand out for you to shake. "nice to meet you, mr. raglan."

mr. raglan. his ears practically perk up at that. he drinks in your appearance. you're wearing a black, short tennis skirt that stops mid-thigh with a pretty white blouse.

"nice to meet you too," he says politely, trying his hardest not to come across as creepy.

your dad turns to you. "how was class?"

"it was okay. i do have a lot of homework to do, so i should probably go," you say, then turn to steve and wave as you go, "it was nice to meet you again."

his eyes never leave your bare legs as you walk away. and well, he wanted to fucking ruin you.

steve notices something interesting about you while mowing the lawn. there's a gate in the back of your house where he can see a glass door from the angle he's at in the front of his yard. a glass door that, he discovers, is the back entrance to your bedroom.

he decides to make good use of his porch.

at this point, he contemplates buying a pair of binoculars, but that felt like a little too much. for now, he had the view he needed to satisfy him. he even took a few photos that he saves for material to use in his personal time.

unbeknownst to you, steve is absolutely obsessed with you.

his heart skips a beat every time you take a walk in the neighborhood, when, coincidentally, he's sitting on the porch pretending to read a newspaper, and you wave at him and smile. he always returns your smile and waves back kindly.

one day, when you're walking past his house, he notices something gold falling to the ground. when you're out of sight, he goes to investigate, only to find a gold ring that could have only belonged to you. the perfect opportunity. steve waits about a week and keeps your ring with him on top of his nightstand.

sometimes, he notices you like to leave your door open on a particularly hot day. surely you couldn't be naïve to think no one would break in, right? you're just so pretty, who knows who could follow you home from the shadows.

on one particularly hot day, you leave your door open. almost invitingly. and steve watches as your mom's car passes by his house, going out, while he knows for a fact that your dad is working. it's his time to strike.

steve makes his way across the street and through the back gate. he looks through the window to find you reading a book while sitting on your bed. he taps on the glass to get your attention. your eyes snap from the book to the door to see him standing there.

"hi, uhm, can i help you, mr. raglan?" you say, getting up. you look shocked, clearly a little freaked out he came through the back of your house, he presumes.

steve smiles and walks in uninvited, making you back up a little as he steps closer. "hi stranger, i just wanted to return something of yours that you dropped a few days ago."

he turns up the ring in his hand and watches your eyes widen. "i've been looking all over for this! thank you so much."

steve watches as you take the ring from his palm and slip it back on your finger. "you know, i've been wondering something."

you look up at him. "what's that?"

he chuckles lightly and closes the door behind him. "i can't help but notice that you like to leave your door open, and i just wonder how you possibly think that's safe for you."

"i—i don't know what you mean," you say, confused. you fidget with ring on your finger nervously, not liking the direction this conversation is going in.

"well, you know just about anyone could come in here and take advantage of you. you wouldn't want that, hmm?" he asks, stepping towards you and cupping your jaw. "or maybe you would. is that why you do it?"

you inhale. "mr. raglan, i don't think this is appropriate—"

"neither is the way you've been teasing me, little girl," steve retorts and you flash him a scandalized look. "oh, come on, don't think i don't notice. your short skirts showing off that even tinier figure and the way you always seem so eager to get my attention. i know the game you're playing."

he cups your jaw as his tongue swipes across your bottom lip for entrance. you grant him access and he slips his tongue into your mouth. it's a slow, sensual kiss. you're moaning into his mouth as he takes full control. 

steve's hands travel from your face, to your waist, and to your ass to squeeze. you whimper into his mouth and he laughs lowly against you. 

slowly he breaks away from you. "take off your clothes and get on the bed on all fours. now." 

you make a show of taking off your clothes for him. you keep eye contact with him as you unbutton your shirt and discard it mindlessly. then you reach around your back to unclasp your bra, baring your chest to him.

"beautiful," he comments. "take off your panties but keep the skirt on." 

you do what he says and get in the lewd position steve requested a moment ago, mind racing with what he would possibly do to you. you grip the sheets almost nervously and rub your thighs together to relieve the tension in your core. 

steve practically saunters over to you and gives a low whistle. "such a pretty pussy." 

you blush realizing your skirt rode up to your waist. you shiver when he places a cold hand on your ass, kneeding it roughly. 

"ooh," you moan, arching your back needily, making him laugh.

"need it that bad, huh, baby?" 

"yes," you say quietly, turning head around to look at him. 

"don't worry, honey, i'll take good care of you," he says with a twisted smile. 

he leans forward to press a kiss on your slit, moaning at the wetness that drips onto his lips. he wastes absolutely no time eating you out and laps at your pussy like a starving man. you can't bear to look at him anymore, the obscene noises of him slurping causing your face to burn with embarrassment.

you can't help but push back against his face much to his delight. you can feel his beard scratching against you, as delicious as you imagined. the friction of him smothering his face into you is making you whimper and moan helplessly. you wish you could grasp onto him or close your thighs, but this position and being completely at his disposal makes it all the more hotter.

he smacks kisses on your clit, sucking and rolling the sensitive nub around with his tongue. one particular harsh suck where he tugs on your clit ever so gently with his teeth has you coming on his face. he keeps going until you're squirming and begging him to stop.

he pulls away from you almost remorsefully. "thanks for the meal, babe," he says, wiping his mouth. something that would have otherwise made you cringe in disgust if it didn't come from him.

"ready for my cock, sweet girl?" he asks.

you can only murmur out a "mhm" as you were already too fucked out to verbalize anything.

he just laughs at your disposition. "don't get too tired on me yet, sweetheart, i still have so much planned for you."

the clinking of metal gets you excited all over again. he pushes into you with a groan. "fuckin' tight like a vice," he curses.

he thrusts into you experimentally, gaging your reaction for which angle makes you moan the loudest. when he finds the right one, he picks up the tempo instantly. your room is filled with the noises of his balls smacking against your ass, his grunts and your incessant moaning. he wraps a hand in your hair and the other rests on your hip for leverage.

"you like that, baby? like the feeling of me inside you?" steve asks you teasingly but you can barely respond. "fuck, you feel so good around me. my good girl."

"please, let me come," you whine desperately, bucking your hips backwards so it meets his thrusts.

"i will, honey, i will."

suddenly he flips you over so you're on your back and bends your legs in half. the manhandling is an added bonus. "i want you to look at me when you come, okay?"

"okay..." you mumble, letting him use your pussy for whatever he pleases at this point.

one specifically hard and calculated thrust has you reeling. your orgasm is definitely in sight. you can feel your stomach begin to coil, ready to snap.

"mr. raglan!" you draw out the syllables of his name, signifying you're close.

"ngh — keep calling me that, honey, it's so fuckin' hot."

you can feel him close as well as his grunts and groans grow louder and his thrusts get more erratic and shallow. he decides to drill into you even harder for the sake of your own orgasm, making you almost scream out his name as you squeeze your eyes shut and come.

he pulls out before he finishes and beckons you over to him. "suck me dry, baby. want you to taste yourself on me when i come."

tiredly, you sit up and take is cock into your mouth. since he's already close he takes the initiative to thrust into your mouth while you gag around him. the noises you're making only add to his arousal.

he's grunting incoherent dirty praises, about how good and tight your mouth feels, and how you're such a good girl for him. he comes with one final, drawn out groan as he throws his head back. spurts of his ejaculate shoot down your throat and you try your best to swallow what he gives you, but some dribble down your chin.

you pull your mouth off of him and he brings his lips to your for another kiss, licking the remnants of his orgasm from your lips and chin. when you pull away breathlessly he's grinning from ear to ear.

"so good f'me," he compliments sweetly, making you smile.

maybe hurricane isn't so bad after all.

[sugrhigh]

BOY NEXT DOOR 3 - ( c.s )

part two

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- swearing, a bit of drinking

neighbor/hockey!chris x fem!reader

a/n: part three baby here we go! hope you guys enjoy!! if i forgot a tag it either wouldn’t let me or i missed it (if i missed u pls comment and i’ll fix it right up). anyways kisses for u all i hope ur having a good day, my inbox is open for anything as always MWAH

@cutenote @mattybsbitch @mattsmunch @breeloveschris @l9vesick @bb-1s-blog @sturnifyed @julessspoetry @annamcdonalds67 @beijhe @gnxosblog @braindead4l @hearts4matty @orangeypepsi @luckistar-posts @angelworldspost @ponyosturniolo @rainyenthusiastdaze @heartz4chris @sturnvvz @cupidsword @wurlibydominicfike @mattswrld @yoursopretty15 @poopydroopt @latinasforchrizz @bernardsleftbootycheek @trilliwarner

it’s been a day since the kiss, and you still haven’t told a single soul. for some reason, you’re way too scared to admit what happened to your roommates, even though you know they’d be the last to judge you for it.

and yet you just can’t, despite the fact that it’s been eating you alive for over twenty-four hours straight. saying it out loud makes it real, so you decided it was best to keep it inside.

however, you still need to give chris his jersey back, which you’ve been neglecting to do because you don’t want to see him.

or maybe because you’re scared.

it’s an involuntary thought, and it makes you angry. there’s nothing to be scared of, because he doesn’t have any power over you.

right?

you grab his jersey off the top of your dresser. it’s all clean, and it still smells like detergent from when you washed it yesterday. you’ve been putting it off all day, and it’s time for that to stop.

the sun is nearly gone, so you head down the stairs, silently thankful that ramona and cassidy are both are both runnings errands as you slip out the front door.

you’re in your comfy clothes, black sweats and baby blue hoodie that you stole from cass, and you’re immediately regretting the fact that you didn’t grab a jacket.

you hurry across the lawn, passing the cars parked in the driveway. there’s an unfamiliar red one at the end, and it almost makes you pause, but the possibility doesn’t fully connect in your mind yet.

so you head up the steps and knock on the door loudly, still very much so a woman on a mission.

it takes a moment, a long moment, before someone comes to open it for you. it’s connor, which is unfortunate, because you really weren’t prepared to speak with anyone besides the one boy you’re actually looking for.

he looks a little confused, but he smiles nonetheless. “what’s up?”

“i’m just, uh, trying to drop off chris’s jersey.” any bit of confidence you had is gone now as you choke on your words.

connor’s eyes widen a little as his grin fades, though you can tell he’s trying to play it off. “he’s a little busy right now, but i’ll get it to him.”

your eyebrows furrow as he reaches his arms out, like he’s trying to rush the process along without any more interrogation.

“busy with what?” you question, though you hand it over regardless.

he looks at you for just a half a second too long, like he’s waiting for you to piece it together, and then it clicks. chris is busy because he has a girl over, and that’s her car in the driveway.

you wish it didn’t phase you, but you can feel your face morphing into an emotion that borders disgust and anger.

“oh, i see.” is all you say, because you’re already fucking embarrassed beyond belief.

you turn and head back down the stairs, trying to ignore the way your stomach is flipping like you’re going to throw up.

connor doesn’t say anything. instead you hear the door close, and you feel completely numb as you walk back to your own porch. part of it is because of the cold, and part of it is because you feel so stupid.

you’re not sure what you were expecting, but that was exactly what you should���ve anticipated knowing chris.

you step back into the warmth of your own home, and even when you close and lock the door, a shiver chases you.

you head back up to your bedroom, kicking your shoes off by the door. you want further confirmation, so you peek through the curtains that hang over your window.

chris’s room, which is coincidentally directly across from yours, reveals nothing besides a dim light that peeks through the closed blinds.

you let the drapes fall back into place, still in shock. it was so ridiculous to believe for even a second that he was any different than he had been for the last six months.

you should’ve taken him at his word. he doesn’t date, and he’s not interested in you beyond teasing you or making you look like an idiot.

and you refuse to be taken for a fool.

you pace along the floor for a second until you decide you deserve some wine. you know there’s at least half a bottle in the fridge, and maybe it’ll help you calm the hell down.

a few minutes later you’re back upstairs, huddled up in your bed with a book you had started earlier in the day, sipping from your glass as you read.

it’s hard to fall into the fantasy world you picked out at first, but then you begin to feel your cheeks flush and your eyes are suddenly devouring the words.

you’re so enveloped in the plot, completely unaware that your roommates had gotten home until ramona walks in. it startles you, so much so that you lose your page.

she pauses to take in your state; the empty glass, the minimal leftovers in the bottle you brought with you, your droopy eyes.

“wine before 7 p.m. on the lord’s day? you’re crazy.” she jokes with a grin.

you shrug, also smiling a little bit. “felt like getting a little wild.”

mona puts a hand on her hip and nods toward the door she just entered through. “well, could i maybe convince you to take this crazy train downstairs so we can catch up on VPR? we’re like, three episodes behind now.”

you snap your book closed and roll out of bed, which you can tell by her snort looks far from graceful.

“all you had to say was VPR.”

you sit at your desk, gnawing on your bottom lip as you try to focus on the stupid online homework prompts that are due soon. the overcast afternoon light pours into your room, and you hear your phone buzz against the wood.

chris

still playing hard to get?

you roll your eyes before you can help it. the text doesn’t surprise you, because he’s been messaging you for the past few days, ever since he inevitably found out you stopped by from connor.

chris

that’s clearly a yes.

you wonder how many times he’s going to text you as you put your phone down to pull your hair out of your face, tying it up at the back of your head.

once again, you hear the device vibrate, and you flip it to glance at the screen.

chris

i can see you ignoring me you know

your eyes betray you as you glance out the window, just to find chris standing in front of his own. he’s pouting at you with his phone in his hand, hair all curly and damp like he just got out of the shower.

you stand up from your chair without a second thought and take a few steps so you can yank your curtains closed.

he might refuse to believe it, but you’re not playing hard to get. you just can’t fucking stand him.

chris

now that’s just cold

come onnnnnn princess

y/n

holy shit

do NOT call me princess

chris

you love it

y/n

i hate you

chris

if you don’t stop this i’m coming over there

y/n

i’d like to see you try asshole

chris

fine.

you pull back one curtain to call his bluff, and your heart actually drops when you see that he’s not standing there anymore. that just means he’s probably on his way over already.

you have no idea if cass or ramona are home or in their rooms or what. but you do know that you’re locking your door, and if he makes it through the house undetected he’s not getting into your room.

you sit on the edge of your bed for a moment, waiting because you don’t know what else to do with yourself. and then the knock comes, right before chris twists the handle and finds it locked.

“open up.” he demands, his gruff voice muffled through the door.

“no.”

“i’ll go downstairs and get cass if you don’t let me in.” he threatens, which doesn’t really scare you.

cassidy will kick his ass out if she realizes you don’t want him here. you’ll have to explain some things, but it’s probably time to do that anyways.

“you’re being a baby and you’re wasting your time. go home, chris.” you reiterate.

“come on, i just want to talk.” he wiggles the handle once again, like that will somehow open it.

“then call a sex addiction helpline.” you reply hotly, glaring at the slab of wood that separates you as if you can actually see him, though you’re glad you can’t.

“can you please open the door?”

“nope.”

“jesus, you’re so stubborn it’s ridiculous.” he groans, and you hear his forehead thump against the door.

he’s growing frustrated now, and even though you’re heated too, you kind of love it.

“so are you! how many times do i have to tell you to leave?” you shoot back.

it’s silent for a moment, which scares you. then you hear a small sigh.

“i didn’t think i would have to do this.”

the lock on the door begins to twist and turn rapidly, and you leap forward to grab it with your hand.

chris twists it hard and your fingers fumble to keep it jammed. your thumb is already in pain, and the harder he pushes the closer you are to failing. you’re finally forced to let go as chris comes shoving his way into your room a few seconds later.

even though he stumbles slightly, he looks so proud of himself, clutching the heavy duty paper clip he used to get inside.

“there, that’s better.” he says smugly.

you watch his eyes take in your room, covered in posters and full of random artifacts, and you hate it. for some reason, it feels deeply personal.

“holy shit, why don’t you just go home already?”

it’s impossible to keep your tone level anymore as you turn away from him.

“i’m here now, so you have to talk to me.”

“no, i really don’t.” you reply before plopping down onto your mattress, crossing your arms as you lean against the headboard.

“don’t be a brat.” chris follows your lead, even though you weren’t inviting him to join you.

he falls beside you, sprawling out on his back by your feet. his shirt raises over his sweats, exposing a bit of skin above the band of his boxers, and you have to tear your eyes away.

you can feel the warmth of his body, can smell his aftershave mixed with hints of some kind of fresh body wash, and all of it drives you crazy.

you curl your body into itself so there’s as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“why are you so mad?” chris turns his head slightly so he can look at you.

“i’m not mad, you just disgust me.”

this makes him smile. “i beg to differ, i think you like me.”

without hesitation, you extend one leg to kick him in his side. even though it’s not very forceful, he lets out a little groan of surprise, hand going to rub his hip as he frowns.

“you didn’t have to kick me, damn.”

“you deserved that.” you argue, tucking your knees back to your chest.

this time he stays silent and just looks at you. his eyes scan your face, darting down to your lips every other second, and you’re suddenly very aware of your surroundings.

“what the fuck are you staring at?” you ask in a brief moment of panic.

his eyes are so unnerving. it’s like he can see right through you.

“you’re pretty.” chris shrugs before averting his gaze back to the ceiling.

your face flushes, and you force yourself to remember the embarrassment from the other day, how stupid you felt after discovering that he’s still the same old player that sits beside you now.

“shouldn’t you be giving some other girl an STD or something?” you snap, and he huffs out a breathy laugh.

“first of all, i’m totally clean. and if you’d actually let me explain, you’d realize the girl that was over on sunday is just an ex fling who was picking up some old stuff.”

his clarification shocks you, though you still don’t necessarily believe it yet. he could be lying, even though it doesn’t seem like he is.

“you’re seriously telling me you weren’t hooking up with her?” you ask.

“it was strictly platonic. nothing happened.” he confirms, shifting to face you again.

chris lifts his hand to trace gentle patterns along your shins, and you don’t shy away this time. the feeling of his palms, even when separated by your leggings, is far nicer than you imagined.

“okay.” you mutter simply.

“you’ve been ignoring me the entire week and all i get is an ‘okay’?” he halts his movements so he can curl his fingers into air quotes.

“what would you like me to say?”

“an apology would be a nice start.”

you bark out a laugh. “an apology for what? for not talking to you? because i really didn’t take you for the sensitive type.”

he just shakes his head, nudging your legs with one of his knuckles lightly. “god, you and that headstrong attitude will be the death of me.”

“can’t wait.” you quip back, and now its his turn to chuckle.

silence settles over the two of you for a moment, and you’ve been far too close for too long, so you move to stand once again.

“alright, well, we talked. time for you to get lost.” you motion toward the door.

chris sits up, running a hand through his messy hair before he replies. “look, we don’t have another game until sunday, so we’re hosting at the house tomorrow. you should come.”

you raise an eyebrow and tap your chin, like you’re really contemplating. “i’ll have to think about it.”

“please? it’ll only be fun if you go.” he flashes you a charming smile, and you hate that it actually does kind of work.

“maybe i’ll make a special appearance. maybe.” you point a wary finger at him as he gets back on his feet.

“that’s what i like to hear.” chris says, making his way toward you.

you expect him to pass right by, but he lingers, like there’s something else on his mind. he stares down at you with those big blue eyes, and you can feel yourself slipping into dangerous territory.

“is there something else?” you ask softly, and the sound of your voice is maddening to him.

you don’t even try to tempt chris on purpose, he knows this, and yet everything about you is so enticing. not to mention he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss since it happened, or that pretty little mouth of yours.

but he shakes his head again, because the things he’s thinking about you so early on in this strange relationship frighten him.

“uh, no, sorry. i’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully.”

and then he blows right by you without waiting for a response, disappearing just as quickly as he arrived.

[cherryberry-sugarandspice]

Next Door Neighbor

You live in a nice quiet neighborhood with a small house to call home. You bought it after many years of busting your ass off working two, nearly three jobs at times, and once you had enough money for a down payment, you got yourself a house. You stayed in this house for two years, happy and content.

And as a little treat, a new neighbor moved in right next door.

You couldn't help but admire your new neighbor. A older man who's body is built of a greek god. He's 6'10, handsome, a bit of a scruff, grey/white hair, and his voice is deep and scratchy, sending the heat straight down to your pussy.

He's a kind neighbor named Erik Magnus Lehnsherr. He offered you to come over for tea in hopes of getting to know his neighbor and you graciously accepted his offer. You wore a pair of too tight shorts that pronounce your ass and hips, and a crop top that leaves little to the imagination. You sat on his porch across from him, and oh he's a gentleman. Either that or he's struggling to keep his gaze on your face.

You didn't care that he's older. More experienced. Because that means he must be good in bed, right? Able to roll his hips in a way that sends stars flying in your vision. Kisses that takes your breath away. Fingers that curl the right way against the right spots.

God, you need him.

For weeks after, during the summer, whenever he's outside for more than ten minutes, you're out in a skimpy bathing suit in your drive way on a lounge chair sun bathing. He's mowing his lawn? You throw on a pair of booty shorts and a bikini top, turning on the hose and washing your car.

You've come to find out your bedroom window faces his bedroom window, so at night you leave your curtains open, changing into your silky night gowns in hopes he's watching. Hoping he's picturing you in his bed, plowing into your body, bringing forth orgasm after orgasm.

One day, you decided to go for it.

You order a pool and have it delivered to your home. It took three days for it to fill up with water, but alas it's finished. You toss on a bikini and knock on his door.

Erik answers, eyes wide at the sight of you. You smile sweetly, pointing your thumb over your shoulder. "I bought a pool and thought it'll be nice to have someone join me." You step closer, purposely bouncing your boobs. "Would you like to join me?"

He didn't even hesitate. "Of course, my dear." He holds his arm out to test the air. "It's a hot summer day. I think it's perfect to spend this day in a cold pool."

30 minutes later, he's thrusting into you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, hands gripping his shoulders for dear life, choking on your moans while he attacks your neck in kisses. He's bigger than you'd imagine. A massive cock at an impressive length of 10.5 inches, his girth stretching your walls apart. His tip kisses your cervix and with every bump your walls clench tightly around him, pussy frothing on his cock.

"Did you think I didn't know what you were doing?" he whispered hotly in your ear, his hands gripping the railing. "How you teased me with your body...I tried being respectful. I wanted to be a good neighbor." He snaps his hips and you cry out, digging your nails into his skin. "But now I can no longer hold back. Not now, especially with how wet and warm your cunt is...how tight you're squeezing me," he groans, thrusting into you faster.

The water sloshes around you two, thanks to the force of his thrusts. You moan into the crook of his neck, pleasure melting your mind. His cock sends tingles and heat waves throughout your body. The rolling of his hips leaves you breathless. God, you knew he'd be good at that.

You yelp when Erik rips off your top and begins to suck on your breasts. You whimper, head falling back on your shoulders. His cock drills deep into your sloppy pussy, his groans louder, and he picks up the pace of his hips. He loses himself in the sensation of your warmth, his balls tightening.

You bounce on his cock, lewd moans escaping your mouth, his massive cock hitting your sweetest spots. You swear you feel him curve inside of you and you squeal, nails clawing ath is back. Every thrust sends the world spinning, your tongue rolling out of your mouth, coating your chin in spit. The delicious stimulation drives you mad.

Liquid fire courses through your trembling body, pleasure completely taking over. A coil tightens in your stomach and you grit your teeth. You're close. So damn close. You begin to kiss and suck on his neck, urging the older man on.

Erik groans at the sensation of your lips and fucks into your puffy sex faster. His hips go wild, obliterating your cunt. You scream his name over and over until your pussy squeezes his cock tightly, white blinding your vision, cunt squirting out into the pool. The force of your orgasm brings forth his own. His hips stutter as he cums inside of you with a heavy groan, strings of thick, hot seed painting your walls.

A smile graces your face the exact moment your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Oh, this is definitely going to happen more often.

[kokomos]

 ✴    ⅱ.    new habits die hard     ࣭     ๋  𖥔 ݁  ˖  ‏☽

— starring    AU!  LUKE CASTELLAN !  ♆

  ⤷  ��� ⅰ.   new habits die hard

MDNI 18+

warning : weed! luke & reader smoke together.

alternate universe : takes place in an au! where there are no gods, or demigods for that matter. luke lives with his mother, alone, and takes care of her full-time when he's not off doing odd jobs for the locals.

description : after moving several states away from his home in suburban connecticut, luke found himself in unfamiliar territory and in need of a new plug. lucky for him, you're the town's resident drug dealer.

tags : fem! reader, dealer! reader, loser! luke, au! luke; dom! reader kinda, subby! luke; luke can't handle his weed.

honey's note : somehow this got turned into a slow–burn? next part will contain more action, promise <3

it hadn't been a full week since luke castellan, new to town, stopped by your trailer to get his fix. it seemed out of the question that the plug he'd be buying from would be you. even as he neared the residence for the first time four days ago, impressions formed based on the unkept and rather disastrous front lawn, nothing would have him guessing a girl would be the one behind it all.

his neighbor's son, a permanently befuddled teen who luke deemed ‘nice enough’, offered up your contact as soon as the older boy mentioned smoking. he certainly wasn't your wisest customer, that's a given, but you know he meant well and there's no denying that he definitely did you a service despite his impetuosity.

a few messages are exchanged between you and luke prior to his arrival. you pick the time, telling him to swing by around eleven—it’s later than he cares for, his mother always advised him against driving late at night, but he’ll oblige without a second thought if you're the one asking.

in all honesty, luke didn't even need to pick up more bud—the surplus he underpaid for had only diminished by a gram or so, less than two. still, he wanted to see you again. something in his heart was telling him that it was a necessity  not a desire; that you couldn't be separated from actions taken in the name of self-preservation. though, luke wasn't dauntless enough to tell you the truth and he certainly didn't have the confidence to back it up either, so he'd keep that to himself—just for now.

his hands were trembling slightly as he hobbled up the stairs, across the makeshift porch, to reach the front door. even the very tips of his fingers couldn't conceal the fact that his heart was racing.

luke was quick to note that the steps were broken; shoddy craftsmanship combined with neglect over time—the same treatment that the rest of the property had received. for a moment his mind wandered and he thought about how he could fix them up for you; he could fix up a lot of things around this janky, old plot. there's no way he would even think to charge you for the labor, though he has a feeling you'd insist anyway. a payment from your finest stash, luke surmises. but that was neither here nor there, and he needed to prepare himself to greet you.

his right hand forms a fist before connecting with the frame of the door. he knocks twice before adding one more for good measure, a pace behind the other two in uniform.

the crooked door swings open, and there you stand. luke had already been wearing a flare on his cheeks, but it only intensified further at the sight of you in a pair of pajamas. tight short-shorts and a simple tee.

“hey,” you welcome him so casually it makes him feel like a fool for being so nervous. he has no time to properly greet you as planned, instead providing a remarkably sheepish smile as you move a bit to the side, beckoning him through the doorway. “you comin’ in?”

of course he is.

he complies in an instant, more or less meek in appearance as he glides past you. luke takes a few steps away from the entrance of your home, and plants his feet firmly into the warped hardwood of the living room, turning his attention to you in wait.

“so, you smoke a lot or did’ya have to supply your friends some?” you ask after closing the front door shut. the question is brought about with an air of nonchalance, though that does very little to calm his nerves.

he chuckles, feeling both caught off guard and put on the spot. “uh—,” he clears his throat as his eyes flicker to yours. “yeah,” he falters for a moment before finishing with forced conviction, “i kinda smoke a lot i guess.”

you shrug it off, giving him the benefit of the doubt, though there isn't much belief in your expression. “sure,” you dismiss, “come sit with me.”

there's not much room for luke to debate. your feet are already in motion and you brush right by him to cross the space, path set for the sofa. luke follows and takes the seat beside you, sinking into the cushion with visible unease. he makes an attempt to get comfortable, and fails, unable to decide where he should put his hands. after several moments and careful consideration, he decides on extending his palms to rest over the expanse of his jeans. in the same moment, you prop the heels of your feet up onto the table in front of the couch, angling your legs into view for the nervous wreck to your right. a small sigh of content draws his attention from the sleek skin of your thighs towards your rosey lips.

that smirk you've formed causes some alarm and his nerves flare up once more. “have you never seen shaved legs or something?” you enunciate each word in your query, goading him into a more playful mood.

his cheeks flush, and he feels like a fool for the second time tonight—must be a skill of yours. tearing his gaze away, he lets out a shaky breath, one that he'd been holding in since he first took that spot next to you. “sorry,” his speech stalls and his eyes warily meet yours again. “i wasn't trying to…” he staggers off, hoping you get the memo—which you do. but there's no fun in not teasing the boy, especially when he's just so easy.

“to perv on me?” you finish for him, smirk left unrestrained and etched into your face.

his eyes widen, slowly leaving yours, and his head shakes from side to side. “i would never,” he stammers quickly to plead his defense.

“i'm just fucking with you,” you reassure him, light-hearted words paired with a jaunty wink. it wouldn't be fair if you were to chastise the boy for simply looking your way, certainly not after the last time he made your acquaintance—and you were doing far more than just looking at him.

you draw your legs back, letting your heels hit the floor, before reaching for some supplies laid out on the table. you unscrew the top of the grinder, unveiling the packed chamber. a whole glut of green and purple tints. your fingers pinch some of the ground weed and you begin filling the bowl for the bong—both crafted from pink glass and marked by hearts. suddenly, your efforts cease and you turn your head to catch his eyes.

“you wanna stay to smoke, right?” you smile a bit ingratiatingly.

luke immediately nods his head; and you have to stop yourself from laughing at the sight. instead you opt for returning your focus to the task at hand, finishing up and placing the bowl in the stem.

“guests first,” you offer the bong out with a grin luke could only describe as endearing; a contrast to the mischievous curve your mouth usually carries.

there's only one thing replaying in luke’s mind as he reaches out to take the glass from your hands.

don't embarrass yourself, don't embarrass yourself, don't—

he flashes a quick, grateful smile for your hospitality. “thank you,” he mumbles, ignoring the unabated warning currently clouding his thoughts.

your pupils dilate the moment his lips wrap around the same piece you'd had your own two lips on not twenty minutes earlier. such a natural, you praise him without a word. he pulls a hit from the bong with ease, yet coughs on the exhale. the glass, with the bowl still lit and burning through the remainder of the green, is mindlessly passed towards you as he desperately tries to compose himself.

a snicker escapes your throat. instinctively, your hand reaches over the middle of his back and you pat a few beats to aid his efforts. “you okay?” amusement accompanies your concern.

by now, luke was entirely out of sorts; but your chaste touch, an attempt to soothe the discomfort from the smoke infiltrating his lungs, was enough to make him catch his breath and hold it. “luke?” you inquire, curious about his condition.

“i’m fine,” he tries to laugh it off, flustered by more than just the way his name rolls off your tongue. his head turns your direction and for the first time, he makes real eye contact with you—not just for a brief few moments before he inevitably glances away.

a smile lifts your cheeks slightly and you retract your hand from his back. much to his disappointment, you break the contact in favor of taking your own hit from the bong.

there's a few more exchanges of the glass back-and-forth before luke taps out. you hadn't realized he saw each offer of your generosity as some sort of competition between the two of you, to see how much he could handle.

he's melted into the back of your couch, eyes fluttering shut. cute. you’re feeling the effects of that friendly contest too—not as much as he is, evidently. years of smoking every day, all day, granted you a higher tolerance for the substance, and the opportunity to tease your client. “do you have something to prove?” you titter with delight.

“hm ?” luke hums, tilting his chin to view your face instead of the wall he'd been zoning out on.

“i asked if you had something to prove,” you restate plainly. “you know you didn't have to keep up with me, yeah?”

you're drinking in the look on his face by the bucketful. lips parted as his mind whirls, searching for an answer to a question he's already forgotten—“huh ?” his voice comes out more soft and airy than you've recently been accustomed to, not that you'd ever complain about that.

“nevermind, man. just, uh—” you stifle a snicker, holding back from full-on laughing in his face, “—take it easy.”

he mumbles something in confirmation, ‘okay’ it sounded like, and allows his eyes to rest once more.

“sleepy?” you coo, applying a tone one might use on a child rather than the man luke was trying to portray himself as.

he manages a faint chuckle, but barely opens his eyes to respond. “mhm ,” he murmurs, with a dopey grin on his face.

you square your shoulders, leaning against the back of the couch with your thighs flat against the cushioning. “you wanna lay your head down?” you simper.

the weed had mitigated some of luke’s anxiety, and his inhibitions were at an all-time low. “sure,” he agrees, unwavering for a change.

a couple pats drummed on the upper portion of your leg coax him closer. without delay, he kicks his feet up and stretches across the sofa until he's properly situated on his side. with his left cheek now pressed into your thigh, you can feel the soft hum of contentment contained behind his lips. your hand reaches out towards him, fingers seeking refuge in the soft curls atop his head. it doesn't take more than a few minutes for your eyelids to grow heavy, and a small yawn signals the inevitable. when the clock strikes twelve in the trailer, all is silent—apart from the snoring of you and the customer you forgot to sell to.

ᡣ𐭩   with love , honey

[jgmartin]

THE TALL THINGS ARE WATCHING

We can’t leave the house.

They’ve boarded up our doors and windows, started shooting people trying to break free. There are things in the streets. Tall things. I see their shadows sometimes as they run past the wooden boards. I hear the rumble of their feet.

I don’t know what they are. None of us do.

They cut our access to television and the internet when the lockdown began. They even took out the cell tower. Anne said they didn’t want us communicating with the outside world, telling them about what’s going on out here. I think she’s right.

It’s been two weeks since the men in suits came by. They said they worked for government intelligence and that they were looking for a terrorist. They didn’t strike me as government types, personally. They looked distracted. Spaced out. More like Scientologists than CIA agents, but then I’ve never met a Scientologist or a CIA agent, so who was I to tell the difference?

Either way, they said it would be over soon, and they sounded official. More importantly, they had guns. “We’ll need to search every household,” they explained. “We can’t have anybody leaving before we’ve cleared their property, so we’ll have to board you in.”

It made sense, I guess. In a twisted dystopian nightmare sort of way. It made sense all the way up until the end of the fourth night, when the Tall Things started roaming the streets. They were dressed in long raincoats. Hooded. The way they moved gave me the chills, all jerky and snapping, so I stayed away from the windows.

Anne didn’t mind though. She was fascinated by them. Her and our gun-nut neighbor, Old Ty, exchanged theories written on pieces of cardboard, holding them up to the glass of our windows. GOVERNMENT EXPERIMENT, she wrote on hers. ALIEN INVASION, he wrote on his.

At first, it seemed to just be a bit of innocent, morbid fun. Finding some humor in a bizarre situation. Then Anne watched one of the Tall Things kill somebody, and everything changed.

It was an elderly man in our cul-de-sac, Mister Douglas. Anne watched him open his door, hammer down the boards as one of the Tall Things walked by. He shouted at it. Told it to get over here so he could see just what kind of unholy bullshit his tax dollars were being used to fund.

Next thing you know, there’s sirens in the streets. Soldiers rushing his home. There’s a megaphone shouting at him to get back inside. All of it is useless. All of it happens far too late, because the moment Douglas starts yelling at the Tall Thing, it starts to twitch and jerk like it can’t control its own behavior. Like a predator hungry for a meal.

It snaps its head toward Douglas, then tears across his lawn and snaps him up in its long, spider-like hands. It lifts him off the ground. Then, he screams. He screams and he screams until the Tall Thing lowers the hood of its rain jacket, and then Douglas goes pale as a ghost. Silent.

According to Anne, that’s when the skin of his face started to bubble and pop. That’s when he started hissing out steam, smoking as his flesh sizzled beneath his clothes, as if he were boiling alive from the inside out. Next thing you know, he’s dripping onto the pavement. Dripping and dripping until there’s nothing left of him but a puddle of flesh and clothes.

Nobody tries to step in. Not any of the soldiers, not Anne, and not even Old Ty and all his guns. Everybody watches in stunned silence as the Tall Thing finishes its execution and saunters away.

The soldiers roam with them. The soldiers and the people in long white clothes. Anne says they’re lab coats, and the people are researchers studying the Tall Things as experiments, but I think they look more like robes– like clergymen. All of them wear helmets with tinted visors. It’s as though they don’t want to get a good look at the things.

After Mr. Douglas, more people on the block decided to make a break for it. Maybe they realized this was worse than they thought. Maybe they started wondering what the point of keeping us locked away like this was– were we food for these creatures? Were they trying to turn us into them?

None of us knew. All we could say for certain is that the killing didn’t stop with Mr. Douglas. I woke up one morning to see several of my neighbors shot dead in their yards, their lifeless eyes gazing back at me from the grass. Nobody came to pick them up. They were left there to rot, picked apart by birds and stray dogs.

Soon, gunshots were ringing out at all hours of the day. People wanted out, but the soldiers wouldn’t let them leave, and so the bodies began to pile up. Eventually I think Anne and I were the only two left alive in our cul-de-sac. Even Old Ty had seemed to vanish. Probably shot dead in his backyard.

I’d rarely known death in my life, and now the sheer volume of it was numbing me. I couldn’t process it. I didn’t know how. But then, almost out of the blue the government had a change of heart. Or maybe they just shifted tactics. Suddenly they began letting people leave.

I saw it first with a house at the very end of the road. I watched the woman who lived there break out with a baby tucked in her arm and a grade-schooler holding her hand. The three of them darted across their lawn, jumped over their father’s corpse and piled into their minivan on the street.

The entire time, a soldier and white-coat stood only meters away, quietly observing. It didn’t take long for the rumbling to begin– that telltale sound of approaching death, of one of the Tall Things coming to claim its prize. The van started up, backfiring a plume of exhaust into the air. I listened as the woman shrieked for joy, but I knew the joy would be short lived.

See, from my vantage point at the end of the lane, I saw something that she never could. The boot locked around her rear tire. The van rode forward as she pressed the gas, and then clunked to a stop. My heart broke. The look on her face, the desperation wasn’t for her– it was for her children in the back.

The rumble reached a crescendo, and in the blink of an eye a Tall Thing crashed into the van and knocked it over like a diecast toy. I couldn’t make out much beyond that. Nothing but the sound of the monster tearing into the roof of the van and pulling the crying children out one by one while their mother begged for mercy.

If I were a better, stupider man I may have kicked down my door and tried to save them, but I wasn’t. I was a coward. Instead, I fell to my living room carpet and cried. I laid there and listened as their flesh popped and sizzled, as their skin fell to the pavement in long, heavy drips.

It’s a sound I’ll never forget.

The next day, things got worse. The soldiers no longer cared about enforcing the lockdown or even keeping people safely indoors. Now they were breaking them out. Like hungry wolves, they tore down boarded-up doors and kicked in living room windows, dragging families out onto their lawns for slaughter. If the screams were horrible before, now they were unbearable. You couldn’t ignore them. Anne and I cranked our sound system to the max, but it only served as background static. The dying cut through everything.

That night we barely slept. Anne tossed and turned beside me, while I stared blankly at the ceiling fan above. There was an understanding between us. We had been abandoned. There was nobody coming to help us, nobody coming to arrest these monsters and save the day. We were alone.

How long until her and I were dragged out of our home? How long until we became the next experiment chained to our fence, waiting to be attacked by one of those creatures? Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Neither of us knew, and somehow that made it all the worse.

I woke up to sunlight peeking through our boarded-up bedroom window. Anne was missing. I looked all over the house for her before I found her note on the kitchen counter, scribbled quickly.

I know you’re afraid, the note read, but I have to leave. You might think we’ll make it through this, that once they’ve had their fill of guinea pigs they’ll let the rest of us go free, but I promise you they’ll come for us soon. This might be my last chance. Since you won’t come with me, I’m going alone. I wish I could have said a proper goodbye, but I know you’d try to stop me.

Love always,

- Anniebear

She left through the basement hatch. I know this because I spotted her corpse some five feet away through our kitchen window. She gazed back at me, a look of shock painted across her pale face, with a small red dot where the bullet pierced her skull. I couldn’t even muster the courage to step out and bury her. Instead the racoons and dogs took care of her, one piece at a time.

She was right, though. Eventually they did come for me.

It was over a week later. By then I didn’t have the will to resist. I waited patiently at the kitchen table, drunk with a glass of whiskey as soldiers and white-coats dragged me from the house. When I’d seen it happen to other people, it seemed to occur so quickly. Now, it happened in slow motion.

I heard every word from the soldier's mouth. Every command. First, he patted me down and ensured I was disarmed, then he told me this was all routine and nothing to worry about. Together they took me out into my yard. The white-coat asked me if I had lived a good life, if I had been a man of faith. I didn’t know what to say. Maybe I was simply too drunk, or maybe I truly didn’t care anymore.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” the white-coat assured me. “You’ll be at peace once it’s over, brother.”

In the distance came the growing rumble of the monster’s feet. Of the Tall Thing coming to claim its bounty.

“How many more after this?” the soldier asked the white-coat, his hand painfully gripping my shoulder.

“Sixteen.”

“Then us, sister?”

“Then us.”

The rumbling deepened. The Tall Thing was getting closer, and soon my heart was beating in sync with its stampeding footfalls. Memories flashed in my mind. Memories of Anne, of my dead neighbors, of the mother who lived at the end of the road and her children, now puddles of flesh on the pavement. My hands became fists. Indignation and fury grew inside of me, stoked by whisky fumes.

“Why do this?” I growled. “Why not just put a bullet in my head?”

“Because we love you, brother,” said the white-coat. “You waited patiently. You had faith, and for that you will be rewarded with salvation. You will be raptured.”

The Tall Thing rounded the corner, its legs slapping against the ground in great strides. Its frame eclipsed the moon, casting a shadow across me and stealing the breath from my lungs. It slowed down as it reached my lawn, sauntering this way and that.

“What are they?” I whispered.

“The ones that made us,” the white-coat replied. “Those that gave us life.”

I shrank away as the Tall Thing neared, but the soldier shoved me forward. “Be strong, brother. Show it your conviction. We were brought to this planet long ago, but now our time is served and we’re finally going home. Don’t you want to go home?”

The Tall Thing reached up to its hood. As it did, the soldier’s grip loosened and both he and the white-coat stepped to the side, away from the creature’s view. I would not scream, I told myself. No matter what, I wouldn’t give these monsters the satisfaction of my terror.

It pulled back on its hood, and something grotesque looked down on me. It was as if a hundred different faces had been stitched together, fused into an abomination that seemed to smile from fifteen mouths. “We come in peace,” it said.

My teeth bit into my cheeks, clenching them closed. A whimper escaped me, a whimper and a groan as my stomach filled with a soup of boiling horror. I would not scream. No matter the pain-- I would not scream.

Its long, spindly hands gripped my face. It cocked its head to the side, a hundred different eyes blinking back at me. Then it tugged at the bottom of my mouth.

But I wasn’t going to let it have its way. I clenched my jaw, holding it closed. The creature blinked at me. Then it repositioned its grip.

Crack.

It snapped my jaw like cardboard. I roared in agony, my lower mouth hanging limply from my face. Tears fell from my eyes in a torrent.

“Shh,” it whispered, slipping a finger down my throat. I choked and gagged. It fished its finger around as a hundred different eyes rolled back, and fifteen mouths began muttering an alien language.

I struggled against it, pulling at its arm but it was useless. The monster was too strong. Then a gunshot rang out.

And another. The Tall Thing wheeled around, dropping me onto my lawn as the soldier began shouting into his radio. The next second, a bullet found the soldier in the head. The white-coat shrieked, fleeing around my fence as a round caught her in the shoulder. The Tall Thing shot up to its full height, standing level with the street lamps and then sprinted toward the shooter.

Toward Old Ty.

He’d set up a killzone on his roof, surrounded by rifles and ammo. He’d waited for a moonless night to do his business, and now he was raining lead onto the creature like a blizzard of death. “What are you waiting for?” he bellowed. “Get moving, dipshit!”

I did. I stole away, hiding in shrubs and behind sheds, watching as Tall Things came roaring down streets, jumping over houses and knocking over cars as they tried to reach Old Ty. He only lasted a few minutes. That’s when the shooting stopped, but it was enough time for me to get away.

Maybe enough time for others, too.

It took me three hours to hike through Debby Forest and make it to the next town, and once I did I breathed a sigh of relief. There weren’t any soldiers. No white-coats. Most importantly, there weren’t any Tall Things melting people in their clothes. Just quiet stillness, the thing early mornings were meant for.

I made my way to the sheriff’s department to blow the whistle on what was going on. To explain that people were being shot, that Tall Things were melting people on the street and that we needed to get our ass in gear and call in the National Guard– no, scratch that. We needed to call in fucking NATO.

But as I got to the door of the precinct I stopped. Something gleamed in the corner of my eye, catching my attention. It was there, at the edge of the curb. A puddle.

Strange thing was, it hadn’t rained in weeks.

[shychick-52]

Day 4: Invention Gone Wrong for @donro-week

Donald was jolted from his afternoon nap by what could only be identified as an explosion.

With a screech, the duck found himself hovering above the hammock for all of two seconds, trembling vehemently, before landing face-first on his pristinely-tended lawn.

He shoved to his feet, straightening his beak and taking a deep breath. After allowing himself a moment to calm down, he realized the most likely source of the chaos. A look to his immediate right, at his next door-neighbor and boyfriend’s house- the thick plume of smoke pouring from one of the windows- immediately confirmed his suspicion.

Donald wasted no time heading over. He wasn’t too worried. After all, lab accidents and backfiring inventions were a common occurrence for Gyro, as much as a genius as he was. But he always preferred to check up on him when he could, just in case.

As usual, the front door was open. Donald immediately covered his beak and set about battling the haze with his hat. “Gyro?” he called. “You ok?”

Gradually, the air cleared like an unveiling curtain, revealing the room looking like a disaster zone. In even worse shape was the charred, tattered state of Gyro’s clothing and feathers.

“Hi, Donald.” The blonde grinned sheepishly as he cleaned his cracked spectacles on his sleeve, and Donald wondered if he realized one of the lenses was missing. He turned away to cough from the remaining cloud of smoke.  “Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

Donald folded his arms. “Do you mean your house or you?” he asked a touch sardonically.

“Er…both?”

Either ignoring or failing to notice Donald shaking his head in amused exasperation, Gyro added with a frown, “Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for her.” He bent and began examining the remains of what appeared to be some kind of robot, which Donald only then noticed in a sizable heap of wires and limbs beside him.

“Aw, Gyro, I’m sorry,” Donald said, moving in to help in whatever way he could. “You’ve been working on that for days. You had such high hopes for that Nanny-bot.”

Gyro gave a resigned chuckle. “Yeah, but maybe this is for the best. I wanted to invent a robot that could help new parents by taking care of all the unpleasant, laborious tasks of raising children, leaving them with only true quality-time to spend with their little ones. But I suppose Mrs. Webster was right- the cold hand of technology is no substitute for the warmth of a parent’s touch in every way.”

Mrs. Webster lived across the street; her son was only six weeks old, which had inspired Gyro to invent such a machine. And even though she strongly disagreed with his viewpoint, that hadn’t stopped him from setting out to prove that it really could be of great use; surely, there would be people who would benefit from it.

“She didn’t have to treat you like you’re some dangerous crackpot or a mad scientist,” Donald angrily muttered. “You meant well.”

“True, but it’s important to try seeing things from others’ perspective too. Failure is not only humbling, but it can help in that. I admit, I can get a bit zealous when I have a new idea.”

Those first two sentences were definitely something Donald had difficulty relating to.

They spent the next hour cleaning up the place, Gyro eagerly chatting about his next invention. Donald, on the other hand, was mostly silent except for the occasional grunt or nod of acknowledgement.

“Donald? Donald!”

“Huh?” Donald blinked, snapping his head up at Gyro. He realized he’d been hearing him as if his head was submerged underwater.

“Are you all right? You seem distracted.”

A pause, then Donald softly frowned. “Well… it’s just that I don’t know how you do it, Gyro,” he replied, setting aside the broom. “You’re the kindest, most hard-working, and positive person I know. No matter how many times your inventions go wrong, or people treat you like a crazy menace or take advantage of you, you never let it get you down. You go about each day with a smile, you never so much as raise your voice, and you never give up. How do you do it? I can’t even experience my hammock folding up on me, or somebody taking the last carton of milk at the store, without losing it.”

Gyro set down the large box of Nanny-bot parts and took a seat at his desk, turning the chair so that he faced Donald. He thoughtfully rested his elbow atop the blueprint-swathed surface, hand against his chin. “Hmm, well, I suppose I just remind myself a positive life and attitude is born from the same thing- the thoughts I think. It’s those thoughts that determine how happy or unhappy I am. Don’t get me wrong, I get angry like everyone else; I’m not a machine. But even though I can't always change or control what happens to me, I can how I react to what happens. I just make a choice each time I’m faced with a situation.”

He held up a finger. “For instance, if an invention goes wrong, I frame it in a positive way. Instead of getting down on myself, I look at it as a challenge, which helps to keep me sharp, inspire me, and keeps the ‘ol wheels turning. And whether or not it’s salvageable, I also focus on all my inventions that were successful.”

“That… actually makes sense,” murmured Donald.

“As for how others see me, well, that’s definitely something beyond my control,” Gyro continued with a chuckle. “So, why waste energy on being bitter about it? I don’t like it- and I’ll be honest, it’s when I’m treated as a simple gadget-man that bothers me even more than when my inventions and I are misunderstood- but some people are just plain ignorant and others have a different way of looking at my inventions (and some views can be quite valid, such as Mrs. Webster’s). Again, I choose to focus on the ones in my life who do appreciate and understand me, as well as all the times my ideas have helped others; and helping to make a difference in the lives of others makes everything else worth it.”

A warm smile spread over Donald’s face. “Those are all the things I love and admire best about you, Gyro. I don’t know what you see in a hot-tempered palooka like me, but you make me twice as lucky as Gladstone.”

They drew in for a kiss. “As far as perseverance goes,” Gyro said earnestly, hands remaining on Donald’s shoulders, “you sell yourself short. No matter how bad things get, and I mean really bad, you keep going. It’s, well, almost ridiculous.”

 Donald couldn’t help but grin back, blushing.   

As they resumed cleaning, Donald asked, “Say, where’s Little Helper?”

“Oh, I gave him the day off. He’d been busting his bulb helping me on the Nanny-bot all week.”

“And were you planning on joining him after testing it?” Donald wryly asked with a sideways glance.

“Heh, well… you know what a workaholic I am, Donald.”

Donald reached up on tip-toes and kissed his cheek. “I guess you’re not so perfect after all.”

They spent the remainder of the morning curled up together in Donald’s hammock, soon lulled to sleep by the easy chorus of both their content purrs.

QOTD: What is your favorite thing about Gyro Gearloose?

Well, I pretty much answered that in this story. But when it comes to all versions of Gyro across media, it's definitely his perseverance and how he never gives up, no matter how many inventions of his goes wrong. His passion and pride for inventing is really cool!!

[chroniclegossip]

Time for another edition of Antioch Answers, but we’re going to do things a little differently this time. Instead, we’re going to pay attention to our fair town, a place we’re all so (un)lucky to live in. There are a lot of interesting and unique locations to visit here, so let’s turn our attention to those that you just can’t ignore - even if you try. 

Even though Killer Pizza has some of the best pizza in the state, sometimes I think that people who work in pizza joints aren’t very smart. You get someone that calls you up with a weird name and orders a dozen pizzas, and you don’t comment? You just make the pizza and lose money? Well, lucky for every pizza place in town, they had a name and a credit card number for the unusual order they all got. Unlucky for Barry Kennedy, who I guess had his credit card stolen… unless he intentionally ordered over fifty lopsided beef only pizzas.

In the ever growing competition between the Blue Moon Diner and The Scoop, both stores have been holding promotional events with The Scoop offering up coffee tasting weekends and a lottery to win free coffee for a week, no limit! Congratulations to Becca Vergara, who can have as many pumpkin spice lattes (or just black coffee, if she’s boring and doesn’t know how to be festive) as she wants for the next seven days. Maybe she should start trying to stock up on that.

The new age darling of town known as Celestial Beings is currently offering one lucky person per day a gift box of talismans and charms! No one knows how they’re selecting the winner, and no one knows how long the special is going to go, but the congratulations list in the store says Jae Walsh has won four sets of anti-possession talismans. No one knows if Walsh has even been to the store. 

In the ever growing competition between the Blue Moon Diner and The Scoop, both stores have been holding promotional events with The Blue Moon Diner trying to remind you of just how long it’s been around. The Diner is claiming to be a family tradition and introducing you to its employees by printing their faces on the plates and offering discounts based on which employee’s plate you bring in - except somehow it seems only Ethan Weaver ended up with his face on a plate. Does it count as a collector’s item if there’s only one item in a set? (By the way, you get a discount on a plate of waffles for Ethan. Having a plate of Penny would have earned you twenty percent off steak.)

Through rain, sleet, dark of night, yadda yadda. We all know the post office is great at its job and a national treasure. We also know that we can’t say the same about shipping companies. Sometimes we get deliveries that are supposed to go to our neighbor’s door, but rarely do we get our neighbor’s neighbor’s packages or the entire street’s. People say it looks like the truck backed up and dumped every box  they had at Maharth Chandrasekhar's door and that the tower of boxes has the names of at least five different streets. 

Have you heard the news about Zippo’s? Out of all the places to break in and rob, I don’t know who would want to go into that place, but someone did. You wouldn’t think there’d be a lot of money in a place like that and you can get better prizes from just about anywhere, but the window was smashed in and when the police showed up to investigate it, sources report that every single token was gone. But not missing, nope. The tokens were found before the break in was even discovered, all of them shining and scattered across the Roseland lawn, leaving Nic Vergara to host a fucked up Arcade Easter Egg hunt. 

Like a lot of flower shops, Secret Garden has a webpage where you can order bouquets, arrangements, live plants, whatever may suit your needs. It even has a handy dandy drop down where you can select how many you need, but those drop downs aren’t always user friendly. Either through old man error or some kind of computer glitch, three truckbeds full of black dahlias have shown up at the edge of the woods for John Weaver, none of them able to make it to the man’s home. Did he mean to order this many flowers? Who knows, but he has them.

@saltedearths @iterum @ofvaliancys @ofxenigmas @anhxdonia @noirhistories @godsunderfoot

[kettlefire]

WIP Wednesday

(We’re pretending it’s not 3am on a Thursday, shhhhhhhh)

“Come on Sammy.” Dean sighed, resting a hand on his disgruntled brother’s neck. Sam shrugged his shoulders half-heartedly, not enough to shrug off the hand. “We’ll go out, and look around when we’re done. Okay?” 

“Yea Dean, sure.” Sam nodded, giving Dean a small smile before pulling out a small box from the car. “Sounds good.” Dean smiled, following suit. 

The trio worked quietly, moving boxes through the house. Picking out rooms, the boys settled on the second floor, John’s on the first. It was easy, even if the tension was still there. It wasn’t long before John  tapped out, leaving to check in with a mechanic job he had ready to start once they moved. 

Dean sighed, glancing around the empty home. The place was bare even with it being pre-furnished. It didn’t feel like it would ever become home, not like his childhood home, not like Bobby’s home did. Still, the least Dean could do was try to make things easier for Sam. A sigh escaped the teen, as he glanced towards the door. 

John helped clear out the impala, leaving the boxes on the driveway before he left. Sam was still working with Dean to bring the boxes in, only complaining slightly which the older teen appreciated. The debate stands on whether the two should unpack the boxes first, or go out into town. He figured he had enough in his wallet to treat Sammy to a diner.

 “Dean?” Sam’s voice called from the front lawn, pulling Dean out of his thoughts. The teen’s eyebrows furrowed, quickly moving through the door frame and taking in the sight before him. Sam was standing closer to the house, and a box settled at his feet. A man was smiling at him, a younger man, maybe his son, stood next to him.

“Can we help you?” Dean asked, taking a stand in front of Sam. The man nodded, holding out a filled brown paper bag. 

“Hello, my name is Chuck Novak. I live just across the street from you.” The man, Chuck, motioned towards the house diagonal from theirs. “This is my son, Michael, we’re just stopping by to greet the new neighbors.”

“My sister Anna baked banana bread as a welcome.” Michael spoke up, his posture just as perfect as his father. Which left Dean a little suspicious, it wasn’t until then that he realized Chuck was a priest. “I hope you have no allergies.”

“Uh, thanks.” Dean nodded, taking the bag from the man. “I’m Dean, this is my brother Sam. Our dad’s taking a trip to his new job.”

“Hopefully we can have a better introduction soon, I’m on my way to my church.” Chuck spoke, motioning towards his simple dark car behind him. “I hope to see you three there sometime?”

“Our dad said we’re attending Thursdays.” Sam spoke up, watching the two with a careful eye. 

“Perfect. Until next time.” Dean watched the men leave, something in his gut told him this wasn’t right. Something about them rubbed him the wrong way. 

“I don’t like them.” Sam mumbled, picking up the forgotten box from the ground. “I don’t care what treats they bring.” Dean couldn’t help but smile at that, a little proud that his baby brother followed his own gut. 

“Don’t worry Sammy, I don’t either.” Dean rustled Sam’s hair, ignoring the swat as his hand and reminder that his name is just Sam. “But hey, free banana Bread.” Dean grinned, glancing back at his brother he followed him into the new house.

[clover-46]

On today's episode of brain rot:

Shaw Pack Boys but as the sexy next door neighbors.

He is every lonely house-spouse's lifeline, even if he doesn't realize it. He's also the guy you call before the electrician or plumber. He's handy like that.

Everyone loves the summer, not minding the hot summer days because it means there's a high chance David will be outside doing yard work. At first it's just nice to watch him in his tank (I have a thing for David Shaw in a tank top ever since his HBS omg) as he does some work in his yard such as pruning, planting, weeding, watering, ect. Everyone is jealous of his next door neighbors who can see the way the muscles in his forearms, shoulders, and biceps flex as he works.

Then when the sun gets high enough and the heat intensifies, they are praying that he still has yardwork to do. Because then he'll take off his shirt and use it to wipe the sweat off his face before tossing it towards his open garage door to bring inside and wash later. You don't need to be next door to admire the sculpted back muscles. Every hetero, bi, gay, and anywhere in between is admiring this man (yes even the straight men because toxic masculinity doesn't exist in my fantasies.)

Unfortunately he's responsible, so he tends to finish all the work needed before it gets that hot. If the neighborhood is lucky, someone will need "help" mowing their lawn and ask David if he would please be a dear. And of course he does and everyone is all the happier for it. 🤤

//

Asher is literally the best. All the neighborhood kids adore him because he always has some fun game to play. He gives the parents a break from their summer vacation hyped children so they can relax on the porch with some iced tea, lemonade, or a beer. Maybe a glass of wine. Hey, it's 5 o'clock somewhere!

And plenty of the parent love to watch Asher run up and down the street with a huge grin on his face. The sleeveless shirt he wears that shows off his arms so nicely has nothing to do with it.

Or the way he'll lay in his yard with nothing but a pair of shorts and sunglasses on as he sunbathes, lithe body all stretched out and muscles taut and on full display.

Or the way he'll set up a sprinkler in his yard and run through it so the water droplets trace every dip and line of him.

Or the water balloons he'll fill up and his shirt that clings to his skin while he pushes back his wet hair from his face. And of course wet shirts are uncomfortable, so it's only logical to take it off.

Woof, puppy. Woof. 🥴

//

Milo has the best garage sales on the fucking block. His design and clothing tastes are absolutely impeccable. And he's one of the very few men that can pull off a patterned button down. He manages to wear them unbuttoned and make it look classy.

No one thinks it's because of the way it lets the light from the sun and the shade dapple across his abdomen.

The kids don't like him because he takes the market for best lemonade. They don't know that the adults like it so much because it's spiked. The kiddies get normal crystal light lemonade.

Milo who gets a lot more attention whenever he's indulging his oral fixation with a lolly or a Popsicle. Sometimes if they're lucky, he'll have an ice cream cone and the ice cream will melt a little and start to run down his hand, so he'll have to lick it up while the neighbors try not to imagine him licking something else.

-🙊

I WANT THEM TO BE MY NEIGHBORS WTF

also these make for great mental imagery i was going FERAL

(and toxic masculinity doesn’t exist in my fantasies either LMAOOO)

@messenger-of-stupidity

[jodilin65]

MONDAY, MAY 31, 1999 I’m feeling a little down tonight. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s cuz the onset of June has us not too much further into the prep work as the coming of May did. Perhaps I’m feeling angry at God, once again, for cheating me out of my right as a woman to choose whether or not to have a kid. Perhaps it’s cuz I know this is the last day of not having assholes just a few feet away from me. At least, I think it is, even if I don’t vibe it, cuz not only is tomorrow the 1st, but I think I might’ve seen one of our new neighbors. The shocking thing about it is, is that she was white. White doesn’t mean better, though. Not when you’re a renter and not when you’re just a few feet away.

At just after 4 PM, Tom and I saw a new car with a couple in their 60s, accompanied by what must’ve been their daughter. I couldn’t tell her age for sure and I couldn’t see if she was pregnant. This one didn’t exactly look all that young, though. She might’ve been in her late 20s. Even her 30s. I thought the car might be too dazzling to be that of a couple that old, but Tom says differently. Well, Tom knows cars better than I do, so I trust him. I saw no kids, but I know the city isn’t going to rent to someone without kids. I suggested to Tom that maybe the people got it by word of mouth. Maybe someone with a city friend offered the house to them to either rent or buy, but Tom says they aren’t allowed to do that. Well, I know the older couple aren’t the ones to be moving in.

Since the couple drove that woman that tells me that she probably doesn’t have a car. So, I guess that means that like with the bitch, all her cronies will be running over here to see her and to take her places, huh? But is this who’s moving in? How many kids does she have? Does she work? Have dogs? Maybe tomorrow will tell. It only seems logical that someone would move in tomorrow, but again, my vibes just don’t say so. I see something going on, though. Perhaps the city will mow. Perhaps they’ll come back to see the house again. Or someone else will.

Anyway, it didn’t appear that these people had keys to the house. They pulled up, went into the carport, and tried to see into the window, then into the backyard, then a few minutes later they walked towards the front of the house, then left. They could’ve gotten into the house from the back, but I don’t think so. The good thing is that I don’t have a bad vibe, but that doesn’t mean I’m not in for rude noisy assholes. Remember, the bitch and company didn’t start off so bad. I didn’t even know anyone came to look at the house and was moving in till a couple of weeks later when I first heard that cock’s bass. I had asked him if he was a worker there when I went out and uselessly asked him to turn the music down. That’s when he told me that they’d been slowly moving in for a couple of weeks. Same with the Mormons. They were fine the first week or so.

The owners were across the street working on the house again. There’s still a paper on the door. Probably an eviction notice, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s gonna come back and claim it.

For three days I had close to 2000 calories and awoke at 109 pounds. But today, I had just over 1000 calories and woke up at 111 pounds. Nice, huh?

SUNDAY, MAY 30, 1999 Tom did a wonderful job trimming the tree in front, but even so, that's all he did this weekend so far, and this is something that needs to be done anyway, moving or not. He also brought some of the stuff we have out back, like the old sink, an old little table, etc., to the alley for bulk pickup, but there's still plenty of stuff in the backyard. I guess we'll really need a dumpster right before we move! That alley fills up fast.

I'm surprised I haven't heard from Paula. Well, I hope her birthday went well.

SATURDAY, MAY 29, 1999 Tom said he saw the owners of the house across the street come to mow the lawn. I just hope that whatever comes next over there isn’t worse.

This is the second day in a row I woke up at 109 pounds after I had been waking up at around 111 pounds for a while. Tom says it’s cuz of the exercise. Well, good. Then I can eat more. I had to have had about 2000 calories the last couple of days, so I was surprised to wake up at what I did, and I doubt I would’ve had I not been exercising.

Later…

I’ve been watching a lot of documentaries lately. Stuff on the Titanic, crime, natural disasters, rescues, etc. Every now and then I still check out a movie if I can find something appealing enough that I haven’t seen. It’s just that new movies are scarce! I swear they must make only 50 new movies per year. It really sucks.

Anyway, I’ve got one taping now, nonetheless, and hopefully it’ll have a good enough plot mixed in with the pregnant women having babies. And the TMs (typical males) with their so-called “ideal women.” That to them is a slim girl between the ages of 12 and 16 who’s very short, yet magically has endlessly long legs and big tits.

There’s gonna be a 12-episode Law & Order marathon on Monday. I’ve seen all I care to see on that show, but maybe I’ll tape it anyway just to see what episodes they run.

My vibes on next door have been accurate since that bitch left, but I wonder about Tuesday. You could say I kind of sense something then. Maybe someone won’t be moving in that day, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the city came to mow.

After mentioning to Tom how I’d miss never seeing Goldie and Al again, he said he felt I’d see them again. When I asked how he sort of shrugged, and then I asked if he thought I’d see Dureen and Art again. He said it was possible. Oh, is it? If so, I told him, it’d take a major backslide mentality-wise on my part. He said he didn’t say that. I asked what he meant then, but he wasn’t sure, I guess. Well, let’s just put it this way - knowing what’s good for me, I hope I never see these people unwillingly (which I don’t see as a possibility unless they broke into our house) and I most certainly hope I never see these people willingly. I’d like to think that I’ll always have self-respect and good judgment with whom I associate.

FRIDAY, MAY 28, 1999 Still no renters. Tom said there’s a note on their door and that he thinks they’re being evicted. I told him so. I told him they were running. I won’t miss their constant comings and goings, but what if what comes in next is worse?

Why in the world don’t I have a bad vibe concerning next door? I should. But my logic and my vibes aren’t the same. Tom’s logic says they’ll move in tomorrow. My logic says they’ll move in Tuesday the first. My vibes say my peace isn’t threatened.

Tom thinks that whoever’s leaving us next door’s paper is someone who regularly cruises the area and lives down towards the right of our house. He thinks they see the house is empty and don’t want it to look that way to passing homeless people, so they put the paper on our doorstep as they’re walking back to their house. They’re obviously too lazy to carry it all the way to their house. Know what I ought to do for the fun of it? These papers are delivered every Wednesday. So maybe, once I see the paper over there, if there’s still no one living there, I’ll leave a note on the paper itself that says, Are you going to leave this one on our doorstep too? That ought to surprise whoever our little delivery person is.

Doe and Art did what I put at the top of my list of guesses as to what their next move would be. They didn’t call back. I figured they’d leave their number for me to see and go by that. Now that they see that they didn’t get a response from me, they may ignore me indefinitely. Long enough to get out of here, anyway. Then all I have to do is take the chance that the letters to Tammy’s kids don’t spawn off calls from Tammy, but if they do, they do. All I have to do is just ignore them.

Got a letter from that art school for training at home in art. They graded me an 85, saying that if your score is between 80-98 you qualify for training. They say they’ll contact me, but if they try to call, they’re not gonna have any luck. I gave them a bogus number. If I don’t hear from them by July, I’ll contact them. I’ll take Tom’s suggestion and find out all my options, but even if this course were free, how would I get jobs afterward with no car living where we’ll be living. It’d be hard even if we stayed right here, and remember, I can’t even keep a fucking schedule. So, my life’s options are pretty limited as far as jobs and huge responsibilities (such as kids) go. Tom thinks they’re legitimate, though, and he plans to take this same art test when we move to see if they tell him the same thing or not, but he thinks he’ll score lower than 80. They tell you if you’ve scored lower than 80, to keep practicing, and then take another test.

Later…

Just did the first part of my workout. I do my abs first, then my legs. I haven’t been doing too much with the arms. Just a couple of exercises, including push-ups.

My theme changer’s working again. We’ll see how long it lasts and what gets fucked up next.

Andy is going to get some more notes from me after all. He had wanted me to make up new notes for him to distribute, but I was too lazy to do so, so he had Michelle do it. Well, Tom got more colored notepaper. I pulled out a sheet of each of the 10 colors for my dream notes, so I’ll stick that in with Andy’s stuff.

THURSDAY, MAY 27, 1999 Woke up to an unwelcome surprise. When I went to check the Caller ID box, guess whose name and number were there? Art O’s. And guess what else? They never did change their number. Right before I cut them off, their area code changed. So, when I went to chew them out about Larry last winter, I was dialing the right number, but with the wrong area code. I’m glad that I forgot the new area code at the time, cuz it would’ve been a total waste of time to bitch them out about Larry, themselves, or anyone. Like it would’ve changed anything? Yeah, right! I still do intend, though, to send them and Larry that stuff when we move, although I’m sure barely a paragraph of that will be read. With my luck, they won’t have that natural curiosity of wanting to see what others are going to be reading about them, even though I’m just bluffing.

Anyway, there was no message, so I don’t know which one of them left the message or why they were calling, but I’ll bet you I can take a damn good guess! Let’s see…we want to call and act like nothing went wrong, be nicey-nicey for a while, then go through the same old cycle of bullshit, huh? Not this time, Doe and Art. Not this time! Of course, I don’t know how long it’ll take them to see that yes, I’m dead serious this time. They really did blow it for the final time last summer. It truly is over forever. Well, sort of. I mean, I’m sure they’ll try again, but obviously it can’t be that important and nobody can be dying or else they’d have left a message. It could go the other way around, though, too. There’s a chance they won’t bother calling back cuz they know I’ve got caller ID. There were times in the past that I’d call them back after seeing their number on the box, even when they didn’t leave messages. They may now say to themselves after placing this one call, “OK, we left our number on her box for her to see. Now that she knows we called, she can decide from here whether or not she wants to talk to us.” Well, I decided that last summer.

Who the fuck is taking the papers that are left in next door’s driveway and placing them by our front door? I asked Tom for his theory, but he had none. I do. I think it’s the collie people. But why? To be a nuisance to us? To not let next door look empty? If they wanted to gather up the papers to keep next door from looking empty, why can’t they just throw the papers in their own damn recycle bin? Why give them to us? They’re the only ones I can think of that’d do that to us. They’ve got to know that the anonymous letters about their dogs came from this house. The Mexicans had to have discussed me, and then they had to have put two and two together. I hope I can spot whoever’s doing it to settle my curiosity and prove my theory right or wrong. I won’t do anything to them for it, though. After all, it’s just a newspaper, and not eggs or spray paint or anything messy like that.

Yesterday I put together a whole 500-piece puzzle.

Later…

I thought about it some more. Yes, thinking and analyzing things is my favorite thing to do! It could’ve been Dureen calling to say that Art’s in the hospital (with him expected to live). She could be using that as an excuse to patch things up for another round of abuse, knowing how much closer he and I were than she and I were. Well, if he’s sick - I’m sorry. I’m sorry if they’re suffering in any way. However, they still need to forget about me and move on. Nothing we can do can stop people from getting sick or dying. I’m standing firm ground on my decision. I don’t want anything to do with them.

There’s also a chance that out of sheer spite, they were calling to accuse me of something I didn’t do that they know I didn’t do. Or maybe one of their many enemies fucked with them and they really thought it was me.

Damn! It’s coming up on June and we haven’t scratched the surface of the prep list. My October vibe may very well end up turning into a January vibe, then an April vibe, and then the bitch won’t get her shit forwarded to her.

Later…

Boy, has my computer been doing weird things! It’s been totally hexed! First I get the virus, and now, the screen saver/color theme/wallpaper changer program is fucking things up. Last night, my themes quit changing. They couldn’t even be changed manually, so Tom had to reinstall Windows. Ironically, the thing’s working again, but I’ll tell you one thing for sure and that’s that there’ll be no more downloading or adding new programs to my computer for a long long time. Not if all it’s going to do is cause such hassles.

Walgreens is getting pretty incompetent these days. I called in a refill for one of my inhalers yesterday. They made it up when Tom went to pick it up today, but they claim I never called.

There’s been no one at the renter’s house since the day they played load-up last Sunday.

I forgot to mention that part of the reason Tom’s getting a raise is that, as he says, he complained about the way things were at work, as he learned from me. Well, it’s true that you have to speak out to get results at times. They hired a couple of new people and this is supposed to be his last week of overtime. Yeah, right! We’ll just see about that, cuz I say something new will come up to tie up his time. It just seems that God wants him to never have enough time here at home. It’s bad enough that we’re bound to this house for another God only knows how many more months, cuz of lack of time in which to prepare it to sell. And thanks to a certain selfish bitch who doesn’t give a shit about helping us. God, I wish that lady would hurry up and drop dead! But nope. In fact, she’s doing well enough to be going to California with David and Evie. Maybe even to Michigan to see her sister. See, people should listen to psychics more so than doctors. The doctor said she’d be going belly up last February, while I said that that won’t be happening till around August of 2000 and look who’s been right so far.

I don’t have a bad vibe for June 1st being just around the corner, and I should. Especially if those freeloaders, or something similar enough, are to be moving in that day. That tells me, along with a vibe that began last night, however weak it may be at this point, that perhaps the city is looking to sell that house (although I’d think they’d put up a for-sale sign). That means constant barking, but I’m prepared to deal with that too, if I have to. Not just subsidized freeloaders or their music. Anything that moves in there, be it black, white, or purple, is going to mean noise from kids. That may not be such a problem depending on their ages, or it could be a problem. We’ll just have to wait and see, cuz as you know, the kid that lived there wasn’t a problem. It was all the kids who’d visit that were a problem. And then again, dogs may be a problem no matter who moves in, be it renters or owners. I don’t know what to think anymore after seeing a carless, working bitch live there, then a jobless Mexican with a nice van come to check the place out.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 26, 1999 Tom got a 10% raise and will be making just over $26,000 a year!! That’s great.

Another messageless private call today. Again, it could very well be a business, but it could also be Michelle doing this so Andy could throw me off, cuz I had told him that as far as I knew, any private calls were from him, but I don’t know.

Woke up at 7:30 this morning with some cramps after falling asleep at 3:00. I took an ibuprofen, but what was weird was that an hour later, I woke up with more cramps and had to take two ibuprofen. I fell back asleep till 2:00, so I guess I needed it. The only trouble is that if someone moves in on the first, my schedule sucks for it. I’ll be woken up for damn sure that day.

I watched an old stalker movie I’d seen before and an autopsy documentary, and then I completed the day’s workout. I finished one of the four puzzles I got, but before starting another one, I think I’ll go relax with the current book I’m reading which is Stranger in the House. No, I’d better do the dishes first and get that out of the way.

TUESDAY, MAY 25, 1999 When I got up I said to myself, I bet you have your daily message from Paula waiting for you. Sure enough, she left a message. She said she got the video, so that’s good. That’s all she said, though.

Also, in case I didn’t already say so, Andy didn’t mention any of the things I left him messages about when he called a few days ago from Springfield. That’s Mr. Into Himself for you, but he’ll rebel when he gets back and he’ll challenge or try to alter my views as far as Tom’s mom goes, or someone on my side of the family. The problem with Andy, though, is that he doesn’t listen. Do you know how many times he’s brought up manufactured homes being flimsy and how many times I’ve had to tell him that yes, ten years ago they were, but once they recognized they weren’t sturdy enough, they made them sturdier and are built of the same materials your houses and apartment complexes in Phoenix are made of?

Today and yesterday there was a messageless private call. It could be a business, but why do I have the feeling it’s Michelle calling, per orders of Andy, just to keep things going phone-wise?

Sounds like the kids are still in school.

MONDAY, MAY 24, 1999 Today’s the day. Seven years ago. It’s been that long since I left the NHA.

If I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, I’m soooooooo sick and tired of babies on TV. Like I said, in the 80s, all you saw on TV were drug busts. In the '90s, you’d be hard-pressed to find a show/movie with no one having a baby in it and it really gets old. I guess they felt they should really change subjects to something good, that most people can relate to. Well, even if I could relate to it too, the same old, same old gets old. I find myself less and less tolerant of the same old shit these days. I don’t know if Dureen and Art’s lack of tolerance has rubbed off on me, or if it’s just because, or what, but I’m tired of people having babies in everything I watch, which isn’t very much to begin with in the first place. So, since I rarely watch TV, it’d be nice to be able to enjoy something without the same old shit in it for a change.

Later…

Paula left yet another message today. God, she’s calling more often than Andy! Almost every day. I didn’t think she’d be such a pest since she’s long-distance. I didn’t think she’d have the phone to be a pest with most of the time, since she, like Fran, had a habit of ringing huge phone bills up and losing phones for months at a time. The whole time we were neighbors, she didn’t have a phone.

My waist is 27¼, my hips are 36, and my thighs are 21¼. I wish my waist, hips, and thighs could be 24-34-18, but that’s not going to happen. Tom says I’m going down all over, but since my upper stomach’s going down faster than the lower, it seems like my lower stomach’s not going down, but it is. Well, I hope he’s right and that it will go down some more, cuz I don’t feel like it’s gone down since I initially lowered it a bit. In fact, sometimes I feel like it’s gone up since then, so maybe Tom’s right; my upper gut going down some more makes it seem like my lower gut’s come up. My upper gut has definitely gone down a bit more. That we can both see.

I can’t wait till these braces come off, cuz then I can have carrots when I get hungry for a snack. They’re heavy compared to other vegetables like lettuce, so they’re somewhat filling, and they’re under 50 calories. Well, they’ve got 91 days to go, as long as they don’t decide to play appointment games on me again and reschedule me three fucking times. To go and schedule someone else when you’ve already got someone scheduled is totally rude. Anyway, the screen saver program that lets you put your own pictures into their effects is a countdown screen saver. Sixteen images I’ve selected flash by one by one as it counts down. So tomorrow, the same pictures will flash by, but it’ll tell me I’ve got 90 days to go in the corner.

Tom was headed out to trim the tree out front, but as we know, not being able to find things is his favorite pastime and he couldn’t find his fucking saw. Instead, though, he threw some old newspapers into the recycle bin. I’m so sick of the daily papers being thrown in our driveway. We don’t need them, we don’t want them, and we didn’t ask for them.

He slept from early morning to early afternoon, then went back to bed late afternoon. He doesn’t have to leave till 12:30, but he told me to get him up at 9:30.

He gets me an exercise mat if I ask for one, sports bras, almost anything within reason, but see? If it’s sexual, he doesn’t care to lift a finger to so much as try to meet my request. Well, I asked once and I’m certainly not gonna ask again. I have a feeling that’s what he’s waiting for and hoping for, but sorry, I’m not gonna beg my own husband to go down on me. I can see if I asked him to do something he didn’t want to do and he came out and told me so, but to just ignore a request from his wife to do something I know he’s capable of doing, tells me just how vindictive and selfish sexually he can be.

The blazer returned yesterday at 7:30 and played musical doors and loaded up for an hour, then left. So far today, I haven’t seen any vehicles over there, so I’m still guessing that they moved. They just did it in a weird way. Then again, these people are very weird, period. Well, I won’t miss their door slamming, but like I said, if it were next door, it’d be about as bad, maybe worse, as those damn blacks were with their door slamming, but I still don’t know for sure if they moved. I’m just glad they’re across the street and not next door! As for next door? I’m not sure what’s going on. My guess is still that someone will be moving in on the first, but what about that peeling carport paint and the overgrown grass that needs mowing? Are they gonna come out and do that first? We’ll just have to wait and see, I guess.

SUNDAY, MAY 23, 1999 These renters get weirder by the minute. They didn’t run, apparently. If they’re not coming to get some things they left in the house, then they did go on vacation. But why the need to pack things in several truckloads for a vacation? And why the need to come and go loading or unloading shit like they’re doing now? I can’t tell if they’re loading or unloading one of the vehicles now, but they’re doing something. Maybe they’re just hanging out in their vehicles. The people of Arizona have a strange way of doing that.

OK, I just got a better look and it looks like they’re loading the pickup. If they’re moving, what a strange way to move by moving stuff, then waiting a couple of weeks to move more stuff. The red car was here earlier, and now the Blazer and the white pickup are here. These people are more complicated to try to figure out than the blacks were with all their vehicles and their comings and goings. I still hope they don’t move, though. They may be into a lot of door slamming, but it’s across the street, not next door. Also, they don’t have a dog that barks non-stop outdoors. If they move, I could very well end up with a typical outdoor barker.

I’m loving every minute that next door stays scum-free, cuz I know it’s just a matter of a few days now. By the first, in comes the scum and back comes all that stress and lack of peace. However, I now know how to deal with these people! So, be it by the city or by my fists, I will set these people straight. They’re not gonna shit on me left and right like the blacks did. It definitely means having a dog to deal with if the city sells it, but as I told Tom, maybe that’s just what the city’s working on now, although there’s no for-sale sign up. Tom said he doesn’t see why they’d sell it cuz the law requires them to have a certain number of subsidized houses. Yeah, there are a lot of lazies out there.

Tom did more than I thought he’d do over the weekend. I thought all he’d do was just pick up the brush out front, but he did that, he removed the old ugly awning from the front bedroom window, he cleared the back patio, he filled in the AC hole in the back room, he spackled holes and smoothed the kitchen walls and ceiling, and he even drilled a hole for Mary and Dave’s new TV. Yeah, I knew them winning that would mean a job for Tom. If they get something, he has to set it up for them. Tom felt he owed her that for tagging along for so many hours the day they bought the new car. He still has another job left, though; to put an up duct in for them.

He got me some really cool computer presents, but as usual, there are problems with them. I can’t fully use them, I mean.

He got some ghost stories for me to read on the little computer to read myself to sleep, but he lost them, I guess.

He got a really cool program that lets you make your own screensavers. They have the basic effects and you add your own pictures. Some bounce, some fly, some distort, and they do all different kinds of things. There’s a 3-D cube too, and I made one of Gloria’s pictures, Norah’s, and the animals. What’s also cool about this is that you can set timers so that your themes, screensavers, and your wallpaper automatically change. The screen saver changer won’t work, and I don’t like their wallpaper changer as much as Tom’s, but the theme changer is so cool.

Yesterday we went to Walgreens. The prescription department wasn’t open when we got there, so Tom had to go back later to get my water pills. While we were there, though, I picked up 4 puzzles. Nothing spectacular. Just boring landscapes. However, they’re fun to do. I also got a couple of sports bras and they’re great. Not just for exercising and bouncing all around, but for any time.

Paula left another message yesterday with a whole different story. First she tells me that if I send anything to the 663 box, it’ll be returned to me. Now she says she’ll still get it, and that she just put in a change of address for the other box. But why change boxes? And why can’t she get her facts straight? First it’s this, then it’s that. She’s driving me nuts! Also, I thought that being long-distance, she wouldn’t bug me so much with the phone. Boy, did I think wrong!

I was also correct in assuming Andy would waste his time and money to call me just to tell me that he got my messages and is having a great time. Well, I’m happy he’s having a great time, but couldn’t this have waited?

Later…

OK, renters, come on. Let’s hurry up and wrap up whatever it is you’re doing. Your door slamming’s getting on my nerves. You’re lucky you’re not next door!

Later…

Good. The vehicles have left. I’ll enjoy the half-hour they’re gone since I know they’ll be back to play car doors all over again for another couple of hours.

Just checked my email. Kim’s jokes are getting dumber by the minute. What’s happening to her?

It just dawned on me that Andy never mentioned getting that letter from me. I’ll have to ask him the next time we talk, if and when I can get a word in edgewise.

FRIDAY, MAY 21, 1999 God, I’m getting tired of these phone games with Paula! I’m gonna ignore her for a while, cuz I’m tired of the phone tag, and right now, I really don’t have anything to say to this air-head. Meanwhile, her video’s gone out today. She either gets it or she doesn’t. You know, I might not get the mail I sent to the wrong PO Box returned to me after all. It may go to that box, but whoever uses that box will be the one to get it. As long as you send something to an address that exists, it doesn’t matter what name you use.

I thought of something funny, but I’d never do it, cuz if I got caught, and with my luck I would, it’s a major felony. It’s just something funny to think about. I could get a change of address card and send Tammy’s mail to Larry, and another change of address card to send Larry’s to Tammy. Lastly, a card to send Dureen and Art’s to one of the houses we used to have in Longmeadow. Or perhaps the old cottage at the beach. Maybe even Judy and Al’s house in Springfield.

I’ve taken to writing my dream notes in an unusual place. The next person to buy these books will be like - what’s this? I’m writing the notes at the beginning or end of the book where you usually have a blank page or so, or a page with just a few words on it.

Oh, those fucking assholes that complain people hate them and then wonder why! Real winners, I’ll tell ya. Yes, they really are oh so mature and great for society. Great for each other, too. If it had been me to answer the door yesterday, there’d have been trouble. Especially if it were before I fully understood what was going on. I was in the bedroom with the fan on when I came out to pee and saw Tom up. The Mexican guys woke him up by coming to the door and asking where the car was.

Gee, where the fuck does he think it is, stupid fuck of an idiot!

I asked Tom if the stupid shit asked for the $50 back and he said no. Meanwhile, the little fuck’s truck was broken down on the corner. See, I thought the little fuck was trying to imply that the car was gone before he could get it, and that he was gonna ring the doorbell again and demand his $50 back after Tom told him he gave him the title and the keys, so it’s not his problem. That idiot is very very lucky that that wasn’t the case and that it didn’t ring this bell, cuz I’d have wanted to pummel the shit out of it. This shit totally reminds me of the Puerto Ricans and their scams on Oswego St. I was fuming! Anyway, what we think happened is that the shithead was double-crossed by its so-called pal. Tom said there were 3 of them that came to look at the car the first time. So obviously, one of them decided to beat the others to it. Yeah, I don’t doubt it. I mean, they even shit on their own selves, not just whites.

As I said, it brought me right back to Oswego St. How could I have been so damn naïve?! So fucking stupid?! I know it’s senseless to get all pissed off at something that happened over a decade ago and that cannot be undone, but still, it’s hard to help it at times. The first thing I should have done was to take better care of my place so that those fucking Puerto Ricans Nellie and José couldn’t have ripped me off. But since I was too stupid to keep them away from my apartment and me away from them, I should’ve kicked ass. That surely wouldn’t set them straight and scared them off of the idea of fucking with my checks or boxes. I also never should’ve cashed those stolen checks she had, but I had absolutely no idea that if you cashed bad checks you had to pay for them. And I didn’t know they were stolen, but I should’ve. I shouldn’t put two and two together.

I try to remind myself there are good and bad in all kinds, but it’s so very hard at times. When that black bitch and her associates got on my case, I tried remembering Steve, and when Mexican scammers get me riled up, I remember Gloria.

There are sooooooo many things I’d do totally differently if I had to do them again. Well, you really do live and learn!

Another thing I can’t help is my daily bitter resentment towards God and his control. I try to ask myself how I can hate someone who’s given me Tom and so many other great things. Besides, I don’t even want a baby anymore. But that should’ve been my choice. Not his. Not unless I was some murderer or something of that violent nature. I’m glad things worked out as they did, but why did I have to go through all the suffering I went through? To me, God’s taking away a woman’s right to have a child if she wants to is the ultimate punishment you can inflict upon a woman. It’s cruel, it’s vicious, it’s heartless, and the worst thing you can do to a woman. It’s even worse for him to do that than it is for him to allow a woman to be raped. It may be traumatic to be raped and it may do some serious, lasting emotional damage, but the rape is only the rape while the actual act lasts. Demanding a woman be childless is forever. All her life she has to deal with that and with having her choice taken away from her, but a rape victim only has their choice taken away from them while they’re being raped.

Still no one next door. God, I can’t believe it! It’s so weird. Maybe they are planning to sell it, but I don’t know. The grass is getting to where it needs mowing. Also, Tom says that by law, the city has to repaint the carport area where the paint is peeling. With a city-owned house, the city can do what they want.

Later…

Just got a private call with no message. Was it a wrong number, a business, or perhaps Michelle, ordered by Andy to call me while he was gone, just so he could know he got my attention while he was gone, too?

Why do I work so hard for so little? All these crunches just to have such a paunch! The upper belly’s fairly flat. It’s the area between the belly button and the bikini line that’s the problem. And this is no subtle little swell, either. It’s a very defined bulge. I really don’t think I can flatten it any more than I already have, but Tom thinks I can in time.

Later…

I love my new exercise mat! It makes a world of difference to my back and joints. It really cushions the back, knees, and hips. It’s a piece of foam 60” long and 22” wide with a burgundy cloth cover. You can unzip the cloth and take it off to wash it. Just like when I exercise, it keeps the woolly carpet from bothering my sensitive skin. It also keeps me from making odd-looking impressions in the carpet.

I left Andy a message for when he returns, saying there have been some setbacks, so we won’t be moving this summer. In fact, I exaggerated it and said we’d be here another 6-12 months (we better not be!) so all the more he’ll be surprised when we leave.

I also told Andy that it’d be nice to hear about him when he returns. Not about God. He can talk about God all he wants, just some other time. First, let’s hear about his vacation and about what he did. Save God for another time. I know I’m totally wasting my time, once again. Even though I asked nicely, and I never said that he couldn’t talk about God ever again. It’s just that it gets so old and it’s so sad to see him so delusional. How can he kid himself about God like he does? It’s like, I may as well believe that this monitor is real and is looking out for me and is oh so loving and all that. Or one of my dolls, or a pair of scissors! We all can’t help what we believe, but God’s just a fictional character in a fairytale, as far as I’m concerned. At least, the kind he believes in.

I don’t have any more puzzles to do, so I guess I’ll go read some more of Haunted. Or maybe I’ll print out some stuff for this month.

THURSDAY, MAY 20, 1999 I’ve been getting bruising along my spine, so I’m gonna be getting an exercise mat to cushion my back today or tomorrow.

Lisa tried calling me collect 6 times yesterday. I risked Tammy answering and called back, although I assumed Lisa was calling cuz she was alone, and quickly told her, “Lisa, I can’t talk to you. Hunt me down when you get on your own. I love you. Good-bye.”

But she’s trying to get a hold of me today, too. Isn’t she supposed to be in school? See, I’m just afraid to call. I don’t want to risk Tammy answering, and for all I know, Lisa’s aiding Tammy in some shit against me. Meaning, Tammy may’ve talked her into calling me collect and saying she’s in some deep shit to try to manipulate me to do something she wants me to do. This could be about Dureen and Art. I know, though, that if these people died or Tammy had something she really wanted to say, she’d call and leave a message. Still, I think it’s best I ignore Lisa for now. I hate to do it and I feel so mean and guilty, but I know that anything Lisa has to tell me will just get me down and maybe bring some unwanted, shitty memories along with it. She’d obviously mention people she knows like Tammy, Bill, and others, and I don’t want to hear about them. I don’t want to know them from nothing. The thought of their names makes me sick. It really does.

Later…

My guilty conscious finally got to me and I wanted to explain to Lisa outright what I planned to do. As I knew she would, even though knowing this didn’t ease my guilt, she understood that my cutting off Tammy, Larry, Dureen, and Art has nothing to do with her. She understands why I can’t have Tammy and the others in my life anymore. As I told her, though, don’t let my decision influence her. I told her that just like I have to do what I have to do, so does she. I told her that as far as she’s concerned if anyone ever asks, she hasn’t heard from me since April of 1999. However, as I told her, I’ll be hunting her down at some point when she’s in her 20s, but she cannot, under any circumstances, give whatever our number and address are at the time to anyone. She can’t let anyone know we’re still connected. I told her we shouldn’t risk calling each other and that if she calls this number in a few months, it’ll be disconnected. I told her we plan to stay in Arizona but that we want to move outside of the city.

All Lisa said, who was suspended for refusing to take a test, was that she was miserable there. I know she is. I told her, I know exactly how she’s feeling, but she has to just tough it out a couple more years, get her diploma, then get out on her own. I told her that when she does get an apartment of her own, to list her number as Lisa A. G. I told her to tell her sisters, once they get old enough to understand, that just because their aunt had to go away, she never blamed them for any of the family problems and she always loved them.

Maybe in 5-10 years from now, Lisa can come to our house out here be it to live or to visit, but again, as she says she understands, she can’t tell anyone where she’s going. I suppose the worst that could happen would be that her mother and her associates find out our number and address, try to call/write to get me back into their sick little circle, and I just play deaf and blind to it all. Just like I would right now if Tammy left me a message saying she just wanted to move on, she wouldn’t pressure me, let’s be friends. Even if that were true and we could get along, I’ve done my time with Tammy, just like with Larry and their parents. It’s time to move on. Period. Time to cut the connections to so many horrible events. I don’t need the reminders and the sad memories that these people bring. I just feel so bad for Lisa! I know the desperateness, the helplessness, the frustration, the anger, the sadness, and the hopelessness she’s feeling right now. Trapped with a bully of a father and a negative bitch of a mother. She wants to get out of there so bad that she said she was gonna get an apartment with “Joe” this summer. I reminded her of how her mother wanted out so bad too, and look where that got her. I told her to do it right, even if it takes longer.

So, after a few minutes of talking, with both of us in tears, I said that it may be a long stretch in between this conversation and the next, but that I loved her. She said she loved me too, and that was it.

I’m glad we talked one last time and that I laid things out on the line for her. I just didn’t like the idea of ignoring her calls for the next few months, then just disappearing for a while, even though she’d understand. I know she knows what’s going on. Next week, I’ll send Becky that birthday letter and letters for Lisa and Sarah, too.

First the doctor doesn’t call me back most of the time, and now they’re not calling the pharmacist back. I phoned in for refills on my water pills, but they haven’t heard from the doctor. Tomorrow, if I don’t get a call from Walgreens to come and pick it up, I’m gonna call the doctor’s office and give them a piece of my mind. I’m gonna set them straight for once and for all and make damn sure they know that when I call them, I expect a call back. Same goes for the pharmacist.

Later…

Well, it may not have been the doctor’s fault after all. First I called Walgreens and they said the doctor still hadn’t called back. So I called the doctor, and after being on hold forever, I spoke to the manager. She soon called me back saying Walgreens never called them and that that happens a lot with Walgreens.

Tom was visiting his mom today, and as you know, she’s the central source of family news. You can usually find out what’s going on with the family by asking her. She says David and Evie are renting a house in San Diego and we’re invited, as well as the rest of the family, to rent along with them, but Tom declined. Neither of us is interested. I mean, we’re not interested in visiting them in the next town over, so we certainly wouldn’t want to do it the next state over.

Ma also says there’s supposed to be a new bee repellent out. Something you put on yourself to keep bees from coming towards you. Yeah, right! None of the bee stuff we’ve tried worked.

Got a bad PMS back this month. I took a couple of ibuprofen but I doubt they’ll help.

Believe it or not, I’m really getting sick of Paula. So much so that I might cut her loose, too. Maybe I really really do need to just wipe the slate clean and start over in a new place with new people. I’ve lucked out a few times with neighbors, but the bulk of my friends haven’t been all that great. I’ve been basically hexed in that territory. Anyway, she’s just a ditz. A real fucking ditz! I left a message on her machine about a week ago, telling her that the PO Box address I have of hers is number 663 but then she leaves a message saying that's not what it is. Thanks, Paula! Now you tell me? So, I guess I’ll be getting a couple of pieces of mail returned, but I ain’t resending it.

Also, I know the mailman’s fucking around as usual, but I’m tired of this I’ll-send-you-pictures shit. I don’t need to play games like this and you know my opinion on talkers versus doers. Don’t tell me what you’re gonna do, just do it.

Lastly, I’m tired of her screaming at her kid while we talk, threatening him, telling me she slapped him, etc.

So putting all this together, I sat and thought about it, and I asked myself, do I really want someone this stupid and this aggressive for a friend? Someone who doesn’t know what she’s saying half the time? Who beats her kids and is in and out of jail? She’ll do nothing but fuck up the information she gives us about coming out here and she’ll have us running around the airport for hours, needlessly. She’ll make Kim, Alex, and Phil seem like the quietest guests and come between us.

Just like with Andy, a part of me will always love Paula. It’s just that the cons are overriding those pros once again and I don’t need it. I just don’t need it. Period.

Tom and I have evolved to the point where he’s not going to get all jealous, hype things up, tell me he no longer loves me, tell me to leave, and say things happened that never did, but you never know. I had no idea he was going to react to Kim’s visit the way he did. It was totally out of character for him and totally unexpected. He completely fooled me that time, whereas except for that, he’s not really all that full of surprises. But even if she didn’t come between us, she’d be enough of a hassle to deal with and we don’t need it.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 19, 1999 Yesterday the muscles under my arms and at my sides were sore from push-ups. Today the backs of my thighs are sore.

I ran to the phone yesterday as soon as I heard the long-distance ring to see if it was Paula or Andy calling to tell me stuff that could wait till he got home, but it was Tammy’s number I saw. So I picked up the receiver and put it back as quickly and as gently as I could. The fact that the person didn’t call back told me it was probably Lisa. If you’re gonna call someone collect as she does, you don’t usually try twice in a row. If you’re gonna call a second time, you usually wait a while. If the person called right back, then I’d think it was Tammy cuz she’d probably think it was a faulty connection with the way I quickly would pick up and put the receiver right back down. So all she’d hear was a click. Not someone picking up, then hanging up. I know because I’ve done this with Andy. Sometimes I’d see his number, and I’d pick up and hang up out of annoyance, especially if he’d been calling like hell, but then he’d call right back leaving a message saying the connection didn’t quite make it or that my machine cut him off. The machine part is occasionally true, though. Sometimes our machine really does cut people off.

Still no renters across the street or people next door.

The Mexicans took the old car.

Thank God that hoop is down. Some non-white girl just went by with a smaller girl, bouncing a ball. They’re waiting for the school bus. They let them take balls to school? This girl has gotta be in junior high. Maybe even in high school. Aren’t these little animals getting out of school soon? What’s sad is that we’ll probably still be here when school starts up again in the fall.

Thank God the kids are playing ball in front of the old man’s house, which is like being two houses away since a house could fit in between ours and his. Would I be yelling at them to stop if they were in front of our house? Nah. Not since school is coming to an end and since we shouldn’t be here more than 5 more months. If it were September and if we had no plans to be moved soon, then yes. I’m sure it wouldn’t stop them unless they dropped dead, but it’d feel good to yell at them for it, anyway. But why did they come to the bus stop a whole 20 minutes early? Then again, maybe a bus passes by at 7:00, so they’ll be just 10 minutes early. There are 3-4 buses that pick up kids and drop them off at different times in the mornings and afternoons.

I hope the dream I had was not a warning sign of any kind. I hope it wasn’t a premonition of anything to come. The reason I wondered, though, was because of how I dreamt last December 28th that the freeloaders moved. Then 3 months later that happened. I also dreamt I was in the house after they moved (even though it looked nothing like it does in reality. It was a 4-bedroom, 2-story house with hardwood floors like you’d find back east). Well, after they moved, I was inside the house. However, there’s no way the place will remain empty for 3 more months, so if this dream, or any other one, does hold any clues as to the next people in there, it’s gonna happen sooner than August 19th. More like June 1st.

You’ll find this in my dreams file, but anyway, I dreamt that 5 white kids moved in. When I say “kids” I mean kids between 18-20 years old. They had their music blaring away and I went over there and threatened to have them evicted if they didn’t shut up.

There are two things about this dream that cannot happen. There’s gonna be people under 18 living over there once whoever moves in moves in. Also, they’re not gonna be white. Not unless someone buys it. No matter who’s in there, no matter what color or lifestyle, 3 feet away is just too fucking close, so it’s gonna be noisy either way. If you get owners, you get dogs. If you get renters, you get music.

If the dream I had before this one ends up a reality in any way, then things might not be so bad. This dream consisted of a white man, woman, and boy of about 10, and these people seemed more mature, more stable, and not apt to blast music.

Remember how I said I saw the blue van for a few minutes next door when the city wasn’t there? It could be that instead of the kid going into the house for something, she went in back to get something I threw over there. In fact, it’s doubtful at this point, that she was bringing anything over. I’d think she wouldn’t bring shit over this far in advance.

TUESDAY, MAY 18, 1999 Tom told me earlier that he knew this was going to make me mad since I get mad when people win things and we don’t, but Dave won a big-screen TV from a drawing they had at work. I’m not mad. I’d be mad if they won a gorgeous doll they didn’t give a shit about that I wanted, but anyway, he and I aren’t destined to win anything big. Also, if he thought it’d make me mad, why’d he tell me? Would he find it amusing to see me mad or jealous? I’ve often wondered about this.

I saw Melanie yesterday and the doctor, too. I asked the doctor how much longer on the braces. As usual, he started off being vague about it, but after a few minutes, he finally answered the goddamn question. He said it’d take 10 months to really get things lined up perfectly, but only two months to tie up loose ends on the things we set out to do that I’ve already pretty much accomplished. So, they’re coming off in 12 weeks! On August 23rd. In 4 weeks I go back for the usual check-up, then again 4 weeks after that, then I get the braces off in another 4 weeks.

Melanie says she doesn’t like her retainer. You don’t have uncomfortable knobs sticking out that you have to wax, but you feel like you’ve got a wad of gum stuck to the roof of your mouth and under your tongue, and you talk funny. So, it sounds like I’ll be swapping in one misery for another. I’ll have to have the retainer for two years. All the time during the first year, then just at night.

I told Melanie how I was bummed she wasn’t around the last time I was in, cuz of the T-shirt I made for her to see. She said I could’ve come and gotten her, but I didn’t want to bother her. She said she liked my “cute little dress” and could notice the weight I’d lost. She told me she goes to the gym after work.

When I got home I printed out a rat picture, a couple of mice pictures, and a few different pictures of myself. One from when I was really skinny and one with my hair just past the shoulders when I was 24. I’ll give this to her the next time I see her.

My hair’s now to the middle of my ass when you don’t pull the curl out, and to the tops of my legs when you do pull it out.

Later…

I wonder how Tom’s back is? Good, I hope, but no matter what happens from here on out, I’ve already resigned myself to accepting and believing that we’ll be here till the fall. Maybe even as late as the end of the year.

I’m enjoying my time off from Andy’s calls, not that he’s been pummeling me with a lot of calls lately, but still, it’s always nice not to hear from him these days. I’m not looking forward to his return, that’s for sure. Cuz then I’ll have to sit on the phone for two fucking hours while he repeats the same old shit over and over again, talking in annoying slow, broken, intermittent-like sentences. I’m sure 80% of what he’ll have to say will be all about food and God. And then because he’ll be baked, he’ll call the next day and the next and leave a million messages about what he spent those two hours telling me about, cuz he can’t fucking remember that he already told me about it! Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrgggggghhhhhh! And who knows how much the little pig will be stuffing his face when we talk. Sometimes I wonder, though, if he conveniently forgets things just to have an excuse to call and tell me something on the machine. God only knows he has no life and not much new ever going on. So, when you have nothing new to tell, you usually go back over old shit.

I hate Andy, man, I’ll tell ya! Well, I don’t hate him, but I’m really sick of him!

I got a kick out of how he said he felt the same way after I told him I felt superior to others. How can a loser like that feel superior? He can’t hold a job. He’s a druggie. He’s loveless. He has immature druggies as friends. His life is exactly as it was a decade ago. He just lives in Phoenix, that’s all. He’s got these grand delusions about God and is totally clueless as to the fact that if his “friend” were really all that wonderful, the world would be a much better place. He wouldn’t always be in such a stagnant rut. Maybe he’d have love, a job he could hold, and a body and brain free of smokes and pot.

I decided to use a similar tactic on Andy as I did on Larry, Doe, and Art’s stuff. Just like I fibbed and told Larry, Doe, and Art that I sent copies to people they know, hoping this would up the chances that they read what I wrote (out of curiosity as to what these people will be reading about them), I put a note on the first page of Andy’s shit that the sentences with the letters fam in them were also shared with his family. See, a druggie has no ambition to do anything but sit on their ass. He never read that journal I wrote for his birthday a few years back. This is different, though, with different circumstances surrounding it, so hopefully, the lazy thing will be curious to read it. Maybe if I pray to Andy’s “friend” and ask that he make sure he reads what I have for him to read, he will, but I certainly won’t count on it, although as Andy claims, God always comes through for him. Yeah, right! Is that why we’ve got a kid? I’m glad we don’t, mind you, but I know he’s prayed for us for that and I know he’s told me that God always comes through for him. Oh yeah? Then why’s he still alone? And I wouldn’t doubt that he’s also prayed for help on quitting the drugs and the ciggies. Maybe for a little stability, ambition, and motivation, too. What a dreamer. A total dreamer. It’s scary when someone can’t separate fantasy from reality.

MONDAY, MAY 17, 1999 It’ll be interesting to see whether or not the city comes today. I should think so, but then again, I didn’t think they’d leave the house empty for another week either, not that I’m complaining. I’m pretty sure that house is done and ready to go. It’d be great if they were waiting for the first. That way, I wouldn’t have to worry about any scum being over there for Memorial Day, cuz I know that if any freeloaders were over there then, it’d be party, party, party. It’s always the outcasts that have to make a scene.

I can’t believe Andy, who’s supposed to be leaving today, didn’t call all weekend! I guess he’ll call if he doesn’t leave today as planned. For both our sakes, I hope he made it out OK.

It looks like yes, the renters did move. There have been no cars over there for days. Could be that they’re just out of town, but I think they’re gone. I’m not too happy about this cuz, believe it or not, they actually let their dog indoors for the most part, so it was never a problem. However, they’ve got a chain-link fence instead of a block wall, and if there’s a typical outdoor dog over there next time around, it’ll be right at the fence barking its ass off and driving me crazy.

I’m right about Tom - he’s definitely stalling for time. As I’ve said a million times before, he has an obsession with making me wait on him and saying things will happen way before they actually do, if they do at all. Why does everything have to be such a big competition with him? Why does he always have to rebel? Can’t he just do something when he says he’s going to? We filmed, and he took the flag bracket down, but other than that, all he did all weekend was trim the front hedges on Saturday, and pick up the hedges and carry them to the alley on Sunday. I know for damn sure now, that there’s no way we’re moving this summer. Not if he wants to creep around so he can make sure I don’t get my way, so to speak. I’ve been saying we won’t make it out this summer and he loves to prove me right when it’s not in the way I want to be right.

A classic example of how he just has to rebel and go the opposite way of what I want is how all weekend long he never once offered to go down on me. Well, if there’s any subject he’s always been selfish with and not willing to please me with, it’s sex. But why? He’s always resented me sexually and the only reason I can think of as to why is that I never took birth control to begin with and because I used to try to push him into cumming, and for a kid. If I’d only known better from the get-go! Maybe things wouldn’t have been that different anyhow since I’m destined to be hexed sexually, but if I had to start all over again, I’d be on birth control during the so-called childbearing years that don’t even exist for me. Still, it’s sad to see him not care. I’ll be damned if I’ll beg, though. I’m not gonna beg my own husband to go down on me, which my gut feeling’s telling me is what he wants. If he wants to be selfish and only screw me, I can’t change that. I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do, and I wouldn’t if I could. It’s too bad, though, that he has to play these games and therefore can’t come out and tell me he doesn’t want to go down on me. It’d be OK if he told me he didn’t want to do something I suggested, whether it was sexual or not. Aren’t people who love each other supposed to be honest with each other? Aren’t we supposed to try to do what the other wants and try to please them as best we can, and speak up when we don’t want to do something the other wants?

I know a good part of his ways are just that - his ways, but there’ll always be a part of me that regrets not starting things off differently since it’s obvious he’ll never get over it and move on. Some of what he said didn’t make sense, though, and I didn’t care to ask him to clarify himself since I know how upset he gets over sex talk. He hates even talking about how the sex went after each session. When he was talking about us getting off on the wrong foot sexually, he said something about him having to do things with me that were practically non-sexual, which I could tell by the tone of his voice he wasn’t happy about, but I have no idea what this means. What things did we have to do that were non-sexual? Does he mean not sleeping together? Well, if that ever did bother him, it doesn’t now. He said it doesn’t matter to him one way or the other if we sleep together. That’s good to know, and I feel the same. As long as we’re together and healthy and happy, we don’t have to share a bed. Just our lives.

We filmed a 5-minute walk-through of the house. We’ll keep a copy, and Paula will get a copy. God, I look like shit, though! Not only do I look 130 pounds or more, but I’m aging like hell! I can’t believe how a person can suddenly age so fast! I still look younger than my age, but also much older. I’ve got droopy jowls, and sagging lip corners. We got a kick out of how I accidentally said this was the N. 21 Dr. house. Even I fuck up our address.

My stomach’s popping back out a bit, and I’m gonna have to figure out a way to work the muscles harder. I can’t feel a burn so much anymore cuz my stomach muscles have built up a bit. I’ll bet I could keep up with some of those advanced abs workouts! I still have a good-sized bulge in between the belly button and the bikini line. I don’t think I can flatten this gut any further than it’s been flattened.

Yesterday, as Tom got up and dressed and ready to go clean the old car out and pick up the brush, he said it was hard getting going at first, but now he likes this prep work and is kind of disappointed to be moving to a new place. Don’t worry, Tom, I told him. God will have plenty of work for him. Things that shouldn’t be breaking so soon will break, and if they don’t, something else will come up. Besides, what about building a workroom or something like that like he said he wanted to?

Shortly after he said he liked the prep work and went out to clear the car out, he came back limping saying he hurt a back muscle. Hell of a timing, too. I mean, it was just quite a coincidence that this had to happen right at the start of the day so we could lose yet another day of prep work. I wondered if he was putting me on just to have an excuse to laze out in front of the TV all day, but he swore he really was hurt and that he’d keep on working no matter how much pain he was in, cuz I didn’t believe him (nice to know he was in a hurry to cum back when I didn’t believe he would). Anyway, I didn’t want him to work if he was in pain, and besides, I already know that we’re not getting out of here anyway till the fall, so what the hell? In fact, we may even be here around Christmas time.

My computer’s been doing weird things, so he installed some kind of crash preventer, but I don’t know how well it’ll work.

Later…

He just called to let me know he’d be late. Yeah, I know. I know he does 12-hour shifts on Sundays and I don’t expect him in till 8:00-9:00. He says his back still hurts.

Better go put the recycle bin out just in case he doesn’t get home in time.

Later…

That Mexican guy really did come back. He came back shortly after Tom crashed. He got up and gave him the title to sign that he finally found, then the guy gave him $50, and said he’ll get it today or tomorrow. Tom said he doesn’t know if the guy believes or understands that the car really is broken. The car could be fixed up and driven for miles, but it’d take time and money.

I hope Tom’s back is better soon enough.

I did that advanced abs video I could never do before, and sure enough, I did every single exercise without a strain or a problem. Tom and I talked about getting a machine to really tone up since there’s only so much you can do lying on a floor. Tom wants it for strengthening his back. This is the second time this has happened to him, and he says he can’t let this happen, even if it’s only every 6 months.

Unbelievably, no one came next door today. What luck, huh?! We’ll be compensated, I’m sure, but oh how I wish that place could just stay vacant till we move! I wish those freeloaders could’ve been our last neighbors! I asked Tom why he thought those people I saw didn’t move in since the place appears to be done, and he said that maybe they could’ve been shown a few houses they had available and this one wasn’t their pick. Maybe, but the waiting list is huge. Why keep the place empty like this? Well, the longer it’s empty, the happier I’ll be.

I had said earlier that I was shocked that Andy didn’t call all weekend, but he did, according to Tom. He just didn’t leave a message. Yeah, he’s taken to calling a lot without leaving messages. Knowing how much he loves to babble, this tells me all the more that he’s doing it just to get attention. Just so I have to hear the phone and check the ID box (if I’m up). It gives him a sense of control, I guess.

SUNDAY, MAY 16, 1999 Tom got me a couple of packs of fluorescent-colored paper. Each pack has 20 sheets of 10 colors. One pack will finish my journal printing project. If all goes well, I should have 5 sheets left over from the first pack.

I’m back from 112 pounds to 108 pounds, but there’d still be a big difference for the better if I could just get down right around 100 pounds, but I won’t count on it.

Yesterday, Tom trimmed the front hedges. That’s all he did. I’m telling you, we’re not gonna make it out of here in July or August at the slow rate he’s going. Sometimes I wonder if that’s what he wants. He seems to be obsessed with procrastinating, as well as with being different. Being a disorganized slob is one of his obsessions too, and I got really mad at this favorite pastime of his yesterday. Two Mexicans came to our door wanting to take the old car to Mexico and fix it up. They were gonna give us $50 to tow it, but the slob couldn’t find the title. The guys say they’ll return on Tuesday.

I’m sending a birthday card/letter to Becky. This is gonna sound cruel and selfish, I know, but mainly it’s to keep Tammy from calling. I’m sure that if I didn’t call or send Becky anything, Tammy would call bitching about it (like she’d ever have sent our kid anything if we had had one, right!). Who knows, though? She may call bitching about my only sending something and not calling. If she does, that’s her problem. She’s not gonna get the reaction she wants out of me, that’s for sure. We should be moved by Sarah’s birthday (I hope!). Then, a year from now, Tammy will hear from me one last time before I snip the strings for the final time and cut her loose. But as soon as we move, the bitch, the folks, the brother, and the pest will get their last word from me. Tammy will get a bullshit letter saying we had twins by way of in vitro, live in a 5-bedroom house on a 3.3-acre lot, and that I make/sell porcelain dolls. Half of this stuff may be true too, but just knowing how furious the so-called twins part of it will make her and the folks really cracks me up. Then, I shall get on with my life in peace.

It’s pretty funny how my interests have really changed throughout the time I’ve known Tom. Besides him, other people I know, the animals in general, reading, writing, singing, and listening to music, if you look at the different time frames, different words pop out at you as you skim through the pages. The common words in the beginning, are sex, pregnant, and baby. Then it changes to bitch, bass, and basketball. Lastly, to dolls, moving, and rats.

I don’t know if this would be easier said than done, but if I were to end up pregnant now that I don’t want a child (even though that’s impossible) I wouldn’t abort it, but it’d get no prenatal care, I’d stop my vitamins, eat really shitty, and pray to God to lose it for me.

SATURDAY, MAY 15, 1999 It’s a pretty noisy one out there now as I prepare to write. Yes, even in the middle of the night it can be noisy around here, even though it’s been great overall as far as kids and music go. The collies are back to barking even throughout the night. For a while, they had given me peace at night. Usually, they go off just to go off, but not tonight. Tonight there was a whole carload of old ladies that pulled up in front of the music people’s house, as I still call it, laughing and acting like a bunch of college kids. Tonight was also a classic example of what I mean when I say that these dogs are extreme barkers. There are at least three dogs that I’ve heard of that live in yards across the street within about a 6-house span. They weren’t going off. Only the collies had to go off. And they kept on going long after the old ladies pulled away. Yeah, I think those sick, inconsiderate fucks ought to receive a letter from me too, after we move, but I’ll act like I still live around here. What I still don’t get is how can they sleep??? How can even the soundest of sleepers sleep throughout all that loud barking that’s so close to their beds?

My vibes say no one’s moving in this weekend next door, although I dreamt that some white folks moved in there. That’s not gonna happen.

Tom’s at work for a few hours tonight, believe it or not. As I’ve told him, there’ll always be something new or out of the ordinary going on at that bank where he’ll have to work overtime or during his usual time off. He says new people are going to be hired, but that won’t make a difference. If God’s gonna let him have more free time, that probably won’t be till he retires. Maybe he’ll let him have a little after we move, knowing we could use him around here a little more now, but God’s not entirely against us with the move. Not so far, anyway. My credit report came back and it’s clean! As Tom said, that could’ve been a serious obstacle for us.

If I’ve said it once, I’ll say it a million times - God, don’t ever let me dream a non-material dream again! If I do, though, since that’s not something we can usually control, at least I’ve learned through time/experience not to do anything about trying to obtain the dream. Why exhaust and frustrate myself struggling for the impossible, when I could be living and enjoying the possible? I don’t enjoy all the possible things. No one does. But you know what I mean.

I asked him if his ma had any plans to help us move or give us money before she dies since she has about a year left, give or take a couple of months.

No. Of course, not. I should’ve known better than to ask. He said she was afraid to give any money out before dying for fear of people deserting her. My first response was oh, poor poor Marge, but then Tom pointed out that we all can’t help our fears (like my fear of spiders). Anyway, I still have mixed feelings about her. She’s helped us in several ways, but sometimes, it just seems like she doesn’t help us where it really counts. That’s great that she bought Tom his contact lenses, but the cost of that is nothing compared to the cost of moving. And again, I still resent all the money and time we lost together. We were just newlyweds at the time and I needed him home with me. Now that we’ve been together this long, I still love him as much and want to be with him as much, but it doesn’t hurt so much to have him tied up. As far as the sexual end of it, things have never been the same since quitting smoking, even if the sex still is satisfactory and fulfilling enough. Ever since I quit smoking I really extinguished a big part of my sex drive along with the cigarettes. Just like I almost went back to smoking cuz of my weight, I almost went back to smoking to up my drive again, but then I said, nah. There’s no point in upping a drive that can’t be taken care of. We don’t have time for sex more than once a week and I don’t think my crotch would appreciate that very much at all. At least I don’t have to fear pregnancy and go through the hassles of birth control. It’s great to know he can cum all he wants to and not worry that it could make a kid. And it’s great to know I’m not pregnant cuz I chose not to be, regardless of the fact that that’s just part of my destiny anyway. Destiny or not, I chose not to be a mother so we could move and live life together. I may not be a doll maker after all, but at least I can collect. I may only be able to get the dolls I really like once every 5 years, but I can still get them, and other dolls.

So, to sum it up, my vibes aren’t certain as to what he’ll be doing when we move, I’ll probably be doing what I’ve always done since knowing Tom, and the health and sex will probably stay the same. That’s good on the sex part, cuz usually, if sex changes after 5 years of marriage, it isn’t for the better. It doesn’t get any better than this, which is plenty good enough, but I’d hate to ever see him bored with me. I’m sure he won’t be, though. If he were gonna bored out on me, he’d have done it by now. We’ve fallen into a comfortable routine.

I’m glad he met Dureen and Art, if only for that one time. That way he could really see what I mean as to their characters/personalities. It’s one thing for him to go by my hearsay, but another to see for himself what I meant. They didn’t do/say all they’re capable of doing/saying when they were here, thank God, but he too, is good with people’s characters and could see the positive/negative/abusive traits lurking underneath.

Can you believe a black ink cartridge costs $25 and a color one costs $29?! But why? It’s just ink, for Christ’s sake. So, although it’s a one-time deal and is well worth it, printing my journals out will end up being a $300-$400 project. Tom said we ought to get me a laserjet printer. It only prints in black, but you can print thousands of pages for about $80 or so.

Later…

I’m doing laundry now. Just changed the sheets, too.

Melanie called yesterday to remind me of my Monday appointment. I asked if I was still her patient and she said I was. I have mixed emotions about that, too. Mel’s faster and prettier, but rougher. At least it doesn’t matter as much now that my teeth are where they’re at. It’s not gonna be as painful, anyway.

Tom looked in that area where the houses were on acre lots. He said he couldn’t find the house that was advertised, but that the area sucked anyway. He said it was old farmland being converted into a development. Just dirt. No natural desert landscape like we want. He said everything was in clumps, too. You’d have a house with nothing around it for miles, then a cluster of trailers. Yeah, Arizona seems to be hung up on clumps. You either have a lot of people or no one around for miles.

Also, another problem with the area was that there was a prison nearby.

Last night, out of curiosity, I browsed through the national white pages online and came across Michael M’s name. He moved from Hamden to Longmeadow, so I see. Mike was the closest I ever came to having a crush on a guy before meeting Tom. This was when I was in the real high school when I was a freshman. He was my chorus teacher. Anyway, he ended up marrying another student. I last spoke to him somewhere between 1989-1991. They were trying to have kids, but his wife Daryl had just had a miscarriage. By now I’m sure they have a family. I wrote a half-sane, half-wacky letter. I put my return address on only cuz I know I don’t have to worry about him writing me back, which I’d prefer he not do. He’s in the past. I just wanted to surprise him, that’s all. I stuck in a few pictures of myself from when I looked my best in the mid-90s that I scanned and printed out. That ought to shock him too, since I did not look like that the last time I saw him. If I remember right, I last saw him in 1984 at 130-something pounds.

I’d bet my dolls on Andy’s calling this weekend. He’ll use his trip as an excuse, but that’s OK. Of course, I don’t even know for sure that Andy will be leaving Monday as he says. You know Andy - always gotta be late on things and make big deals of things.

Later…

I’m gonna start sleeping with a notebook by my bed so I can make notes of my dreams upon waking till I get around to typing them up. The longer I’m up, the more I forget my dreams.

Did the renters move after all? There have been no cars over there.

We screwed a little while ago and I made the dumb mistake of not using lubricant. I was so dry. I really need to use it all the time, even if it is a hassle. Besides, it’s a great spermicide cuz sperm can’t swim through its thick stickiness.

As I figured too, he did nothing about going down on me. The sex was the usual - too much time on the side, then too little time up top. He never wanted to please me. Never. All he wanted to do was play games, then please himself after the years of my bitching about his games finally got to him. Oh well. It’s only sex.

FRIDAY, MAY 14, 1999 Still printing journals like crazy. Got 670 more pages to go and about 32 more journals. In one box I'll have the journals from Oswego Street, Woodside Terrace, Elm Street, Norwich, the Vista and Crystal apartments, and this house.

As you'll see in my Dreams file, I had a dream including Jackie and Jim. Speaking of them, isn't Jackie pregnant yet? She's God's "perfect" mommy. I asked Tom, who answered that he hadn't seen them, in a very annoyed tone of voice. You can't even talk to him about someone else getting pregnant without him getting all riled up. Don't worry, hun. I don't plan to ever bring up the subject again. Not even if I wanted a kid all over again tomorrow. I know better. I know when something's not meant to be and when something shouldn't be, since not all of us can handle these things. Anyway, I asked him, cuz of the way I know his ma talks about other family members. However, unless something big was going on with someone, all she ever did when I'd visit her was talk about Nickolena. Then about Nickolena and Parker. It got old! It really did. That's another reason, besides the fact that I resent her for her selfishness, that I don't want her over the new house. I don't want to have to sit and listen to nothing but talk about those kids the whole time she's with us.

I can't believe no one's been next door all week. Not that I'm complaining, but what are they waiting for?

THURSDAY, MAY 13, 1999 It’s after 1:00, yet the fucking dogs are going off. They just go on and on. There’s no end to their shit! Never have I ever heard of dogs that bark this much. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I just hope to hell they’re not taking one of their fits when we go to show the house, even though the next people in here will probably have a dog of their own going off in their yard. But none can go off that much and that’s my point.

I spoke to Paula yesterday morning. God, what a hypochondriac! She’s not just a ditz, she’s like Tammy; always with a problem. Now it’s her heart she says is acting up, but I think it’s anxiety. She’s naturally anxious as it is, and this shit of a married whore of a guy she’s dealing with isn’t helping.

Anyway, her birthday is the 31st of this month, so I think I’ll bead her up some necklaces. Also, we want to videotape this house before and after we paint, to add to our home videos, and I’ll mail her a copy at some point. Then she can also see how long my hair is and how fat I still am.

I had to put the bitch’s stuff back in two envelopes. I forgot that you can’t mail anything over 16 oz. without bringing it to a post office (in case of bombs). He’s too damn paranoid to bring it to a post office without a legit return address on it in case he runs into someone he knows. What? He can’t say he’s mailing it for a friend? Damn, he’s paranoid! I think he’s paranoid but is also using this as an excuse to avoid the post office. After all, you do have to wait in line forever there.

I was right. He never offered to go down on me or to screw, yet there was plenty of time for a guy who claims to be horny so much. I have such mixed feelings about it, too. It hurts to see him not take opportunities for more sex and it makes me feel a bit rejected, but it’s also great at the same time, cuz I’m sick of sex with him. I can do a way better job myself and I’d just as well get it over with quickly myself, than have these long drawn out boring sessions with him. I know that a big part of his not initiating much sex is fear of making a kid, but is there more to it? He says I’m beautiful, but unless he has a rather unique idea of beautiful, I’m not beautiful. I’m chunky, I’m aging, and I look like a geek.

Later…

That bites. You mean I can’t print in black ink just because my color ink cartridge is dead? Oh well. Guess I’ll just have to wait till tomorrow to do any more printing.

Andy called and left an 888 number (toll-free) for me to call to win $50,000 for having the best laugh. He said if I won, I could give him $1,000 of the money for referring me to this number. First off, I knew no God would let me win $50,000. It’s just not in our cards, and besides, we could use the money. People who win money tend to not need it much. Secondly, I knew there’d be a catch. The catch was, that as soon as you dial in, a recording comes on saying, “Sorry, only one call per household, but be sure to look for other Pillsbury promotions.”

Later…

I called Andy and we spoke for the better part of an hour. He’s leaving Monday, I hope, for both our sakes. This time around, I just may surprise him by sending a letter to his brother’s house in Springfield. The one he grew up in. When Judy and Al moved into condos, they gave the house to Gary. I remember the address, but not the zip so I’ll just leave it zipless.

I was right, he has no plans to work full-time when he gets back, so he told me. He works 5 days a week, 4 hours a day, and it works out well for him, he says, cuz he always feels like he needs the time off. Whatever works for him.

He said he’s gone from weighing 152 down to 146 cuz he’s been puking like hell. No wonder he’s eating like a pig if he’s losing everything he eats. Then again, it may be the overeating that’s upsetting his stomach. He says it’s the cigarettes, though. I thought he said it was nerves the last time we discussed this. He says he’s been tired a lot cuz of the weed. Too much food can tire a body out too, I’ve heard. In fact, he says he eats so much that he’s tired of washing all the zillions of dishes he uses, so he went out and got plastic dishes/silverware. Well, if he’s happy eating whatever amount he eats, and if he’s happy weighing whatever he weighs - great.

He paid Michelle $100 to stay at his house while he’s gone. Good. I’m glad he’s got someone to feed his cat and to tape his soaps. Michelle’s happy about it, according to him, cuz her mother yells at her all the time. She lives with her mother and her mother’s boyfriend, I guess.

There goes those fucking dogs again. They usually have the decency to wait till 5:00 or 6:00 before they start going off, but not this morning. They usually shut up around 9:00 or 10:00 at night too, so something must’ve been going on to get them going, but I don’t know. I think these dogs just like to go off. Period. I hope the next batch of trash to go next door is like that bitch and her associates were - real noise lovers.

Did he bring up God? Of course. He not only brought up God, but now he’s bringing the angels into his conversation, too. He was saying that he feels God and the angels kept that guy from breaking in that other morning at 4:00 AM. Could be. I asked him if he thought it was connected to Laura. He said no. He said if she was gonna send someone to break in, she’d have them come at 7:00 AM when she knew he was asleep. Even that’s stupid. If you’re gonna break into a house, do it when it’s empty and there are no potential witnesses. Anyway, I still think he gives way too much credit to God. I mean, come on! What fantastic thing has God ever done for him, huh? He has a right to believe what he believes and I don’t try to influence his beliefs one way or another, but still, who does he think he’s fooling?

Later…

Andy, you are one big pain in the fucking, motherfucking, goddamn ass! He asked me to tape a couple of saved messages of his. I wasn’t going to, but then I decided I would, just in case he asked me for the tape before we move. What a pain! I thought the living room phone would work OK, but it didn’t, so I had to fumble with getting the back room phone set up, and good God! I won’t mention leaving a few mad bogus claims on his tape in his file I’ll have for him when we move. I yelled at him about sending Michelle over to play a childish prank on me, and of course, he’ll be racking his brains trying to figure out what the fuck I’m talking about. Remember, these are supposed to be messages I left him that he saved. He’ll probably believe it’s real too, but that he just can’t remember it being the pothead that he is.

I wonder more and more just how much of my dream will come true. My dream is to move to an empty piece of land that’s more than an acre big, to put that last model we saw on it, and get all the furniture and other stuff we want for the new place pretty much right away. Why do I feel, though, that we’ll end up in some kind of development, although he says it’s unlikely, with just an acre and a house that’s already there and not be able to get all the stuff we want right away? Maybe the acre will be big enough depending on what’s around it (although that seems unlikely) and maybe the house will be as big and as nice as that last model and maybe we’ll have to slowly get the stuff we want over time, but if I do have to settle, it won’t be the first time, will it, God? Even so, any place will be better than here with people just a few feet away (when the house is occupied like it normally is) and with barking dogs that are barely 50 feet away.

I created a Dreams file. I decided to write down whatever dreams I remember. Real dreams, that is. Most of the time I don’t remember my dreams, but lately, I’ve been remembering a lot of weird dreams that I thought would be cool to document.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 12, 1999 Got to get Tom up in 20 minutes. He has to go in at 12:30. Sometimes I get him up at 11:00, but he left me a message saying to get him up at 10:00 since he's caught up on his sleep. I don't expect him to take my suggestion and offer to go down on me, so I used the vibrator to get off a little while ago. I guess he just wants an extra hour of TV. Or maybe to play computer games.

He said he called a realtor about some land advertised that's supposed to have a manufactured house already on its property. He said it was a little further out than he'd like, and only one acre, but perhaps we could still check it out some time.

I picked out the best interior colors from those color strips he brought home, but he needs to try again with the blues. The house is way lighter than even the lightest blue he brought home.

TUESDAY, MAY 11, 1999 Tom bought a heavy-duty stapler today but it was broken, so he’ll have to bring it back. He got staples in four different sizes, although they come in six sizes. You can staple up to 250 sheets. He also picked up some more ink cartridges. I’ve been on a major printing spree what with getting these journals printed out. I have 1170 more pages to go of journal stuff and that’s not counting what I’ve written so far for this month.

His little computer is really neat. You can lay in bed in the dark and use it cuz the screen lights up to a pretty blue/green shade, the color of pool water lit up at night. It has a tiles game. Its colors are bland, but it’s still neat to just tap the tiles with the stylus. It’d be perfect for long boring car rides to Vegas, Laughlin, California, or wherever.

To our knowledge, no one came next door today (now yesterday). Not even the city. I asked Tom what’s his guess now, as to when someone will move in. He said he’d guess every weekend. Me too, but the longer it stays empty, the better. Every weekend it stays empty is just one less weekend I have to deal with someone’s rude, selfish shit just three feet away from me. It’s no wonder I didn’t have a bad vibe and a vibe of waking up last weekend. Cuz no one moved in after all. I guess that as we approach each weekend, I’ll be able to get a sense of whether or not someone will be moving in. So far, I seem to be in tune as far as that goes.

Mickey Rat may have a tumor in his balls. His balls are ten times bigger than the other rats, as even Tom noticed. He said he thought the tumor might be in his stomach, pushing his balls out. I don’t know if it’s his stomach, his balls, or nothing at all. Time will tell, but God’s really damned mice and rats, that’s for sure! They’re notorious for tumors, alright.

We had sex earlier which couldn’t have been any more predictable than it was. It was sooo obvious, although like always, he tried to deny his reasons for his moves. He not only didn’t cum, he wouldn’t even get on top. He was that scared, but hey, it’s OK. Perfectly understandable, and I’d probably do the same myself if I were him despite the odds of my conceiving. We’re in the middle of trying to move, after all. We don’t need another expense and time-eater.

Anyway, the cumless weekly sex is fine, but I wish he’d be less sexually selfish. All he’s ever really cared about in bed is doing what he’s wanted. He decides when we have sex and how often (even though we sort of have a mutual agreement. A pattern/habit we’ve fallen into with time). He decides when he cums. He decides the positions. I wish he didn’t have so much control in bed, but a man always has more control over the bedroom activities. We women just don’t have the tools to be in command of the sex. So, he’s typical in that way. He dominates the sex, only in an unusual kind of way. Definitely not in the way most males do. Nonetheless, he never offers to go down on me. His “variety,” is not going on top sometimes cuz he’s either too afraid to, can’t get in the mood, or whatever. It’d be nice if he’d please me every now and then. Only in the beginning was the sex just for me, but then again, it wasn’t. If it can’t be mutual, OK, but we should share the pleasure, if you know what I mean. I made this suggestion to him, but I won’t count on his taking it up. Perhaps he will once or twice, but then he’ll just fall right back into his usual ways. I don’t know if he’s being stubborn deliberately, or if he really has such a hard time adapting to new ideas in bed, but we’ll see. I guess most of us find a way that works best for us and stick to it.

Got 1121 more pages to print out. I combined all the journal files into one file for printing. I have to print out from late 1995 on up till last June. Then carry on with printing out each month I type. Guess you could say I’m off to a slow start this month. It’s already the 11th, yet I haven’t even typed ten pages yet. Usually, around the 11th, I’m around the twenty-page marker.

I was gonna get into shit about Andy and his “family lecture” but I’ll save it for another time. I’ve been up a while and I want to unwind with a movie.

Later…

Today Tom brought home a T-shirt squashed into a circle of about 5” in diameter. I don’t know where he got this. I’ll have to ask him when I get him up at 11:00. He was already asleep when I got up at 4:00.

He also brought home sample paint shades. About a dozen whites, yellows, and blues. We’re going to paint the outside the same light blue, but hopefully, we can just paint the bad spots and avoid having to paint the whole house. We’re gonna paint the trim white. Right now it’s also light blue. We’ll be painting the inside walls white. A brighter white than the off-white that’s been on these walls. We’ll be painting the kitchen cabinets a yellow-gold to go with the disgusting floor in there.

Lastly, he got a heavy-duty stapler that works and it’s great. It still jammed up on me a few times like my regular one did, but it’s much better since I can staple so many more pages. It took just 9 staples to staple together my first 100 journals. I’ll be able to get all of Andy’s shit stapled with one staple, and I rearranged the bitch’s shit, too. Originally, she was gonna receive two envelopes from me, but I managed to fit everything into one envelope. I tore out the wire binders and it’s now packed beautifully with just two staples. The bitch has roughly 160 pages, 80 sheets of paper. I stapled 40 and 40, so she’ll get two little bundles of paper. That way she can have fun sharing. Her cock can read one while she reads the other. I set it up so that the first thing she sees when she pulls the packet out will be the pictures I shot of the city car and of her cock’s car. I wrote my “table of contents” on the back of the envelope to help up her curiosity.

Again, as far as I know, no one showed up next door today.

Got 996 pages left to print.

As far as Andy’s concerned - same old, same old. He left messages about eating, being excited about going back east, and weed sales. Then, in response to my asking him to please not bother contacting Tammy, he said he wasn’t planning on it anyway (yeah, well we’ll see if that changes). Then he lectured me about cutting off my nieces just because of my problems with Tammy. Although I’ve cut off everyone with the last names G and O cuz I felt that that was for the best, I told him differently (that I didn’t dump my nieces) just to shut him up and get him off my case. Anyway, he has no right to judge me and my situation because he’s not in my shoes. If he had been in my shoes and could feel how I do, then maybe he’d understand why I not only had to cut out Tammy but her kids, too. The connection was just too damn close for comfort.

Anyway, I’m sick of Andy trying to make me into himself. Just because he’d go against Marla’s wishes and be his usual selfish self doing only what he wants if she told him to stay away from the boys, well, that’s him. Not me. The best way for him to handle a certain situation isn’t necessarily the best way for others but he just doesn’t get it. He puts everyone on his level, but that’s just not reality. He’s him. I’m me. I’m tired of my “friend” siding with others and arguing and challenging my ways. I’m sick of him trying to push his ways on me. I don’t try to talk him out of his ways of doing things. I may tell him, for example, that I don’t agree with his being a drug dealer, but I never tried to talk him out of it. It’s his fucking life. Why can’t I get the same respect in return? I expect others to treat me as I treat them.

He said he should bring his friend God into his lecture, but he wouldn’t.

What “friend?” You mean the “friend” that’s denied him love? The “friend” that’s helped to keep him in the same old loser of a rut year after year? That’s some friend, Andy. I could type 1000 pages on why God’s some “friend,” but I have better things to do with my time.

I’m sick of Andy! Oh, I’m fucking sick of him! Sooooooooo motherfucking sick of him! I’m tired of hearing the same old shit message after message, phone call after phone call. Fuck his fucking God, and his fucking food, and his fucking drugs, and his fucking phones, and his fucking Stevie. I’m fed up! I can’t fucking wait to move and get on with my life without his usual BS I’ve dealt with for what? 11 years now?

Boy, it sure felt good to bitch in here!

SUNDAY, MAY 9, 1999 Paula left a message earlier. A weird one too, wishing me a happy Mother’s Day. Now why would someone wish a childless person a happy Mother’s Day?

No messages from Andy. He knows. Somehow, he knows. Tom wouldn’t tip him off and tell him I’m planning on disappearing on him, so he’s got to sense something. For a few days in a row he did get a little message happy on me, but other than that, he’s really backed off since I made up my mind to do my disappearing act. Am I reconsidering not disappearing? No. Even if he hardly called me for the rest of my life, he’s not a true friend in my opinion and I don’t want to push my luck by being in his car with him and his pot, and besides, we’re just not on the same level in life. I still feel I’ve outgrown him and that neither of us has anything to offer the other (except for the favors I do for him and the things I give him every now and then). I’m not perfect myself, but I don’t want a druggie for a friend, who tends to be selfish, and that’s that.

Andy once said he felt he had two destinies - to lead me out here and to deal with Quinn. So I guess that proves our time as friends really is up. We’ve done what God wanted us to do for each other. He led me out here, and I did whatever I was supposed to have done for him, but it was to teach him to stand up to bullies, etc.

Tom rested a lot during the weekend to get over cold number 394 since I’ve known him, and yesterday, I was a bit out of it myself. Had a doozy of an allergy attack, which was my own dumb fault. I shouldn’t have gone outside. During the two transition periods where it’s just about to go over the 100º marker, then just under it is a rotten time for allergies. This time, instead of the Benadryl just drying up my mouth and putting me to sleep, it dried up my mouth but didn’t put me to sleep. It also helped with the sneezing this time, too. I was very groggy, though, and couldn’t do much but read and listen to music. I finished a book yesterday and began Toys in the Attic.

At 10:45 Saturday night, someone rang our doorbell. They only rang once, but we didn’t answer it. It was probably some potential fuck buddy given the wrong address by a girl in a bar that promised to screw him at her house. It could’ve been anyone, though. Who knows?

I looked online for doll kits, but then I decided to wait till we moved.

Tom did more work on packing shit in the back room, and so he says, this week we’re gonna begin painting in here.

This month, I didn’t get those UT pains, so that’s fine with me!

I am amazed at how much of a difference the stomach exercises have made since I figured out how to do them more effectively. Don’t get me wrong. My stomach’s still big. I’m big. I could afford to lose 10-15 pounds, but what a difference! The face exercises are a different story. They’re completely useless unless I’m not doing them correctly.

SATURDAY, MAY 8, 1999 Unbelievable! Just un-fucking-believable! No one moved in today! That explains why I didn't have a vibe saying I'd be losing sleep. Of course, they can always move in between now and sundown, or tomorrow, but I don't know about that. I mentioned to the city that we were looking to move this summer. Wouldn't it be funny if they were waiting for us to move out first? Fat chance, though. Last night I was pretty stressed out, even though I didn't feel them on their way in. The NHA's really scarred me for life, boy I'll tell you.

FRIDAY, MAY 7, 1999 The kids are definitely, definitely coming this weekend (they quit working there early and the yard’s now empty). And so is their dog. If they can have a van like they’ve got, they can have a dog, too. I may end up with a dog in place of bass but I’m sure these young things will be into those killer stereos. Like I said, it’s not so much the pregnant child welfare bum I’m concerned about. I haven’t heard her bass in yet. It’s her cronies I’m worried about. She’ll be home all day, and so her associates, who will be just as lazy and as jobless, will be banging in and out several times a day with their millions of screaming kids.

Mormons, blacks, Mexican, people!! I’m just so sick of them all!! I’m also really sick and tired of living next to children, even if some of them are supposed to be adults. If I never live near anyone under 40 again, it’ll be too soon.

Speaking of adult children, I think the renters across the street moved. Last night at 8:00 I saw about five people over there loading a pickup. The lawn was littered with furniture. Guess they’re skipping out on the rent. Tom said he doesn’t think they’re moving. He thinks someone moved in or out, and that it’s several people sharing the rent. Like college kids do. Well, we’ll see. So far, since being up since 2:00, I see nothing but a lounge chair leaning up against their carport. I’ll do an hourly check. How I love to spy!

I just thank God we’re moving soon. Knowing that really takes some of the stress off of me. Again, we talked about our different options. There’s still a chance we may find a prepped piece of land with a house already on it, move into that, then have the manufactured house we want hauled in later on.

Paula and I have been playing phone tag for nearly a week now. I called and got the neighbor that lives up above her. I told her to tell Paula I’d try again next week.

Andy left me a message today, all excited about his trip back east. He’ll be gone from 5/15 to 6/3 unless anything changes.

I left Andy a message asking him to please, as my friend, don’t bother calling Tammy. I explained to him yet again that we’re not in touch with each other and why and also reminded him that he doesn’t need Tammy’s rudeness. Every time they’ve talked or visited, even if she doesn’t directly say something mean to him, it’s in her tone of voice. She’s an insecure person who’s uncomfortable around gays, she can’t let go of the past and has to rehash shit that went down between Doe, Art, Judy, and Al, and he doesn’t need it. He’s gonna be hurt enough by people in his lifetime, including by me when I disappear on him (then again, who knows? Maybe he won’t be hurt since we don’t have much in common these days). He either respects my wishes, or he doesn’t, but till I see differently, I’ll assume he’ll suit himself. He always does and even he admits that. Or maybe he’ll just argue with me about it by leaving a message challenging my reasons for wanting him not to contact her, but will still respect my wishes. We’ll see.

In his message to me, he said just hearing my voice for a few seconds is good enough so I don’t have to leave him 3-4 messages. Yeah, right! He wishes! I haven’t left him that many messages in one day for years, but that’s Andy for you. If you tell him or imply that he’s doing A, he’ll tell you or imply you’re doing A, B, and C. He’ll tell you or imply that you’re doing more of or worse than he is. If I bitch at him for leaving five messages, he’ll bitch at me for leaving ten, even if I didn’t leave him one.

Later…

It looks like Tom was right. The renters are still here. I’m glad, to tell you the truth, so I won’t have to worry about anything worse going in over there, and I wish those blacks had just stayed put! I should be crawling with horrible vibes right now, but for some reason, I’m not. I should be, though, cuz there’s no way in hell God would let me have a quiet neighbor and there’s no reason to think that a pile of freeloaders could be quiet. And again, I know how these welfare bums are. Remember Oswego Street? I do. And I know that right along with the blacks, they’re nothing but noisy scum who only give a damn about themselves. These things are gonna be worse. Mexican music may have less bass than rap music, but anything played on these particular stereos is loaded with bass cuz that’s the whole idea. Also, at least the black bitch worked during the week, but not this one! This one’s gonna have more company and more kids that’ll make the bitch look almost like a childless loner. And the dog! Oh God! Why? Why me?!

We had a quickie a little while ago. We agreed it’d just be a quick thing to break me open after having to skip a week. Sure enough, I had that familiar irritation. I’m sick of this irritation I get on and off! Why do I even bother screwing? It’s old and boring (most of the time) and so is the irritation.

THURSDAY, MAY 6, 1999 Not much to write about this time around. Just that Tom picked me up new cartridges and paper, and that I’ve been printing journals like crazy. Also, that white Ford that looks like our car was in the driveway next door. The city van came and went too, and there was also some other older white car that was parked on the street for a good ten minutes or so today. Tom said they may’ve been painting. They were doing something inside, cuz they had the front door wide open. I could see through the living room window, through the door, and out to the next side street a block away that crosses our street. I took another peek in back after they left and saw the toilet was still there, among a few other things. There’s a chance, after all, although I won’t swear to it, that our welfare bums just may not make it in this weekend for sure, and that’d go with my vibe. Logic told me that they were moving in this weekend and that I wouldn’t get any sleep, since moving does make some noise and they’re just a few feet away from where I sleep, but my vibes don’t sense a lack of sleep to come. When they leave tomorrow, though, I’ll be able to tell where we stand as far as next door goes. Tom treated himself to a new handheld computer that you write on with a stylus and it turns what you write into print. It’s pretty neat, and he’s been overdue on treating himself.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 5, 1999 Not shitting yesterday cost me two pounds, but even so, my stomach is definitely flatter since figuring out how to do the crunches more effectively.

Back to the daily calls from Andy. He’s calling right now.

The city was next door when I got up at 1:00, and they still are. There’s also a city truck in the street with a big pickup in back. I assume this is what they’ll use to haul the brush away.

My schedule sucks. These kids are gonna be moving in this weekend without a doubt, and I’m not gonna get a damn bit of sleep.

Tom says the electricity has been on since we saw that APS truck about a week ago. They haven’t replaced that obnoxious security bulb, fortunately. He says he doubts they will. Maybe not, but the kids will once they get there.

This is the second day I got a private call with no message. It could be a business, but it could also be Andy just wanting to call just so I have to hear the phone ring and get up to check the caller ID box.

Tom said we could move in a snap if we absolutely had to. He said that he checked a little further out of town than he’s checked so far, and they have tons of big/new manufactured homes on three or more acre lots for dirt cheap. He said we could move as soon as we got an offer on this house. Well, however we move, I just hope it’s soon enough and that we don’t have to really get into settling, but settling’s my life’s theme and what I do best. If I have to settle for a 3 bedroom, that’s better than nothing. Even having this same exact house out in the open desert is a million times better than this house in the crowded, polluted city with assholes just three feet away.

Later…

I peeked over the wall after the city left. I saw a toilet and a chair on the back patio. Other than that, there didn’t seem to be too much more out there, so there’s no doubt in my mind that the welfare trash will be moving in this weekend.

TUESDAY, MAY 4, 1999 Just thought I’d do some writing while I print out journal stuff.

I was telling Tom how I got a feeling I could sculpt. A similar feeling I got telling me I could draw ten years or so ago. Tom thinks I could sculpt, but I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine me sculpting, but after I saw a video, which I’ll get into later, I don’t think I’ll ever want to sculpt or pour molds.

Yesterday, we went and got Tom’s 6-month supply of disposable contacts, then to the spit doctor. There were no wild kids in the waiting room and there was very little waiting time. The doctor came and got me himself, and allowed Tom to join us. The doctor seemed a bit gruff, but he wasted no time, got right to the point, and knew what he was doing. It only took him a minute to clean the wax out of my ear and it wasn’t painful. Not even uncomfortable.

Then, I went down the hall a bit for a hearing test. Their soundproof booth wasn’t very soundproof cuz I could hear voices, but Tom said that they were coming through the headphones. I guess that’s because the lady who was doing the test on me was sitting right near the receptionist. I still got the same results I’ve always gotten on my right ear (goes to prove years of blasting headphones do not cause hearing to get worse and worse with time) and the same results I’ve gotten on the left ear since the canal was made. The right ear’s still within normal hearing range and the left ear sucks. The doctor said the higher the number, the better the hearing. The right ear got an 8, the left got a 53. As always, the right ear’s only problem was with this one certain frequency. Higher pitches within the 4000 MHz.

The doctor told me of my options; to have another operation to try to equalize my hearing by some doctor in L.A., or better yet, to get a hearing aid. The hearing aid costs one to three G’s, and is a waste of money, in my opinion, on someone who hears plenty well enough. Just wait till the pregnant kid and her associates move in! You’ll see how well I hear then! Also, I certainly don’t want another operation, if I can avoid it, just to hear better when I already hear well enough. Tom and I were wondering, though, if he was suggesting Neilson was not good enough by recommending I go to the doctor in L.A. Neilson still does surgery. He’s just not in private practice anymore.

After the doctor, we went to the library. I got two videos on doll making and a book on Facercise (face exercises). I scanned copies of the exercises, which are somewhat illustrated. Some of them are straightforward, but others are a bit hard to comprehend. I’ll just do my best with them and see if I get results.

I’ve got half a video left to watch, but so far, I know I don’t want to sculpt or pour molds, but maybe I’ll get into painting/assembly. It’s just that there’s so much needed/involved! It’s so messy, dusty, and boring from what I can see. However, it was still neat to learn what I learned from the video and watch someone else do this stuff.

Tom looked online and found several sites with doll kits. These kits come in three different stages. The cheapest is to get the molds in their greenware state that you paint and fire yourself. Then you can get fired but unpainted dolls. Lastly, you can get them fired and painted. I was amazed at their size and quality for their prices. Even a fired, painted doll that’s around 30” is just around $100. That’s a great deal! I wonder just how much the kit comes with and what work it entails. I hope the hair and the outfits are included, although I’m sure they are. I’ll be looking forward to checking these kits out more seriously sometime soon.

The braids doll came yesterday. I could tell the guy that sent her smoked as I could smell it all over her. Anyway, she’s a cute doll. A little pale in coloring, but cute. She wasn’t in her original box and she had no certificate enclosed so I’ll never know her real name. I named her Mystery, cuz her name is a mystery, and cuz it’s not a common name like Anne or Mary.

The second Giselle we got will stay as she is. However, I took the first Giselle whom I renamed Liselle, and gave her a bit of a makeover. I lost her eyelashes in the midst of it, but because her face isn’t that large, and cuz she was never really an exceptional doll to begin with, it’s OK. I cut her feathers off the top of her head, so now there’s just a little piece of white cotton and a pearl in its center. I may glue on small flowers someday. I cut off the blue silk and blue netting skirts that were under her white lace skirt. Then I took her hair down. It’d be very hard to straighten and looks better curly anyway, so I just took it down, cut the sides even with the rest of it, then pulled the sides to the back and secured it with a coated elastic. I think it looks nice this way.

Andy left a message saying he skipped his therapy appointment yesterday cuz he didn’t feel like going out. He says that on his days off (which is almost every day) he doesn’t feel like going anywhere. Good! Then I don’t have to worry about him wanting to come over here to talk my ear off, use the computer or something else, be too stoned to remember/get a damn thing I say, or want to come to get me and bring me over his smelly place. He said he rented some movies, worked on making Stevie tapes, and ordered a pizza. Again, he sure as hell has no ambitions to do anything but the same few things - eat, watch TV, talk on the phone about God, listen to music, and get high. At least he’s got his bills paid.

As fate would have it, Tom’s got another one of his famous colds, so I have to get sick too. He says this one’s been a very easy cold, but still, it goes to prove I was right when I said that changing his eating habits wouldn’t help his childlike immune system.

It was exactly one month ago today that the blacks moved. Yesterday, the city was here, but only for a short while. They did the lawn and trimmed the trees. That told me that the pregnant kid and her cronies were right around the corner and ought to be moving in this weekend for sure (and I’m not gonna get a damn bit of sleep cuz I’ll be on nights by then). To my knowledge, the city wasn’t here at all today either, but the pregnant kid was. There’s still brush from the trees sitting out front, and the kid’s not moving in today, but she was here long enough to tell me she’s already got the keys. I knew she’d be the next one in. She was the only one I saw come to check the place out. It’s not like with potential buyers or with non-subsidized rent where a slew of people come to look at it. With a subsidized house, they just grab the next name on the waiting list. I still don’t get this nice van, though. Since when is a welfare mom allowed to have any vehicle, let alone a nice one? I didn’t see her or who she was with. Just heard a few door slams and saw the back half of the van in the driveway. The city wasn’t here to let her in, and because she was here more than a few minutes, I knew she had to have keys. If she didn’t, she’d have left as soon as she saw the city wasn’t here to let her in. She probably dropped off some bulky shit.

Just like with the bitch, it’s not her I worry about. She’s not gonna be stirring up too much shit in her condition. It’s her kids and her cronies I’m worried about. The kids she’s got are too young to be left outside by themselves if she has any brains, but what’s to say she and her associates and their ten million kids won’t sit outside here for hours at a time every day? Why not? They don’t work. The weather’s been mild. I hope these people hate the heat, but still, they’re gonna be plenty noisy enough. They can’t shoot hoops, but they can still bounce balls, yell and scream, slam doors, blast music, and have barking dogs. I just thank God we’re gonna be getting out of here soon!

Woke up at 107 pounds today for the first time in a while. So naturally, I couldn’t shit. My body stops shitting once it gets below 108 so it can reset itself to at least 108.

MONDAY, MAY 3, 1999 Gotta see the “spit” doctor today.

Paula called at 6:00, but I had just gotten up and wasn’t in the mood for chatting.

Tom said he thought it’d be cool if I used some of the boxes we got for printouts of journals. After thinking about it, I decided it’d be a good idea. I’m stapling them, though, not binding them. You never know if the hard drive and the floppies may go on the fritz. We’re going to get a fireproof/waterproof safe for things like this after we move. So, I’ve been printing out journals, starting at the beginning. Got 18 of them done. Yesterday, I used a whole black ink cartridge. It’s gonna take 15 cartridges to get them all printed out unless I pick up some more white paper so I can print in color, too.

I’ve hardly gotten any emails lately. That’s cuz Evie’s in California for a couple of weeks.

We sent away for my credit report. I hope Fingerhut doesn’t show up. We got the camcorder under the name O and never paid for it.

Tom got the patio roof done. It looks much better.

I suppose the city will be next door in half an hour. I noticed something, although I can’t swear to this, cuz I’m not outside much and out of the fans to hear, but I think that the collies are yanked into the house while the city’s here. That ought to be a nightmare for them; having their dogs inside! Anyway, if they are, it’s no doubt to avoid the city getting on their case about the constant barking and letting them know how rude and inconsiderate that is of them. On the other hand, they very well may not give a shit. After all, this is Arizona, and the Arizona way is to keep dogs outdoors.

SATURDAY, MAY 1, 1999 Just took a peek over the wall. No one's moving in this weekend for sure. Aside from the unmowed grass and the lack of a security light blaring on and off, there's a ton of stuff on their back patio and it's nothing I threw over. It looked like there were some grills to vents and some other household parts. I'm surprised the recycle bin's not out. Tom had said he wouldn't be surprised if someone moved in today what with the first falling on a Saturday, but as I reminded him, if that pregnant kid I saw is the next one in there, every day's a Saturday for her. She doesn't work, and if she does, I'm sure it's nothing legal.

Good news about the braids doll. Tom got a reply from the guy. The guy said he had back surgery, has about 30 packages going out, and ours was one of them which was sent out yesterday. If he's telling the truth about sending it, I should have it by Tuesday if he sent it priority mail.

[avintagekiss24]

one cup sugar, one cup spice | a. barber

→ pairing: andy barber x black!reader

→ word count: 7074

→ warnings: age gap, corruption kink, innocent reader, daddy kink, pain kink, smut, sex, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, hand job (male receiving)

→ author note: happy holidays my dudes! what i would do to have andy barber standing in my kitchen... anyway, reader is i n n o c e n t, but totally of age, and in college. as always, line breaks by @firefly-graphics​, gif by @evansensations​

There’s a light dust of white covering the green lawns and black asphalt of the street. You shiver as you follow your parents out towards their car, pulling your beanie down over your ears before you shove your hands into your navy blue Dartmouth hoodie.

“Honey,” your mom coos, turning back towards you as your dad loads the car, “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? Your aunt has plenty of room.”

“I’m positive,” you laugh, “Aunt Sohpie and I don’t get along that great anyway.”

“Well, you could try a little harder.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes wide as you stare at her, “She called me a stuck up, yuppie bitch when I told her I wasn’t going to stop using deodorant.”

Your dad chuckles, prompting a swift slap to the shoulder from your mother before she turns back towards you, “Sophie is a free spirit. She doesn’t believe in putting chemicals in or on her body. One week of trying to get along won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, it’ll hurt,” you answer, pulling her into a hug, “Smelling her B.O. for a week would actually kill me.”

Your mother tuts, pulling back and slumping her shoulders a little as she squeezes your sides gently, “I don’t want to leave you here alone for Christmas.”

“Oh, stop badgering the girl. She’ll be fine,” your dad cuts in, kissing your forehead when he approaches, “She had a tough semester, she’s allowed some alone time. Be good, baby. I left a credit card on my desk for any emergencies.”

You smile warmly, “Thanks daddy.”

There’s a sound of a door opening, then closing, heavy footsteps against the old wood of the porch next door, “Oh, Andy,” your mom calls towards the neighbor, “You got a minute?”

Your face scrunches as you glance over at your father, who sighs heavy, “Don’t get mad, baby.”

“Why would I get mad?”

“She kinda, you know,” he shrugs, knocking his head back and forth, “Asked the neighbor to look in on you while we’re gone,” when your face drops, he throws up his hands, “I didn’t do it, she did.”

“Mom!” You hiss, flipping your eyes to the tall, dark haired man cutting across his front lawn, “I don’t need a babysitter! I’m twenty years old!”

“Hush,” she whispers, plastering a smile on her face as she wraps her arm around your waist, “Sorry to bother you, Andy.”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s okay, I was just checking the mail.”

You’re angry and embarrassed as the tall, older man approaches, but a sudden heat blooms across your chilled brown skin. Pushing your glasses up your nose, you take a heavy breath, expelling it hard as you eye him. You’ve only really seen him in passing, throwing your hand up in a friendly wave as you jogged into your childhood home during a long weekend away from school. You only vaguely remember him moving in about a year or two before. Hell, you don’t even think the two of you have uttered anything more than just a neighborly ‘hey’, and now, thanks to your mother, he’s going to be keeping an eye on you.

Just wonderful.

She smiles proudly, “You remember our daughter, right?”

“I do,” he smiles slowly, an intense pair of blue-green eyes bouncing between yours, “We’ve run into each other a few times over the years. How you doin’ kiddo?”

He reaches out, extending a large palm and long fingers. You take it gently, smiling soft as you drop your eyes from his, nerves suddenly pooling in your stomach, “Um, good. Thanks for asking. How um,” you swallow, glancing back up at him, finding his eyes still centered on you, “How are you?”

He shrugs, but keeps your much smaller hand in his, “Can’t complain.”

“Listen, honey,” your mom starts, “I asked Mr. Barber to pop over and check on you every now and again while we’re gone.”

“Mother,” fake laughter filling the air, your face hot from being annoyed to all hell, “I’m not a child, and I’m sure Mr. Barber has better things to do with his time than to check on me constantly.”

“It’s no problem,” he shrugs again, those eyes of his now roaming, down your body, then up again, slowly, “I have the next couple of weeks off myself.”

“Congrats on the promotion, by the way.” Your father smiles, finally drawing Andy’s attention away from you. He nudges your side with his elbow, “Andy’s the new District Attorney.”

You keep your eyes on the tall Andy, sliding them the length of his body. He’s sturdy. Broad shoulders not so hidden underneath his zip up hoodie, clinging to thick biceps. Dark jeans accentuate long legs and a little waist. A perfect, full beard lines his strong jaw and chin. Two enormous hands are shoved into the pockets of his pants, so large that they don’t even fit right… You inhale deep, drawing your bottom lip into your mouth, sinking your teeth into the flesh as a tiny moan slips through.

Blue eyes snap to you again as it sounds. God. Your lips part, eyes widen as they stare back at him in embarrassment. He just smiles again, slow and seemingly knowing; his eyes falling down your frame again.

“We better go if we’re gonna miss traffic, hun.” Your dad’s voice suddenly breaks into your conscience, snapping you out of the small trance that Andy Barber has leveled over you, “Andy, thanks for watching over our baby while we’re gone.”

Andy winks at you, “I won’t hover, I promise. If you need anything, at any time, I’m right next door, okay? Better yet, let me give you my number.”

You nod quick, clearing your throat as you fumble around with your phone, pulling it out of your hoodie and handing it over to him, “Sure, yeah. Th-thank you, Mr. Barber.”

“Andy,” he corrects, reaching out and cupping your elbow gently, “Please.”

Another warmth spreads through you, emanating from the contact, making you giggle and smile nervously like a stupid girl before you get a hold of yourself and blink away. You all exchange another round of pleasantries, Andy wishing your parents a safe trip before he locks eyes with you again— biting his lip as he blinks and hands your phone back before turning away and heading towards his mailbox.

Almost frozen in place, you blink as you watch him move across his grass, forcefully swallowing. You really need to get out more.

One last hug from your mom and dad and you wave as they pull out of the driveway, your mom waving excitedly at you through the windshield. Rolling your eyes, but smiling wide, you return a wave before heading back inside, locking the door behind you before making a brisk b-line to the front door.

Andy’s still outside, pushing the green trash cans up against his garage as you peek out at him from behind the thin, white, door curtains. He throws open one of the lids before dipping his head, eyeing the mail in his hand as he flips through it slowly, tossing the junk into the open can. A pink blush piques on his cheeks and the tip of his nose, lips red with the chill. He looks up suddenly— out of nowhere— and cocks his head, letting another smile curl onto his lips when the two of you make eye contact again.

You gasp and jump back, instantly turning on your heel to run up the stairs towards your bedroom, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The smell of fresh baked cookies fills the house as you pull a pan from the oven. You hum in satisfaction, a small smile on your face as you scoop the sugar cookies onto the cooling rack before pulling your mom’s Santa Claus mittens off your hands and tossing them to the counter. Last Christmas by Wham plays from the small bluetooth speaker in the corner of the kitchen, A Charlie Brown Christmas on mute playing from the ipad leaning against the utensil holder.

There’s a random crackling from the fire you started in the living room as you move around, a whir from the mixer as it beats the eggs, powdered sugar, vanilla extract, and corn syrup together. You dip your finger into the mixture, popping it into your mouth and groaning as the sweetness explodes on your tongue before you pull the beaters out, slipping your finger down the stainless steel to collect the icing still stuck to them.

A knock sounds from the front door, permeating through the rather quiet house. You lean to the side, blinking at the door as a shadow shifts through the windows on either side. Shoving the icing laden finger into your mouth, you jog towards the door, bare feet heavy against the wood floor.

“One second, one second,” you mumble, wiping your hands on your pale pink cotton shorts before you tug at your hoodie and unlock the door. A sharp inhale of cold air fills your chest when you pull open the door to find one Andy fucking Barber standing on the opposite side, “Oh,” is all you can manage.

“Hey,” he smiles, “It’s been a few days, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Being a biomedical engineering student, you can rattle off some of the most difficult, obscure words known to man with exactly zero problems. When it comes to social interaction with the hot, forty-something, lawyer next door? Your tongue is heavy, your brain… dumb.

His smile widens as you blink like a moron, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead as he waits for you to talk. Here’s the part where you speak, dumbass! “Um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I, uh, yeah, I’m okay. I’m good, sorry.”

“Smells good in here.”

Nodding, you bite your lip, your eyes everywhere but on his face— his stare just too much, “I’m making cookies.” you glance over your shoulder before you point, “Do you want to make some? I mean,” you slam your eyes closed, “Do you want to try some? Not, some, one, do you— do you want to try one? Or some… I guess… whatever.”

Idiot. You’re a bumbling, stumbling, idiot.

He chuckles, the rumble low and deep as he runs one of those big ass hands through his dark, soft looking hair, “That is the best offer I’ve had all day.”

He steps over the threshold, his fingers brushing over yours as he reaches to close the door. You snatch your hand from it quickly, wringing it within the other as you turn awkwardly and move towards the kitchen, swallowing hard, suddenly hyper aware of how bare your legs are.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Andy starts from behind you, “I’m surprised to find you here and not out with some friends.”

You move behind the marble topped island in the center of the kitchen as Andy walks around the opposite side. His eyes are on you again, staring as you fumble with the spatula, your fingers going as dumb as your brain, dropping it with a loud clang. You don’t even know why— okay, you know why, but this is something deeper, something you haven’t experienced before.

“Oh,” you shrug, “No, I uh, I just kinda like to stay around the house.”

He nods slowly, “A homebody, huh? Me too.”

He makes you dizzy; his masculinity is intimidating. It fills up every little space in the room. His intelligence— worldly, experienced—  oozes from him. He looks like you could ask him anything, anything, and he’d have the right answer for you. He could teach you a thing or two, that’s for sure.

A shudder creeps through your body, heat blooming across your skin, having to shift on your feet as your stomach flutters while you focus on icing this stupid cookie. The physical space he takes up unnerves you too. That wide, towering frame looming over you. Deft, thick fingers tapping gently against the countertop as you stumble around, your hands shaky.

There’s a stickiness. A warm, little wet spot in the center of your panties as stupid thoughts run through your stupid brain. You’re being ridiculous. Like this grown man would be interested in an inexperienced, socially awkward, in bed by eight thirty, little girl. Get a grip.

You slather some icing over the warm cookie and cautiously hand it towards him, clearing your throat and forcing a smile. Wringing your hands again, you find a little courage to lift your eyes just as he pops the small cookie into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chews slowly, a grunt sounding from deep in his throat.

Every muscle in your body clenches at the sound. It’s gorgeous— and if there’s anything your body appreciates, it’s a gorgeous man with a gorgeous grunt.

“It’s okay?” You squeak, timid and small before you nervously clear your throat.

“Shit, girl,” he moans again, licking his lips as he extends his hand again, “I could eat every single one of these.”

Nervous fingers clutch another cookie, adding a dollop of icing before you hand it over to him, eyes drifting up his chest and to his face as he devours the second treat. Your curious eyes watch with a longing. Pretty, thick, dark eyelashes closing again, splashing across smooth, slightly reddened cheeks. A pink tongue darts out of a wet mouth to slip along an inviting— too inviting— bottom lip, and you zero in on it. Chest rising and falling a little harder as you blink, in your own little world as you imagine just how much experience those lips, that tongue has.

There’s a hint of blue suddenly, his eyes no longer closed, now set squarely on you as those sickenly perfect white teeth emerge with another sly smile.

Another wave of embarrassment pushes through your veins, but you can’t look away from him this time. Locked in a heated stare, mind racing, palms sweaty as you watch Andy dip his index finger into the bowl of icing, scooping the sugary mix onto the pad of his digit.

“You like watching me, huh?”

Your mouth parts to answer, but nothing comes out, mouth and throat suddenly dry. He laughs at you, standing there, dumb and nervous, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pushes the tip of his finger into his mouth, sucking the icing from it slowly.

He’s moving, that much your brain can comprehend. Moving around the island, sliding the bowl of icing right to the edge where he dips his finger again, curling it to collect another glob.

Shallow, shaky breaths escape the small part in your lips, your chest and stomach so tight you’re surprised you can breathe at all. As it is, you have to rest your palm against the marble island, just to keep from falling over.

A long arm slips around your waist, nudging you forward— closer— so close that when one of those shallow, little breaths pushes out, your chest, well, your tits, brush against his. You picked a fine day to go without a bra. He drops his free hand to your waist, pushing it underneath your oversized hoodie to feel your skin as he wraps those long fingers around your hip, giving it a squeeze before he cups your chin.

“You have a boyfriend back at that fancy ass school?” He asks, eyes hooded as he tilts your head upward.

A hum vibrates through your chest before there’s a quick shake of your head as he pushes the icing over your bottom lip, smearing the sugary mix along it. He keeps your chin anchored in his hand as he stares down at you through slits, his own mouth dropping open as he coaxes yours.

“No, a smart girl like you doesn’t have time for boys, does she?” He purrs, “You probably haven’t even been touched by a boy.”

A squeak chokes in your throat as he teases you, pushing that finger back and forth, the tip pushing ever so gently into your mouth. He chuckles again, real low, menacing almost as he knows he has you right where he wants you.

“Ya know,” he starts, thumbs stroking your chin and jaw, “This Christmas cookie frosting would taste a hundred times better on you than my finger.” He smiles again, tilting his head, “Can I see?”

You mewl, pitiful and small as emotion pools in your eyes. You’re overwhelmed— nervous and unsure, wanting to be perfect. Womanly— but surely falling flat.

“Oh, baby,” he laughs, sweeping his thumbs underneath your eyes to catch the hot streaks, “Awww, it’s okay.”

Andy pushes in close, his lips brushing yours as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of yours, a low sound thrumming in his throat. He presses his cheek against your face, the soft hair of his beard pushing along your skin, goosebumps popping up all over. Your bodies start to sway in a slow rhythm, side to side, his warm breath washing over you as he smiles.

He pulls away, eyes traveling your face, “You haven’t even been kissed before?” When you don’t answer, he closes his eyes, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, “No? Oh, my sweet girl. That is just,” he groans, eyes twinkling with an emotion you don’t even understand, “You are so perfect— so good.”

His forehead comes to rest on yours, his hands still corralling your face, fingers sticky. His tongue darts out quick, licking at your lips, dragging up to the tip of your nose. You shudder, bleating as the rough velvet passes over your mouth.

Andy moans again, sucking the icing into his mouth and swallows slow, “Yum.”

You’re jittery— clammy, as labored breaths push out of your mouth, a murky fog clouding your brain. Shaky whirs tremble through your chest as you shift on your feet, your panties sticking to your now throbbing pussy. Andy closes the distance between your mouths again, his eyes hooded as he nips at you.

Your eyes flutter, closing instinctively— waiting for the claim. It doesn’t come, not right away, making your eyes pop open, a childish whine squeaking out. You even stomp your foot a little. Twenty years is a long enough wait.

“Kiss me,” you breathe, not wasting a second, “Please, Andy—”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he grabs your lips, inhaling deep. His tongue fucks into your mouth, slipping along the roof before massaging yours, sucking lightly. You go limp against him, trying to keep up with the fervent kiss, but soon just let him take full control.

Andy pushes his hips into yours, pressing his hard cock against you, forcing you to break the kiss, gasping deep. He rests his forehead on yours again, tittering as he bites his bottom lip, “Never felt that before, huh? Mmmm,” he groans again, “I bet you feel good. So tight and warm— umph, I’m probably not even going to be able to fit my cock all in.”

You shudder at the thought.

He brushes the tip of his nose against yours, “I gotta open you up a bit, don’t I? Hmm? This sweet little cunt needs to get used to being stuffed full.” He turns you in his hands, presses his burly chest into your back, his lips to your ear, “I want you to finish icing these cookies like a good girl, okay? You do as daddy says.”

You don’t move, you can’t really, as you try to comprehend what’s going on. It takes Andy pushing his crotch into your ass, grinding your hips against the island and literally grabbing your wrists, making your hands grab the butter knife and a cookie before your brain catches up. With shaky fingers, you push the knife through the icing and slather it on one of the small, round, golden brown cookies.

“Good girl,” he praises, pecking your cheek, nuzzling into the side of your face, “Daddy wants you to focus.”

He drags his warm palms up your forearms, stroking gently before they fall to your sides. They push up into your hoodie, fingertips glancing across sensitive, untouched skin. Small laughter vibrates through his chest as you jump and gasp, huffing and keening as he explores.

Little kisses are pressed to your temple and side of your face as his hands venture up your sides, curling around your rib cage until he’s grasping your bare tits in both hands, squeezing and kneading— hissing as he grinds his rigidly hard cock into your ass.

You freeze, body going stiff as nimble fingers play with your thick, piqued nipples. Warm lips nip at your neck as you push back into his hips, wiggling slowly, the thin cotton of your shorts not proving to be much of a barrier at all.

Andy reaches around, plucking the cookie out of your hand and pops it into his mouth just as his free hand skips down your stomach— right into your shorts. You jut your hips forward as his fingers plunge through your folds, massaging your clit slowly as he murmurs in your ear.

“That’s what I love about virgins. The slightest little touch gets you all worked up.” He pulls his hand from your shorts, holding it out for you to see your slick coating his fingers— a string connecting from his index finger to the middle. He brings his wet fingers to your lips, steel eyes peering at you as he waits, “Clean ‘em up.”

He slides his free hand back into your sweatshirt, pushing it up over your tits before he tweaks your left nipple, rolling it slow as he pushes the tips of his fingers into your mouth. Sweet, tiny little whines sound from you as you accept his long fingers into your mouth, starting to suck gently, the taste of your arousal exploding on your tongue.

“That’s right, just like that baby.” He reassures, slipping a hand back into your panties.

Your mouth goes slack around his fingers as he toys with you, rubbing your achy clit as your hips start to move with his rhythm. Resting your weight against his sturdy body, you moan loud, pushing out hard breaths, eyes slipping closed, head rolling on his shoulder as his wet fingers slip from your mouth back to your left nipple.

His fingers start to tease your slit, pushing gently, slowly, until… a sharp yelp fills the kitchen as two fingers stuff you full. Andy wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him, cooing in your ear as he continues to push in, “You’re okay baby. I know, I know sweet girl, we’re almost there. Just a bit more.”

Tears sting your eyes as your face strains from the pressure and pain of being spread for the first time. Once his fingers have disappeared, the heel of his palm pressing against your folds and clit, he pulls your chin towards him and licks at your mouth, sucking air in between his teeth.

“I can’t wait to fuck this sweet pussy,” he kisses you quick and hard, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before he releases you with a loud smack, “I love a virgin cunt. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.”

You squeak when his fingers start to move, slow, deep, a squelch sounding as his fingers push into your muscles. It hurts, but there’s a twinge of good, something inside of you being pleasured once you push past the pain. The sweet taste of pleasure doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks as his fingers pick up a brisk pace.

Andy growls in your ear, the sound scratching at the back of his throat, kind of hollow and breathy as he grinds his cock into your ass, “You havent fucked yourself like this before? I didn’t think I’d hurt you this bad with just my fingers, baby.”

A hot, rough wetness slides along your cheek, his tongue, lapping at you. You grab onto his forearm, feeling his muscles tense and flex as he fingers your innocence, digging your nails into the thick Shetland wool sweater covering his torso. He pushes deep, suddenly, making you cry out again.

He grunts, snaking his hand up into your hoodie to take a firm hold of your tit. Resting his forehead to the back of your head, he quickens his fingers, his hot breath on the back of your neck, quick swipes of his tongue and lips against your hypersensitive skin— making the miniscule hairs on your body stand on end.

His palm presses against your clit with each shove of his fingers. Strapping, hard chest flattened to your back, loud, husky moans in your ear. His hips roll and push, writhe into yours as his fingers start to thrash. Teeth sink into your shoulder, his tongue sliding and sweeping.

“Andy—” you cry, whimpering like a child, “It hurts. I— I can’t,”

“Oh, sweetheart.” His fingers slow and then stop, pulling out of you to rub your clit, soothing the balmy flesh. He turns you around in his arms as you cry, lifting you right from your feet, “I’m sorry. Shh, shh, I’m sorry, baby.”

The instant warmth of his mammoth chest and arms soothe the tumultuous pangs of anxiety coursing through you. Nuzzling in, the softness of his beard helps ease your nerves as you wrap two jelly arms around his neck. Andy’s big hands push up and down your back as he murmurs sweet nothings. Stomach tight, heart fluttering, face hot and wet with tears— you’re properly overwhelmed and overstimulated, and Andy could just eat it all up.

“You are so pretty when you cry, you know that? You did so good, baby. You took my fingers so well.”

You huff, disappointed, pushing your face deeper into his neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispers, “It’s okay to not be ready.” He sits you back on your feet, pulling and adjusting your sweatshirt back over your chest. He pecks your lips quick before cupping your face in his hands, “It’s gonna make our first time together so much better.”

He pushes in to kiss you again, but stops, just as his lips brush yours. You get up on your tiptoes, wanting to meet his mouth but he’s quick, pulling away and stealing another cookie as he takes a step back.

“Thanks for the cookies, sweetheart.”

And just like that, with a wink and a smile, he’s moving out of the kitchen, the front door slamming behind him.

It might as well be the middle of a Texas summer heatwave in your bedroom. Exasperated, you throw the covers away from your body, skin slick with sweat as you wipe at your forehead. You’ve been like this all day— hot and irritated, stomach and mind jumbled, unable to focus on much of anything but thoughts of depravity. Pissed off at yourself more than anything; that you couldn’t take it all.

You sit up in the dark room, a sliver of moonlight spilling in from behind the thin curtains over your window. Snow flakes float down from the sky, glimmering, basking in the soft, natural light of the moon. Thoughts of Andy return. Reddened, full lips on your face, his soft, velvety, pink tongue forging its own path in the uncharted territory that is your mouth. His hands, big and warm, pinching and grabbing, pushing in deep.

Every muscle in your body clenches; achy cunt squeezing around nothing.

A soft light illuminates from the nightstand, followed by a buzz, a random alert from your twitter. But then, oh but then— Andy’s words come floating back to you. Better yet, let me give you my number. The sleek iphone is in your hand within seconds, fingers sliding over the keyboard, shooting off a text.

You 1:15am

You up?

Andy B. 1:17am

What’s a smart girl like you doing up so late on Christmas Eve?

An influx of air fills your lungs as your heart leaps.

You 1:17am

I can’t sleep…

Andy B. 1:18am

Want me to help with that?

You won’t be getting much sleep tho…

You 1:18am

That’s what I’m hoping…

Andy B. 1:19am

LOL, okay smarty pants, come wait for Santa with me, front door’s open

You’re already halfway down the stairs by the time his invite slides across the screen. You shove your feet into your Ugg boots at the bottom of the staircase and grab your jacket from the coat rack, pushing into it as you throw open the front door. Crossing your arms over your chest, you jog down the steps of the porch and start for Andy’s, an instant chill rattling right down to your bones.

Footprints in the snow follow you as you cross the lawn, a light crunch sounding underneath your feet, adding to the whoosh of a breeze that rips through the sleepy street. Once you’re on Andy’s porch, you reach for the door, pushing through the threshold and closing it softly with a click.

The house is dark, and quiet, a tiny point of light coming from the kitchen and the random ticks of a clock somewhere deep. Your jacket hits the floor, ugg boots thump against the wall as you kick them off, hand slides along the banister as you climb the stairs slow. Wide eyes adjust to the dark as you pad slowly down the long hall, passing by one closed door, and then another until you reach one that’s slightly ajar. Light spills out of it, splashing over your bare toes as you step right up to it, fingertips pushing against the door.

You find Andy propped up against his headboard, chest bare, legs spread— hard, pink cock sticking out of his boxers, gripped tight in his hand. He flips his eyes to yours as he strokes himself slow, pushing his hips into it, groaning at the sight of you.

The air in your body— the room— is sucked right out as you lock eyes. With a blink, your greedy eyes are on the move, down his hair smattered chest and chiseled stomach, over the dark blue boxer briefs, down his meaty thighs and toned calves, right to his curled toes and back up again.

You have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

“I’ve been,” the words out of his mouth come to a halt being replaced by a low grunt as he squeezes his cock, precum dribbling out of his slit, “Shit sweetheart, I’ve been thinking about you all day. Haven’t been able to cum since you left me all worked up.”

You bleat softly, blinking wild and nervous as you watch his hand slide up and down, palm and fingers sweeping over his mushroom head to collect the droplets of his arousal to push it down his shaft.

“Well, come on. Come touch me.”

It’s a good thing your feet aren’t as stupid as your brain, or else you’d still be standing in place. Before you can get your mind to catch up, you're pulling yourself towards the edge of the bed, falling forward, catching yourself with your hands. Crawling between his legs, your tank top hangs low, Andy’s eyes peering down your cleavage before you sit on your knees— hands trembling.

He reaches for you, grabbing your wrist gently, pulling your hand towards his towering cock. Guiding you slow, he wraps your hand around him, his hips jerking soft at the warmth of your palm and pushes your hand down to his base, before dragging it up to the tip. He helps you for a few more strokes, twisting your hand around him, guiding your fingers up over his cock head and then back down, squeezing your hand to apply a gentle pressure.

“That’s right, baby—ah—” he hisses, jutting his hips up into your hand, “Shit.”

You continue to pump him after his hand falls away, relishing in the small noises that sound from him— sending your heart soaring. His hips pulse into your hand, eyes fluttering as more cum bubbles out, slipping and sliding over your fingers. Andy reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it out, covering the room in darkness except for the moon.

He’s beautiful like this. Chest tight and shuddering with each breath, dark eyelashes splayed over fair skin, a chorus of sweet, small little whines and praise pouring from him. A soft pink blush unfurling over his broad chest, creeping up his neck.

“Fuck baby,” breathless and strained, “You’re a fuckin’ pro already. My smart little girl.” You suck your bottom lip into your mouth but still can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners, “Oh, you like that?” Andy smiles lazily, “You like being my smart little girl?”

Hot lips are on yours before you can even form your mouth to answer. Flipped onto your back, strong hips digging into yours, his cock pushing against your covered clit and slit as he kisses you hard. It takes your breath away.

You’d always thought you’d be awkward, stiff and unknowing, once you finally reached this moment— nothing but teeth and elbows and knees in all the wrong places— but, there’s a natural instinct coming into play. You’re lost, but somehow intricately aware. Fingers creep up his biceps and curl around his shoulder blades, digging in as your hips push back into his. Mouth leans into the feverish kisses, tongue sliding with his.

Colossal hands push into your shorts, pushing them down before his feet knock them off the rest of the way. Your top is rucked up, up over your breasts, exposing more brown skin, two soft, jiggling mounds, two piqued nipples soon sucked into a warm, wet mouth. A long middle finger toys with your clit, rubbing circles before more fingers join, slipping through slick and skin as they play.

“Tell me,” hot, whispered words sting in your ear, “Tell me you like being my smart girl.”

Hips dig into yours once more, hard cock pushing against your sensitive nub, then pressing at your opening. You grab the back of his neck, moaning hard and loud as electricity bounces through your veins, “Andy—” you squeak, “I like—”

A sharp cry breaks through the words as Andy pushes hard, spearing you for the very first time. Pressure and pain courses through you, body going tight and stiff as he sinks deeper and deeper, large palms on your cheeks, forehead to yours, warm breaths and ragged, choked grunts washing over your face.

Hard kisses— one, two, three— on your lips as he holds your face, his eyes closed, mouth hanging as he sinks, sinks, sinks until you’ve taken him all. Your head is empty. Devoid of any real, coherent thoughts, unable to focus on any one thing; well, nothing other than the fullness.

“Tell me you like being my smart girl.” Andy rasps, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to keep himself together. He shifts, hips pulling away from yours, cock dragging out, “Come on baby, tell me you like it.”

Andy pushes his hips, pushes back into you, but real gentle and smooth, knowing you’re teetering— overwhelmed in more ways than one, a feeling that can turn south on a dime. So, he keeps his hands on your face, thumbs rubbing soft circles. He opens his eyes, giving you something to focus on as he moves gently— so, so gently. Keeping you present.

“Use those words, sweet girl. Talk to me.”

Water fills your eyes as you grip, nails biting into the meat of his sides as he fucks you slow and sweet. Heat burns through you, tiny sounds, choked sobs scratch at the back of your throat, but it’s good— feels so good. Your legs push up and around his waist, hands start to snake up his sinewy back, feeling the muscles flex and tighten as he makes you a woman— makes you his.

Safe. Warm. Cocooned between his heavy body and the light mattress. Hips rolling, pushing and pulling. Hot breath over hot skin. Quick, jumbled words, thick and ripe with a heady lust. You like being his smart girl. Gripping fingers, around your face, your wrists, your tits, hips, thighs, ankles— everywhere you could possibly imagine.

Andy flips you over suddenly, his back now pressed into the mattress as you lay on top of him. He positions you right where he wants you— sitting you up straight, positioning your hands against his brawny chest. He encases your waist with those massive hands, squeezing tight before the pads of his fingers drag along your thighs as you wiggle, getting used to the new position.

“Push up— that’s right, sweetheart,” he sighs softly as you follow his direction, “Now sit back down— slowly, baby, go slow.” His head falls back on the pillows as he exhales, a groan trembling through his chest, “God, yeah babe. Good girl. Up and down, up and down.”

Your fingers push through the tuft of soft, dark hair covering his chest as you ride him, lifting and sitting, rolling and bucking as you get a hang of it— catch a feel— your clit rubbing against his taut skin. You feel Andy trying to keep his composure, feel him trying to restrain himself, his hips. Watch his eyes flutter and close as his mouth goes slack again as he pushes up into you, meeting your increasingly greedy thrusts downward.

“I’m your smart girl,” you whisper, heart beating hard and fast in your chest as your confidence grows, “I’ve always wanted to be your smart girl.”

He jams up into you, much harder than anything you’ve felt so far.

A sharp yelp cracks into the silence and he grabs your wrists, runs his hands up your arms, before he cups your face, “Shhh, shhh, shhh, I’m sorry baby. I didn’t know it was gonna sound so sweet,” he laughs, “God, I fucking love hearing you say that.”

He drops a hand back to your chest, grabbing a handful of your tit, toying with your nipple, pinching and pulling. His other hand wraps around your hip again, helping to pull you forward, as he thrusts soft. You don’t move; you just let him fuck up into you, grab his hands and thread your fingers with his as you bounce.

Thrusts get faster; hips hurried, jabbing. Wet rasps fill the room, octaves soaring. You fall forward a little, unclasping his hands to catch yourself against his chest. Andy’s hands are back around your waist and hips as you fuck down onto him, chasing that little, dull ache in the pit of your stomach that grows with each push of his hips.

Andy has two full handfuls of your ass, growling loud, hips faltering— losing control as he forces you down on him. You take each hard thrust, tears spilling down your cheeks, pleasure and pain all wrapped up into one. Sweat and heat crawls along your skin, stomach goes tight, throat dries. You dig your fingers into his chest as your toes curl, whimpering and crying out, choking as the pressure builds.

You tighten— freeze quick, gasp hard as a white hot orgasm floods your veins, like a molten lava, oozing, spreading. Flattening yourself to Andy’s chest, you let him wrap his arms around your back and hold you tight as he fucks you through it. The meat of his thighs slapping against yours, your cunt sounding wet and filthy, squelching and convulsing as you come.

There’s another heat, quick and dense, filling you as Andy’s grunts grow deeper. His grip on your ass tightens as he spurts— your used cunt coaxing long, hot ribbons of white silk from his sensitive, red cock head. He falls out of you, dick wet and hard, pushing through your ass cheeks as his hips still churn out of habit and inherent instinct.

Hands are on your head, fingers wiping at your face and forehead, pushing hair away. You’re embarrassed— not sure why— and nuzzle into his neck, hiding your face as you tuck your hands into your chest protectively. Another laugh sounds from him, vibrates through you, as he kisses your forehead and rubs his bearded cheek against your face.

“You’re a sweet girl,” honeyed, his voice, smooth and sweet, slow drags of his hands up and down your back lulling you, calming you, suddenly nervous, “My sweet, smart little baby. You okay?” you nod, but it isn’t good enough, “Tell me.”

“I’m okay.” You sniffle, eyelashes clumped, cheeks wet, lips swollen and red.

You nuzzle into him more, taking a deep breath as you listen to his heartbeat. Another silence fills the room, Andy’s breaths soon turn deep, slow and rhythmic, his hands and fingers coming to a slow stop but still splayed out over your back. A quick press of your lips against his neck makes him shift, but doesn’t wake him. You press another on his chin before you settle down into him once more, watching as snow starts to fall again.

There’s a Christmas present sitting at the edge of the bed when you wake the next morning, your name scrawled out on the name tag. You tear into it, pulling out a small white box, the name LELO embossed over the top. Eyebrows firmly furrowed, you turn it over in your hand, mouth falling open as you read the description and eye the two twenty karat gold Ben Wa beads.

Andy appears in the doorway, a steaming cup in his hand, a smile on his face, “Merry Christmas. Santa came for you, huh?”

“Merry Christmas,” you glance away, “I don’t have anything for you.”

“That’s okay,” he shrugs, “I was a bit presumptuous after our little rendezvous in the kitchen— ordered those from Amazon yesterday.” He pads towards you, leaning down to kiss you quick before he hands you the hot mug, “Are you okay?”

A nervous giggle escapes through your lips, your head falling as you cover your mouth with your hand, “Mmhmm.”

Andy tips your head back upwards, pushing his index finger underneath your chin, smiling again before he kisses you all sweet and soft and slow, making you go all stupid and gooey again.

“What are these for?” You ask after he pulls away a few moments later.

His eyes twinkle in the sunlight as he winks, “Training. Now, lay back and spread your legs for daddy, little one.”

[earlgreydream]

the garden.

| 1940s!bucky barnes x reader | fluff | mild angst |

You walked home from work, seeing your new neighbor, Bucky Barnes, leaning against the wall of his house. His arrogant smirk appeared as you walked up the path to your door, scrunching your nose at the sight of him. 

James Buchanan Barnes was irritating. The first day he’d moved in, he and his friends were loud until the early hours of the morning, drunkenly shouting along with his record player. Then, his drunk friends had walked through your garden, trampling half of your flowers and some vegetables. And he was always outside with his stupid smirk, thinking his pretty face was enough to win you over. 

Bucky was also gorgeous, and the worst part was, he knew it. You’d seen him in town flirting with girls in the market, and everywhere he went. Even your friends all fought for his attention. When they’d come over, you’d sit outside on your porch and they would all wave to him and giggle. He greeted them, chattering with the blushing and giggling girls who fell at his feet. You always rolled your eyes and ignored him, unamused.

Bucky was fascinated by you, the only girl to never fall for his charm. He was charismatic and had every girl at his fingertips that he had ever wanted. He knew that the two of you had gotten off on the wrong foot, and you despised his smoking habit. However, he had made it his goal to win you back over, but you had proven to be stubborn. You were a challenge, and Bucky was determined.

“Hey doll.” He greeted you as you stepped up onto your porch.

“It’s Y/N.” You scowled at him, and he said your name, winking at you.

He checked you out, admiring you in your high waisted pants and button down. You shook your head at him, going inside your house, closing the door. You put your grocery bag down and started to make dinner, when you saw Bucky on your porch. You groaned and opened your window, looking at him.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“My stove is out of gas. Could you put me up for dinner?” He gave you a boyish grin, rocking on his heels.

“Why would I do that?”

“To be neighborly,” he suggested.

“C’mon. Because I’ll buy you dinner tomorrow?” Bucky tried again.

“You’re so full of shit.”

“Y/N, the stores are closed, it’s late.”

“Fine. Get in here.” You gave in, shaking your head and shutting the window. He waltzed through the front door, looking too pleased with himself.

“Plus, I brought a gift!” He held up a bottle of rosé.

“So you can get drunk and ruin my flowers again?”

“I apologized for that. Please forgive me.”

“You’re forgiven.” You said, not convincing him or yourself. 

“Where’re your glasses?” He asked, and you pulled a cabinet open, stirring your pot of pasta. He pulled down two glasses and filled them.

“Maybe I don’t drink.”

“You do, this is your favorite wine. I’ve seen you drinking it on the porch swing at least twice.” Bucky called you out.

“Oh, so you stalk me?” You accused. 

“No, you just sit outside all the time.” 

He lifted the glass to his lips, smiling behind the rim. You drank from your own, needing it in order to deal with him. You noticed his dog tags, resting against his skin with the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He caught you staring, but he held eye contact, wanting to make you blush. 

“You fight in the war?” You asked, and he shook his head.

“I will. I haven’t been deployed yet. Me and my friend Steve recruit here, but we’ll go with the next team.”

“Where will you go?”

“Germany, maybe. Or Poland.” 

You hummed, thinking that Bucky didn’t seem like the military type. You supposed it was his duty though, and he didn’t want to be labeled as a draft dodger. You strained the noodles and mixed them with the sauce, serving him a plate. Bucky thanked you, taking a seat at your tablecloth. 

“Hey, get down, Pepper.” You scolded your cat that jumped onto his lap. You apologized and he smiled, petting her head.

“She has no manners. Push her off,” 

“She’s fine. I don’t mind.” He smiled, and your cat jumped onto the floor, prowling for dropped food. You ate quietly, ignoring his silver gaze. 

“How long have you lived here?” He made conversation.

“Since I left my parents’ house when I was sixteen,” 

“That’s awful young. Why?”

You didn’t answer, pouring yourself another glass of wine, and he tilted his glass for more. You emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass, earning a thank-you. 

“You don’t have to buy me dinner.”

“I’m absolutely buying you dinner. We’ll go out, to Brooklyn.” He grinned, and you rolled your eyes. 

“Is there any way to get out of it?” You asked.

“I’m afraid not.” 

“You’re an amazing cook.” Bucky complimented, standing and taking your empty plates before you could.

“Thanks. I got that-”

“No, you cooked. I’ll do the dishes.” He turned on your sink and began to wash everything, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You watched him, biting back a small smile. 

“I’ll just be getting out of your hair. Have a goodnight, doll.” 

You rolled your eyes, closing the door after him. You picked up your cat and held her, watching him walk across the lawn. He waved at you when he saw you watching through the window, and you shut the curtains.

You came home the next day, tired and annoyed from work. You were in a bad mood, and you just wanted to relax.

“James?” You stopped when you saw him kneeling in your yard.

“Y/N, you’re home.”

“Why the hell are you in my yard?!” You demanded, opening the gate. 

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked. I was replanting your flowers.” He said, kneeling in your garden. 

Your eyebrows shot up as you saw the rows of freshly planted daffodils, and you walked over to him slowly. 

“Thank you.” You were impressed, and he leaned back on his heels. 

“I’m... I can’t take you out like this. Let me change, then we can go for our dinner?” He smiled down at himself, dirt and grass staining his pants.

You nodded, hiding your smile behind your hand, feeling butterflies in your stomach. You shook your head, watching him go toward his house. You went inside and quickly changed your own clothes, into wide white pants and a yellow button down. You fixed your makeup, and went to meet him on the porch. You bit your lip, smiling as you opened the door to find him standing with a bouquet of daisies.  

“Bucky...” You couldn’t keep the grin off your face.

“I thought you’d like them. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“It’s working.” You whispered before putting the flowers in a vase. You walked to his car with him, and he opened the door for you, being so charming.

Bucky lived to see your smile. When he finally earned it with the flowers, warmth erupted in his chest and spread through him. He had truly felt bad about your garden and spent the whole afternoon replanting it for you. He drove you into the city, music playing softly on the radio.

“Where are we going?”

“New York pizza, Y/N,” Bucky looked proud of himself.

“That sounds amazing.” You confessed, your stomach growling. You’d missed lunch at work, and you were starving. 

“Pizza is my favorite.” 

“Mine too!” Bucky announced, and you giggled at that. He turned and smiled at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than it usually did. 

You arrived at the pizza place, following Bucky inside. He put his hand on your lower back, and you felt the butterflies again. 

“What would you like?” 

“Margherita pizza. I’m a classic girl.”

“Perfect.” He ordered for the two of you, leaning against the bartop while you waited.

“We’ll take it to go.”

“We’re not eating here?” You asked, confused, and he shook his head. 

“Got a better idea.” Bucky winked at you, taking the pizza box once it was done. 

“Can you take this for a second, doll?” He asked, handing it to you as we stood outside. You took it from him, and he leaned into his car, pulling out a blanket before taking the pizza. He nodded for you to follow, and you walked a few blocks down to a park, where he spread the blanket. You were beaming as you sat down beside him, the glow of the street lights and the stars making him look impossibly more attractive. 

“You’ve outdone yourself.” You smiled, biting into a slice of pizza. He looked pleased, and the two of you found yourselves talking until the streets were silent. You were sitting in front of him, when he leaned forward, kissing you. You kissed him back, threading your fingers into his dark hair, letting him move you onto his lap. His tongue pushed past your lips, your mouths moving in sync. 

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Bucky asked, surprising you. You were blushing furiously, and you almost said no, but the feeling his words gave you, made your heart race.

“Yes, James.” You pecked his lips and he grinned into the kiss.

That was how you and Bucky ended up spending most of your time together. He helped you tend to your garden, and you taught him about the plants. You were a botanist with a green thumb, and he was in awe of your tender care of your plants. Every night in the following weeks was spent with the two of you gently rocking on your porch swing, drinking coffee, listening to records, or making out. Either that, or you were listening to him read on the couch or in your bed. 

You and Bucky had been together for almost two months, when he came home late from work one evening when it was nearing October. You were waiting on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, watching for his car to roll in. 

“James!” You called, and he walked up to you. 

“Hey, doll.” He leaned down and kissed you sweetly. You looked up at him, and your gaze meeting with sad eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Worry filled you, and he sat down next to you. 

“I’m getting deployed. We leave in two weeks.” He breathed, and your heart fell into pieces. 

“I’ll wait for you.” You said finally.

“Y/N, you could be waiting for years, or I may not make it back.”

“Don’t say that!” You cried. 

“It’s the truth--” 

Tears started rolling down your cheeks, and you shook your head. You climbed onto his lap and clung to him, gripping his shirt and crying into his shoulder. He rubbed your back and held you on the porch. 

“I want to get married, before you go.” You said, and he turned your face to look at him.

“Doll, you can’t mean that.”

“No, I do. Marry me. Marry me and promise you’ll come back for me.” You touched his face, and he brushed tears from your cheeks. 

“I will marry you, and I will fight every single day to come home to you. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you.”

For months, you and your cat waited on your porch, the cool metal dog tags resting against your sternum. A box of his letters sat on your bedside table, telling you how much he missed you, and loved you, and he wanted to come home to his beautiful wife. All of your friends thought you were mad for marrying a man you’d only dated a few months, the week before he went off to war. A star hung in your window, and every day was spent waiting. Your garden flourished, pumpkins growing as autumn approached. The nights you spent outside began to grow colder, and you waited.

When you saw him, it was like fireworks exploded inside of you. He was tired, he looked wartorn, and he was definitely more muscular. You screamed, tossing your blanket off of you, and running. You jumped over the fence, making him laugh. You threw your arms around him, and he caught you as you jumped into his arms. He held you tightly and spun you around, planting a deep kiss to your lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you.” 

You were crying as Bucky held you, overwhelmed with joy to see him. You didn’t sleep that night, or the next few. 

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

First Date

Summary: The reader accidentally sends an angry email off to a co-worker but winds up with a date instead...

Pairing: Landscaper!Dean x reader

Square: First Date

Word Count: 1,900ish

Warnings: language, fluff

A/N: Written for @spndeanbingo​​​​ . Enjoy!

_______

You yawned as you trotted out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee in hand down to your home office. You plopped down in your chair and got on your computer, checking your email with a tired hum. You saw an email from the facilities manager and sighed.

“Oh come on,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’m work from home now, jackass. Refund my parking pass. That was like five hundred bucks.”

You growled and typed out an angry email in response, getting so fed up when you finished you knocked your coffee all over your computer.

“Shit!” you said, grabbing some tissues and moping it up.

You saw a sent message appear on screen and you shook your head.

“No. No. No, I didn’t send that. Recall, recall,” you said, shoving the tissues aside. It’d already been opened though and the recall failed, your jaw dropping. “No! I just moved into this house! I can’t afford to get fired.”

You grabbed your phone and decided to bite the bullet, trying to dial the guy when you got an email back.

As highlighted in my original message below, your refund will show up next month along with all other refunds to staff now working from home.

You hit reply and started writing an apology, praying he didn’t report you to HR.

I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I wrote it to express my frustrations and had no intentions of ever sending it. I’m deeply embarrassed, Mr. Winchester, and apologize once again.

You bit your bottom lip and waited a minute, getting a response back.

Thank you for your apology, Ms. Y/L/N. Seeing as today is my last day and it was a mistake, I see no reason to pursue this further.

“Ah, thank you, thank you,” you said. “Now let’s deal with this coffee.”

Two Weeks Later

“So what’s the damage?” you asked. The man in the flannel and baseball cap wrote up a tally on his clipboard before looking back at the house and yard again.

“Normally, for total lawn maintenance, that includes your weeding, trimming, spring and fall clean up, etc. for a lawn this large, you’re looking at around eighty a week,” he said. “But we’re trying to break into this neighborhood so let’s call it fifty a week. We get ten yards around here, we’ll knock it down to forty. How’s that sound?”

“Fifty for everything?” you asked. “Including the snow removal?”

“We’ll negotiate a separate contract for that but I’d call that about 350 for that season,” he said. “So. We have a deal?”

“For fifty bucks, you got a deal,” you said, shaking his hand.

“Perfect. I will have a contract written up and sent over to you this evening,” he said. He dug around into his back pocket and pulled out a business card.

“Super Natural Lawn Services,” you said. “Winchester.”

“Hm?” he said, writing something down on his clipboard.

“Name sounds familiar is all,” you said.

“Used to be in charge of managing the grounds at a local place until they decided to have their staff work from home. Ms. Y/L/N,” he said with a smirk. 

“Oh my…” you said, Dean chuckling. “I am so-”

“I like running my own business a lot better,” he said. “Besides, you apologized. We’re all good. We’ll get that contract straightened out and I’ll get a team over Friday morning to start on your landscape design.”

“I really am sorry, Mr. Winchester. I-”

“Y/N. It’s good. I promise. I’ll see you around, okay?”

You nodded and he headed back to his car, giving you a wave as he drove off.

Two Weeks Later

“Hey, Dean?” you called from your front porch. He poked his head up from where he was head first in a notebook, staring at the dirt edge around your house. “You want a drink? It’s really hot out.”

“I’m okay,” he said, sweating pouring off of him.

“You want to come into the air conditioning for a minute?” you asked. He was about to say no when he took off his hat and his hair was soaked with sweat. “Come on.”

“Alright. Just for a minute,” he said. He hopped up onto the porch and stepped into your foyer, letting out a sigh. “Okay, that’s nice.”

“You like lemonade?”

“Sure,” he said. He took off his boots and followed you to your kitchen, taking a seat at the table when you waved him down. You brought over a large glass, Dean gulping it down. “Do you have a minute? Now that your lawn is in good shape, I have a few ideas for landscaping near the house if I could pick your brain.”

“Sure,” you said. He flipped open his notebook and showed you a drawing, your eyes wide. “You drew that? It’s great.”

“Do you like that kind of style? It’s minimal upkeep but it’s not barren out there this way,” he said.

“I love it. How much does that cost?” you asked.

“It’s part of your weekly bill. I have a few other ideas in here you can take a look at and tell me which you like best,” he said. You flipped through the notebook with him, still liking the first one the most. “Alright. We’ll get that going for you then.”

“My neighbor was asking about you the other day. I gave her your name,” you said.

“Fingers crossed we get a bit more business around here then,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll get out of your hair now. Thanks for the drink, Y/N.”

One Month Later

You hummed as you sat on your front porch with your morning coffee, watching Dean across the street and walk around a yard with his team. They’d already done your yard for the week and you knew Dean was up to about six or so houses in the development. With a big stretch you glanced over to your car and saw something on the windshield. You got up and walked over, plucking off a note.

Found a problem with one of your plants. Rabbits were eating it. I’ll replace it later today.

You looked across the street just as he looked over. You gave a wave and he returned it before you headed back inside.

Four hours later you were getting home from the store to find another note stuck up against your front door.

Plant should be all good now. Enjoy your weekend.

“Hey,” you heard behind you and you nearly jumped out of your skin. “Sorry.”

“Hi, Dean,” you said. “S’alright. I got your note.”

“It was a simple fix,” he said. “I actually am looking for my work gloves. I either left them at your place or the Jones’ but I didn’t find them over there.”

“Are they black?” you asked.

“Yeah. You find them?” he asked. 

“Maybe they’re near my new plant,” you said, nodding your head. He looked over and they were on the grass beside it.

“Ah. That’s what I get for taking calls while working,” he said. He grabbed them and started to leave, pausing at the driveway. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“You single?”

“Why?”

“Cause if you’re dating someone, I don’t think my odds of getting a date will go very far,” he said as he spun around. You smiled and leaned against the porch post. “Single?”

“Why would you want to date me? I was very rude to you once.”

“You were pissed about throwing money away for no good reason. Trust me, I got plenty of emails that day. You’re the only one that apologized. Plus you may have once told the grumpy guy in the cafeteria to go do a job that makes him happy.”

“You knew who I was when I emailed you, didn’t you.”

“Yeah. I looked you up at work. You were nice back then. You always offer my crew cold water if you’re home. I just like you,” he said.

“Pick me up at seven,” you said as you spun around. “You decide what we’re doing.”

“Alright,” he said. “I wouldn’t advise a dress and heels.”

“Now I’m intrigued. I’ll see you later then, Dean.”

“Yes you will, sweetheart.”

“Hi,” said Dean when you opened your front door just before seven. You laughed when he held out a packet of flower seeds. “They’ll go great in a planter on the porch.”

“Thanks,” you said. You put the packet inside and locked up, following him to his car. “So what are we doing?”

“I figured we could do something and grab a bite after if that’s okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said. “Were you thinking of a movie?”

“Hopefully it’s more fun than a movie,” he said. “Trust me.”

“Okay, that is the most fun I’ve ever had on a first date,” you said, Dean chuckling as you both turned in your helmets. “I did not even know there was go-karting in this town. Like really nice go-karting too.”

“We could come back sometime,” he said. “I don’t know about you but I’m starving.”

“Same,” you said. 

“Well follow me then,” he said, walking past his car in the parking lot and headed for the street. He took your hand and you walked across over to a diner, Dean walking the two of you inside and to a booth by the corner.

Twelve minutes later you had a double bacon cheeseburger with jalapenos in front of you along with a basket of fries and onion rings. You dug in, Dean smiling to himself as he enjoyed his own burger.

“Too much?” you said.

“Save room for dessert. They have out of this world sundaes,” he said.

“If it’s as good as this burger, I’m sold,” you said. “So what made you want to have a landscaping business?”

“I get to be outside, do some hard work but some mental work too. We’re doing pretty good for our first year,” he said. “I didn’t like my old job very much.”

“It sounds like this one is working out for you.”

“It is. Probably would have taken me longer to ask you out if I hadn’t sort of known you already but I don’t mind,” he said, taking one of your fries.

“You flirt with all your customers or just me?”

“Just you,” he said. “How’s it working out so far?”

“Pretty good. Want to go catch the music fest downtown after our meal? Main act comes on at nine,” you said. “Unless you’re not into rock.”

“Oh, sweetheart. You and me are gonna get along just fine.”

_____

[thekingslover]

Jetski For Sale (Lokius fic)

He stops riding the jetski.

He keeps it on the small trailer at the end of his driveway beside his modest split-level home and covers it with a blue tarp.

Every morning, in his brown button-up pajamas and a bathrobe, he walks to the end of the driveway and collects the morning paper. He’s careful to hold his coffee mug steady as he leans down, but he always manages to spill a drop or two. His slippers are covered in tiny coffee spots.

He tucks the newspaper under his arm and turns back toward his house. He left the television on; through the window, the screen flashes with the bright white letters, Breaking News! Two houses down, his neighbor is already out mowing the lawn. Further away, a dog barks.

Though he lives alone, it’s a perfect life. Everything’s simple. His mortgage is affordable. His brown sedan is paid off. And the jetski...

He doesn’t remember buying it. He always wanted one, dreamed of it. He had a savings set aside for someday. Yet... his savings is still there, and he still has this jetski.

He looks at it now, at the way it bulges under the tarp. A shame to leave it like that. He should take it out again. But the last time he did that...

Shaking his head, he walks back to the house. He drinks his coffee and reads his newspaper. He goes to work, comes home, goes to sleep, and does it all again the next day.

“Something’s different about you,” his sister says on the phone, their weekly call. “You sound different.”

“Same old me.” He’s good at keeping back his feelings and pushing forward the cheer.

She knows, though. Older sisters always seem to. “Are you sure you haven’t been seeing anyone lately?”

This sends him laughing. “A secret boyfriend? Come on, you have quite an imagination on you.”

“Laugh all you want,” she says, stern. She’s not backing down, though her voice does soften as she adds, “It’s only that you... Well, you sound... heartbroken.”

“That’s...” He should deny it. He hasn’t dated anyone in a good long while, but, well, now that she mentions it... He’s had his heart broken before, long ago, and it felt a little something like this. Like something crucial is suddenly missing. Like you spent so much time learning someone and adapting to them, shaping whole parts of your life around them, and then they are just... gone.

There’s a person-sized hole in his life now, but he can’t quite remember their shape.

No, that can’t be.

“That’s crazy,” he says, thinking, maybe I’m crazy.

“Why don’t you come visit us for a while?” she says. “The kids would love to see you.”

“Yeah,” he says, shaky. “Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea. Tell them I love them. Love you too.” Then he hangs up.

*

That night, he lays on his back in bed and stares at the ceiling, afraid to look to his right. He used to sleep sprawled across the entire width of the bed, a true bachelor enjoying his bachelorhood. When did he start picking one side?

He turns over, facing away from the barren expanse of the rest of the mattress, but the bookshelf offers little comfort. Most of his books are about history, biographies on interesting characters from the past. There’s a couple of jetski magazines wedged in, too. But what catches his eye... He remembers buying it, knows he did, the morning after watching a documentary on the perception of time and space. The documentarian had written a book. The Mobius Strip.

Frowning, he doesn’t find any sleep that night, no matter how many long minutes he closes his eyes, or how many sheep he tries to count in his head.

Mobius.

It’s a mathematical theory. Not a name. But it wedges between his ribs and stays buried behind them.

He’s not even a maths guy! But he can’t shake it. It feels heavy, too important.

He tosses and turns. He reaches out to the other side of the bed, realizes its empty, and snaps upright, dread overtaking him for one sharp moment before he remembers that its supposed to be empty.

This is normal. This is his perfect little life.

He flops back into bed and runs a hand down his face. Maybe he should go visit his sister, before he fully loses his mind.

*

His hands shake the next morning when he walks out to get the newspaper at the end of the driveway. Half his coffee spills when he leans to pick it up, but its fine. Maybe he should give up coffee entirely. Maybe too much caffeine is his problem.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

Turning towards the house, he spots the jetski, there under the blue tarp. The mysterious jetski that he doesn’t remember buying. The one, when he’s out on it, he sits too far forward, like he’s making space for someone behind him. But there’s no one there. There’s never anyone there.

The jetski, he decides, was the start of his problems. Maybe if he... If he...

Storming back into the house, he leaves what’s left of his coffee in the sink and the newspaper forgotten on the counter, and hurries into the office. He rips off a long sheet of dot matrix printer paper. Biting off the cap of his pen, he scribbles on it in large block letters, all caps, FOR SALE.

Back in the driveway, he removes the chocks from behind the wheels of the trailer, and flips off the tarp. He wheels the trailer and the jetski to the end of the driveway, right up against the road.

He must look like a mad man, out there in his brown button-up pajamas and coffee-stained slippers. The neighbor’s mowing the lawn. The dog’s barking further away. Everything’s perfect in this perfect little neighborhood, this perfect little life. But he feels like he is going insane.

He slaps the for sale sign on the front of the jetski, and starts back for the house. The sooner that thing is out of his life... Maybe... Maybe things would go back to normal.

His heart pangs in a way he doesn’t understand. Heartache. So much heartache. Why?

Does he even want normal?

But if not that, then what? What is he missing?

He’s at his front door, hand on the doorknob, when someone politely coughs behind him. He pauses a moment, there’s no way someone is there... But when he glances over his shoulder - yeah. Someone’s behind him, only a few feet away.

Not just someone. The most gorgeous person he has ever seen, wearing a sleek black suit and a pair of sunglasses. Long dark hair is slicked back and pushed behind their ears.

He should probably feel self-conscious, standing there in his brown pajamas in front of this god of a person - probably a model - but he doesn’t. Strangely, he feels more at ease now than he has in weeks. His whole body relaxes like he finally exhaled a held breath.

But that doesn’t make sense. They’ve never met. He would remember.

He would never forget a face like that.

“Hello,” the person says, and the word tremors slightly.

“Hello.” It tremors when he says it too.

There’s no car on the road. No bicycle on the sidewalk. However this person got here, it’s like they dropped down from the sky.

The person clears their throat. “You’re selling the jetski?”

“You...” He blinks. He knew jetskis were popular - hell, they are the best - but he hadn’t expected an offer before he even got his pants on. “Yeah. You interested?”

“Yes, I...” They drop their head a moment, taking their time to think. When they lift their head again, their shoulders lift too, like they are preparing for a battle.

He supposes negotiations can be seen as a battle, but he can’t bring himself to match the person’s pose. He’s ready to give up the jetski for free at this point. Whatever gets it gone.

The person asks, “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it. It runs like a dream.”

“Then why get rid of it?”

His heart hurts, so he laughs through the pain. It’s silly, but he can’t help feel his sister was right. This person wouldn’t know either way, so he finds himself telling them, “I’m heartbroken.”

The person goes very still. Their mouth opens and they take in a shaky, noisy breath. When they say, “What?” the word is bone dry and crumbling.

“It’s something we did together... I think.” He’s making it up, but it feels right. So he keeps talking. “And now. Well. It kinda reminds me of... I’m pretty sure I forgot a lot of things, but I can’t forget that. There’s supposed to be someone else. And I can’t... I can’t...”

He’s not making any sense, but the person is hanging on every single word.

“Anyway,” he says. “I’ll let it go cheap. Too many memories... or... I don’t know, feelings?” He sighs. “Just make me an offer, okay? I have to get ready for work.”

He wants nothing more than to keep this beautiful person on his doorstep, but... well, life isn’t always about getting what you want. This person wants a jetski, he has one. A transaction will occur, and this person will move forward like he never existed.

He’ll be left behind again.

Again?

Now, he’s the one to stand a little straighter. “Do you ever get deja vu?”

“Deja vu?”

“You know, where you feel like you’ve lived an exact moment already, once before. I’ve been reading this book about mobius strips and...” There’s that pang again, in his chest. A subtle ache that is swelling. He wants to ignore it, like he always has, but he’s finding he can’t really anymore. “Don’t you think that’d be a cool name? Mobius. Mobius M. Mobius.” He laughs, and it hurts. It hurts.

The person doesn’t laugh. Instead, they take a small step back. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

His laughter dies quickly. It wasn’t real anyway. “You don’t want the jetski?”

“I do,” the person says with naked longing. “More than anything.”

“Then its yours.” He shrugs. “You know, it kinda feels like it was already yours? Like, maybe its just been waiting around for you to show up and claim it.”

The person shakes their head. “It’s better off without me. It finally has a chance to... to... live the way you - it deserves...”

“I mean, that’s a nice thought. But in practice... wouldn’t it be better for jetskis to decide for themselves the kind of lives they want? Whose to say that their life before was all that great? Because let me tell you, this perfect little normal life I’m living? Kinda sucks.” He doesn’t really understand what he’s saying, but the words still fall out of him, like ripping a scab off an old wound and all the blood starts running again.

The person takes another step back, but this time, he follows, taking a step forward. Somehow, it feels crucial that he not let this person leave him behind again.

There, another again. What is he not remembering?

“There’s something terribly wrong with all this,” he says. “I’m forgetting something important, but whatever it is - whoever - I don’t think I can be happy without them. Not really. Not in any way that matters.”

“Mobius...” the person says, soft, under their breath. Stronger, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

And the dam breaks.

“I know exactly what I’m saying, Loki.” The name, that name. How could he forget that name?

The person - Loki - exhales again, watery this time.

“Maybe if we never met, this would be enough. Maybe it was once. But not anymore. Never again. Not since you. And not even your little mind hocus pocus could change that.”

Mobius takes another step forward. This time, Loki does not move back. They stay just as they are and let Mobius close the distance. Mobius lifts his hands to Loki’s face and slowly removes those sunglasses. Loki’s eyes have always been the most expressive - the easiest to read. No wonder they would try to hide them. Because now they shine with sorrow and regret and... love. So much love.

And that, Mobius knows, is exactly what he’s been looking for when he reaches out to the empty space beside him on the bed. When he sits in his kitchen and stares at the pulled-out chair across the table. When he rides his jetski and turns, ready to laugh with the missing person behind him.

“I’m not angry,” Mobius says, tossing the sunglasses aside. He takes one of Loki’s hands in his. Loki grips hard onto his fingers. “I understand why you did it. It’s kind of flattering really, to know you’d give up your own happiness to try to give me mine. But there was a very big problem with this latest Loki scheme.”

“What’s that?” Loki asks in a whisper.

Mobius gives them a smile. The first real one since they parted. “You’re unforgettable.”

Loki laughs once, a burst, like they’ve been holding something in and now its escaping. The hard lines of their face smooth out. And they look less like a frightened, broken shadow and more like themselves, god of mischief, with a small but growing smirk. “Of course. I suppose I should have considered that.”

“Big flaw. Ruined the whole thing, to be honest.”

Loki leans closer. “I hate to admit to fault, but I fear there was a second issue that I had not considered.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Your absolute stubbornness.”

“Stubborn? Me? You should look in the mirror, pal.”

Loki closes their eyes a moment. Mobius studies the planes of their perfect face, and wonders how, in all the infinite timelines, he ever forgot it. 

“Loki,” Mobius says. “Do me a favor, though, huh? Don’t do this again. I... uh, well. It wasn’t the most fun for me.”

“Me, either.” Loki presses their forehead to Mobius’s. “I regretted every moment, but I... The TVA stole you from your life. I wanted to -”

“I know, I get it. I’m not mad. But communication is key to a relationship, yeah? So maybe next time you want to do a grand gesture of love for me, we should talk about it first?”

Loki leans back. They blink. But it’s not the love that trips them up, it’s, “Relationship?”

Mobius runs his hands along Loki’s arms, up to the shoulders and back down to the elbows. “Yeah. I mean, we’re partners, right?”

“Partners.” Loki doesn’t say the word with disgust, more... intrigue.

“Boyfriends?” Mobius tries.

“Boyfriends.” Loki frowns at that one.

“Lovers?”

Loki’s eyes are bright and full of wonder. How they could look at Mobius, someone so normal, like that... well. Loki makes Mobius feel like a god himself, no wonder he couldn’t go back to his old life.

“Lovers,” Loki says and kisses Mobius. Mobius smiles against their lips. Lovers, it is, then.

Kiss turns to kisses, and they linger. It’s right, so right that it further amplifies how wrong everything else was before. Mobius belongs here. Right here. With Loki. Forever, if possible.

When they break, they both laugh, and it’s light and true this time, for both of them.

“Hey, Loki,” Mobius says. “Want to buy a jetski?”

Loki pulls an annoyed face, but its all an act - Mobius sees right through it, and Loki’s not trying that hard to hide it. “I believe I’m the one who acquired that jetski for you. You have no right to sell it.”

“It was a gift,” Mobius says.

“It remains a gift. One I insist you keep.”

“Alright, alright,” Mobius laughs and Loki kisses him at the corner of his smile. “But only if you promise to keep me.”

“Oh, dear Mobius.” Loki brings their mouth to Mobius’s ear. “I hope you appreciated this display of selflessness, because I will not be repeating it.”

“Good.”

“I am a selfish god.”

“Uh, huh.”

Loki’s arms grip tightly around Mobius’s waist. “And from here to eternity, I will be keeping what’s mine.”

The last remaining knots in Mobius’s chest untangle. “And the jetski.”

“And the jetski,” Loki says and kisses him again.

[seungmvnnie]

Flipped

pairing; Chenle x reader

genre; enemies to lovers au, ‘American high school’ au, angst, fluff

word count; 10.8k

summary; ‘The moment you laid eyes on Zhong Chenle, you had flipped.’ You had known that you were in love with Chenle, your next door neighbor, since you were 7 years old. Chenle wanted nothing to do with you. Until of course, ten years later he starts to realize that perhaps there’s more to you that meets the eye, unluckily just as you began to realize, perhaps Chenle was less than you had chalked him up to be.

warnings; insensitive language regarding illness, death, female reader, heavily inspired by the movie flipped, some scenes are near word for word from the movie, so credits to the movie for those parts, although parts of the main narrative differ, as well as scenes. A large majority of the characters are not similar to their real life counterpart. 

tag list; @sunflowerhae​ @byunbaekby​​ @mikasrecs​(if you asked to be on the tag list and i didn’t tag you, i’m very sorry, i was terrible at tracking who was on it cause im an idiot)

a/n; Started making it. Had a breakdown. Bon Appetit.

It all began in the Summer before second grade. In Zhong Chenle’s eyes, it was the beginning of a decade of strategic avoidance, awkward encounters, and a lifetime worth of what he deemed to be, discomfort.

For you, it was true love.

The moment you laid eyes on Zhong Chenle, you had flipped. It was something in those eyes, those dazzling brown eyes which bore into you. Or maybe it was something about his smile. There was something about him which made you realize that at 7 years old, you had met your soul mate. His family had just moved into your neighborhood, a long cul-de-sac of identical, modern two-story houses, the majority of which had the same identical clean cut lawns and typical nuclear well off family who owned the house and prided themselves on how their petunias were better than the house across the streets. That was except for yours, of course. Deemed the ‘embarrassment of the neighborhood,’ the yellow paint on your house was flaking off, the grass dry and grey and the fence encasing the yard, which had at one point been white was now a dull grey, not to mention falling apart in some places. This was attributed to the fact that your father simply did not have the time. As a painter, he had to work extra hard to provide for his family, especially considering your mother’s situation.

It was a hot summer’s day, the day Chenle moved in. You could remember the feeling of the sun on your face as you basked in its warmth, the pavement on which you sat almost boiling as the moving van pulled up to the house opposite yours. You had recalled that your father had told you to always be kind and helpful, which is why you had thought it appropriate to skip across the road to the nice looking family and offer a helping hand.

Little did you know, your help was unwanted. Chenle remembered watching the girl skip – skip? As if anyone had done that since kindergarten – from the odd-looking house across the way and when she confidently stated,

“Hi, I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Need any help?” He looked to his father for confirmation that this girl was strange. He noticed the judgmental look which was written on his father’s face as he surveyed the girl with the messy hair and grubby clothes, no doubt from playing in the unpleasant yard which she came from that juxtaposed with their clean, green yard. He recognized the exact moment that his father deemed them better than her, a switch in his face where he knew where she stood on the social ladder. Acting according, he too looked at the girl with disdain.

“There’s some valuable things in those boxes. Don’t touch them.” His father had scolded as you reached for one of the boxes that were stacked on their lawn.

“What about this one?” You suggested, reaching for another one. This was the moment that Chenle had realized that this girl could not take a hint. His father had pushed the box away with his foot before you could even touch it.

“Maybe you should run home? Your moms probably worried about you.” He sneered, staring down his nose on you. Resilient, you stared back.

“My dad knows I’m here.” You had replied simply, before turning to Chenle.

“Want to push one together?” You asked, pointing at one of the heavier ones. Chenle scrunched his face up at you, looking to his father for answers.

“I think your mom wants your help in the house, Chenle.” His dad had replied, not so subtly winking at him, as if to say, ‘escape from the crazy girl while you can.’

 He seized the opportunity, turning on his heel and running towards the house, where his mother stood in the doorway, when the most ridiculous thing happened. Not only did (Y/N) (Y/L/N) follow him, but you grabbed his hand.

“Oh, hello! I see you’ve met my son.” His mother had called out, a small smile growing on her face as she observed the sight of the two 7-year olds connected by their hands.

Chenle, having no clue how to escape the situation, did the most mature thing a 7-year-old boy could do. He hid behind his mother.

Who did you think you were? He had been here for less than 10 minutes and he had some crazy girl trying to hold his hand.

Of course, for you, you really had thought you were being kind. The boxes on the lawn did look intimidatingly heavy but you were sure with the help of the cute boy stood next to them, you could help get them into the house. You hadn’t picked up on the fact that it had taken Mr. Zhong all of 10 seconds to determine that you weren’t worthy of their time and when he had sent his son inside to help unpack, you thought maybe it would be a good idea to chase after him, see if he wanted to play for a bit before he was stuck unpacking boring boxes. You had grabbed his arm to stop him from running into his house, when he turned around and moved his arm out of your clasp, grabbing your hand instead.

You could remember vividly, the way your stomach had flipped as he stared at you with those deep brown eyes, and you had been so sure he was going to kiss you. He had held your hand! At 7, you had basically considered that a marriage proposal. If his mother had not have called out to you, you were sure you were going to have had your first kiss at 7 years old. The way he blushed and hid behind his mother was adorable, he was so shy.

That night you lay awake, thinking of the boy who was walking around with your first kiss.

If only he wasn’t so shy, maybe he would have. That was the moment you decided, you were going to do everything in your power to ensure that Chenle would not have to ever feel shy around you. He needed to know; he had a friend in you.

While sweet in theory, the reality of the situation was, Chenle believed he did not need the help of, what his father had referred to the evening after you, your two older brothers and your father brought over homemade pies, ‘trash like them.’ He especially did not need the help of the girl who embarrassed him on the first day of school. Yes, you had thought it appropriate, upon seeing Chenle enter the classroom of Mr. Lee on the very first day of school, to run up to him and give him a huge hug, which he of course, had struggled against. That’s what had earned him the reputation of being (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s boyfriend, a reputation he did not manage to shrug off until freshman year of high school, and he only got rid of through dating Lee Chaeryong for an incredibly brief period of time, who was perfectly sweet, but he didn’t find her particularly interesting.

For a while, he found dealing with Chaeryong’s insistence yammering about nothing he cared about a lot easier to endure than the lovesick eyes you gave him. The plan was, he would walk her to class a few times, sit with her at lunch and eventually, you would lose interest, he could break up with her.  It was all going smoothly, until his best friend, Park Jisung, suddenly decided to get a moral backbone for once and tell Chaeryong what Chenle was doing. Chenle reckoned it was just because of Jisung’s own crush on her, but either way, it had resulted in a very public breakup. A week later, you were back to obsessing over him, and once again he became, (Y/N)’s boyfriend.

 3 years later, their senior year, brought a lot of changes, the main change of which being Chenle’s grandfather had permanently moved in with their family. Chenle did not know much of his grandfather. An old surly man, he spent his days sat in the armchair beside their front window, staring blankly out into the empty street. Chenle’s mom said he did that because he missed grandma, although Chenle would not know as much he had very little conversations with him. The second change in Chenle’s life was more superficial as everyone was talking about how much (Y/N) had grown between the summer of junior and senior year – your face had thinned out, and you had a much more of a mature air about you and for a brief moment of, what Chenle had deemed insanity, he may have mistaken you as pretty. Of course, the second you had sent him the same goofy smile which graced your face every time you looked at him, and murmured the same,

“Hi, Chenle,” the pit in his stomach from the tired repetition of ten years returned.

“Hi, (Y/N).” He had replied, a tight-lipped smile sent your way.

 It is imperative to the justification of your side of the story that you understand that Chenle had never once openly rejected you, or even treated you rudely. You would talk to him when you could, and he would reply perfectly politely, which would only reinforce the idea that it’s not that he did not like you, he was just shy. On top of that, it was not as if you actively pursued him. You spoke to him like one would a friend as, how you saw it, everyone knew you liked Chenle, no doubt, including him. If he wanted to, he would ask you out. Other than that, you were content talking to him when you could.

 Other than your looks, a lot more had changed in your life. For almost as long as you could remember, your mother had been sick. There had been a time, a very long time ago, where you could recall how the same scalic motif would echo from the piano which now lay dormant, the thick layer of dust that had blanketed it over the years rendering it inoperable. Your life had been filled with hospital visits to a woman you had never really gotten the opportunity to know and who no longer knew you. You often grazed your hand over the ivory piano keys, and tried to flick through the penciled sheet music which hadn’t been touched since the last time your mom had last scribbled on them but to you it was a foreign language you could only hope to understand.

About a week into September, you had been ignoring your English teacher’s in-depth analysis of some Shakespeare scene and letting your thoughts and eyes wander to where Chenle sat two seats in front of you. His black hair had seemed even darker that day, contrasting with the white t-shirt and denim jacket he was wearing. You were so focused on the way his head would duck down to take notes, that you barely noticed the teacher who had slid into the classroom and leaned to whisper something in your teacher’s ear. It wasn’t until your teacher had called your name and Chenle had spun to stare at you alongside the rest of the class, his brown eyes meeting yours, that you had snapped back into reality, the heat of your embarrassment at getting caught by Chenle warming your face. Funnily enough, you had forgotten about your embarrassment when your teacher had called you out into the hallway, where your tearful father stood. He didn’t have to say anything. You knew.

The next week all blurred together into a flurry of emotions which you purposefully tried your best to forget. The funeral was huge, groups of people from your school coming to show solidarity, as well as the entire neighborhood, including Chenle and his family. You could not bring yourself to glance at him, not with your father crying quietly next to you. You did not know whether to cry for the woman you had never met before. 

  Your school allowed you the next few months off school, but you had returned after only one month and that month was the quietest your house had ever been. Your father locked himself in his room for the first two weeks, and your brothers oversaw making dinner for the family, which essentially meant the whole family was living off frozen pizza for two weeks. Your dad eventually emerged from his bedroom, but when he did, he was like a man crazed. He insisted that you did a spring clean (it was September) of the house and get rid of the clutter which had gathered from the many years of neglect. You were in charge of sorting through all of the things your dad wanted to give to charity, and you had invited your friend Shin Ryujin over to help. More like she insisted. Ryujin had been new to town in freshmen year and had befriended you before she had known of your reputation as ‘Chenle’s stalker,’ and she had been a fierce friend ever since. You had both been folding a pile of old clothes when your eyes fell on your mom’s old music stand accompanied with that oh so familiar stack of written sheet music under a pile of old toys. 

You didn’t want your mom’s handwritten sheet music to end up in a charity shop but your dad had insisted that no one was using it, and, unless you could think of someone else to give it to, it was going to charity. That was when, luckily, you remembered Chenle. He was a skilled piano player and singer, so much so, the whole school anticipated his performance in the Christmas Talent Show, which he had won for the past 3 years. Upon gaining your father’s permission, but against the wishes of Ryujin who had spent the past three years explaining how Chenle was terrible for you and you needed to, in her words, ‘Hoe it up,’ you made the journey across the road and knocked on Chenle’s door, clutching the music stand and sheet music to your chest. Luckily, he had been the one to open the door instead of his father whom you didn’t personally mind, but felt as though he may have disliked you. 

It had been early before school one morning, when you had knocked on his door. He was barely awake, the sweatpants and loose t-shirt he had worn for his pajamas still clung to his body. He hadn’t expected to be opening the door to someone from school, let alone you, awake and bright eyed. On a normal day, your chirpiness would have bothered him to no end, but today was different. He hadn’t seen you since your mom’s funeral, and he found that he had wounded up missing your ever-present annoyance. He didn’t know how reassuring that lovesick, “Hi, Chenle,” could be. He couldn’t understand how, in your absence, he found his eyes straying to your empty seat, or when he sat at his desk which lay in front of his window, his eyes would wander to where he knew your bedroom window sat. He had realized, in the few weeks that you were off, that your presence was more comforting that your absence.

His dad hadn’t wanted to go the funeral. Apparently, he didn’t see the point. It was his mother who had pushed them to go, saying how bad they would have looked if they didn’t show their faces. His dad had argued that he didn’t care how he looked to a poor dreamer and the ‘crazies he calls family.’ The only reason they ended up going was because his mom had said she was going with or without him and apparently that would look bad to everyone else in the neighborhood. Chenle didn’t see the harm; sure he didn’t like you, but you were always nice to him and it was only respectful.

“Uh- Hi, (Y/N).” He said, eyes wandering down your body to where you clutched the sheet music and back up to your face. Your heart had flipped, a sensation you were now old friends with and usually attributed to Chenle’s warm brown eyes which traversed your face, his morning voice only making him more attractive. Little did you know, Chenle’s biggest concern at this moment was less checking you out and more checking if you were okay, and judging by the tired bags under your eyes despite your outwardly cheery appearance, you didn’t look okay.

“Hi, Chenle.” For once, those two words didn’t make him want to rip his own hair out.

“Uh, these are my mom’s. My dad wanted to give them to charity but, I don’t know, I thought they’d be better with someone I know... and well, you’re kind of the only musician I know.” His eyes flickered down to the sheet music you clutched in your arms.

“Oh- Thanks?” The music stand looked to Chenle to be at least 30 years old and the yellowing sheet music did not look too enticing, but he reached out his arms for them anyways.

“She wrote the music herself. You don’t have to play it but, I don’t know, I just really didn’t want to see it end up in the back of some charity shop. At least I know, with your talent, it’s in good hands.”

“Oh, well thanks.” You sent him an awkward closed mouth smile before turning on your heel but before you could make the short walk across the road, he called out to you.

“Wait-”

You spun around again.

“Yeah?”

He had stood up from where he had previously been leaning against the door frame, his brow now furrowed.

“Are you- are you coming back to school anytime soon?” He almost cringed as he uttered the words. He always felt bad being nice to you, it felt as if he was giving you false hope. However, for the first time, it came naturally to him as opposed to the fake smile he would give you.

“I’m allowed off until January but I’m coming back next week. It’s just so... quiet at my house. I’m kind of sick of it at this point.” His eyes scanned your face again, in the way that felt as though he could stare into your very soul if he looked hard enough.

“Well, I hope you’re okay.” The sincerity in his voice echoed the sympathetic look on his face.

“Thanks. I’ll see you next week, I guess.”

“See you at school.” He closed the door and looked at the music stand he had left leaning against the wall, which, unfortunately, became the topic of discussion that night at the dinner table.

“I think it was very nice of her to give you that stuff, Chenle.” His Mom had said, the clinking sounds of cutlery against plates underlying the conversation.

“I’m not using them,” He replied simply, as he moved the vegetables his mom had forcibly placed on his plate around with his fork. 

“Oh, don’t be a dick, Chenle.” His sister nudged him, ignoring their parent shouts of, ‘language!’

“I’m not being a dick, they’re about 30 years old and I’m a piano player, I don’t use a music stand anyways.” He placed his fork down.

“Well, they’re not lying here and collecting dust. I’m honestly annoyed. Just because their house is all cluttered doesn’t mean our house has to be. You can go back and tell her you don’t want them.” His dad interjected, in that authoritarian manner he so loved.

“Dad, I can’t do that.”

“Eat your vegetables, Chenle.” His mom said, taking a sip from her way-too-expensive crystal wine glass. He rolled his eyes and picked up his fork again, purposely taking a bite out of the broccoli which adorned his plate.

“Why not? Are you scared of her?” His dad challenged, and Chenle couldn’t help but notice the broccoli which remained on his plate. Why did Chenle have to eat it but his dad didn’t?

“I’m not scared of her, it’s just- Her mom just died. I don’t want to be mean.” His fork stopped moving as his Father scoffed.

“Man up. You aren’t being rude, you’re being honest.”

“Chenle, vegetables.” 

He groaned, shoveling as much of the vegetables into his mouth as he possibly could in one go before sinking down in his chair. He didn’t have a clue what to do. On one hand, the music equipment was of no use to him, so realistically, it would make the most sense to give them back. But on the other hand, if he gave them back they would just end up with charity and while Chenle didn’t necessarily like the girl, he didn’t think he could be that insensitive. Which was why he had deemed it an amazing idea to ask the paragon of good advice, his best friend, Park Jisung, at school the next day.

“Dude, just give it away yourself.” Jisung had answered assertively, from where he had perched himself atop his desk during their break, opening the cupcake that Chenle had given him. It had originally been a gift from Chaeryong who had long since forgiven him since the Freshmen incident, and every now and then when she got bored, would return to her phase of crushing on him.

“What do you mean?” Chenle asked, ignoring the way he could most definitely see Chaeryong staring at him from behind Jisung’s head, taking a sip of the strawberry milk he had bought from the school vending machine. Jisung rolled his eyes.

“I mean, if you give it away to some thrift shop first, she’ll never know, and you can tell your family that you told her. Boom, both people are happy.” Chenle chewed at the straw of his milk carton. He wasn’t necessarily wrong; in giving the stuff away himself, no one got hurt and he wouldn’t get called a coward by his family.

“Jisung, you’re a genius. Come with me after school? We’ll drop by my house and I’ll drive us into town.” Jisung nodded, cringing as he picked the love heart candy off the cupcake.

Unfortunately for Chenle, he hadn’t seemed to realize that, sat with her back to him was Ryujin, who had overheard the whole conversation, mostly because Chaeryong had insisted they eavesdropped on them to see if they talked about her. Ryujin had let Chenle away with a lot over the years; he had ignored you, laughed at you with his friends, talked about you behind his back and while she would discuss how much of a prick she thought he was with you, you never believed her, or blamed yourself, or make excuses for him. Which was why she deemed it a necessary evil to send you a text saying, ‘Want to go thrift shopping after school? I’ll buy you coffee?’

She knew you would never turn down free coffee. And it actually had turned out you had multiple boxes to donate anyways, although shopping with Ryujin was always an experience. You liked clothes shopping as much as anyone, but Ryujin was crazy. She could take 3 hours to go through one tiny shop.

“Ryujin? Are you done yet?” You had whined, the cardboard coffee cup in your hand had been emptied at least half an hour ago, and you had finished looking for clothes an hour ago. She was especially taking her time today, deliberating every item of clothing she saw and the dark lighting was starting to hurt your eyes, the musky smell of cedar wood and laundry detergent was inviting at first, but now made you feel woozy.

“My feet hurt.” You complained again, only pouting at the joke glare she shot your way. The bell which jingled every time someone entered the shop that you had learned to zone out the past two hours rang again, but this time, Ryujin’s eyes flickered up and rested on the person standing at the door. You furrowed your brow and spun to see who she was staring at, and there stood Chenle and Jisung, both looking positively ill.

“Oh- Hi, Chenle!” You waved, a small smile gracing your face. You cocked your head slightly to look at the two boys who had lost all color to their faces. Chenle still looked as good as ever, and the smell of his citrusy shampoo paired with his expensive smelling cologne cut through the woody scent of the shop, his chestnut brown eyes which lay beneath his messy mop of dark hair bringing butterflies to your stomach the way they always did.

“What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a-,” you didn’t get to finish your sentence as your eyes had fallen down to where he clutched the oh so familiar sheet music and music stand. Your smile dropped, the butterflies in your stomach mutating into lead.

“What are you doing with those?” You asked, quietly, ignoring the way Jisung almost ran back out of the shop.

“I- uh- well...” He looked down, staring guiltily at his hands and the rusty music stand he clutched.

“If you didn’t want them you could have said, you know. You didn’t have to go behind my back to give them away.” You snapped, and for the first time in your whole life, looking at Chenle made your heart sink instead of flip. 

“It wasn’t me! My dad said that he didn’t-” He stopped, as if he had caught himself.

“Didn’t what?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. He sighed, and glance to the side, almost as though he was refusing to meet your eyes.

“He said he didn’t understand why our house had to be cluttered just because you only started cleaning up your house and yard now.” He mumbled, and your eyes widened, and you put out an arm to stop Ryujin, who you could sense was about to jump on the boy.

“I didn’t think a bunch of sheet music was going to destroy your house that much.” You replied, letting out a huff and gulping away the lump in your throat, refusing to cry in front of him.

“I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” He mumbled, staring at his hands in shame. He had never wished that the ground would swallow him whole more in his entire life.

“You should have told me. Give them to the shop, honestly. I don’t care anymore.” You pushed past him, resisting the urge to throw the empty cardboard coffee cup at him.

“(Y/N)!” He called after you and you turned again, blinking back the tears which were gathering in your eyes, the constant chanting of, ‘don’t cry,’ becoming a sustained pedal in your head and realistically being the only thing stopping the tears from spilling.

“What?”

“I- I’m sorry.” His chestnut eyes you loved so much stared at you in that sincere way that felt as though he could stare into your soul if he tried hard enough, but for once, you could see a corruption in the honesty, a sort of rotten core to what you had previously thought was a pure center.

“No, you’re not.” You mumbled, before spinning back round and dragging Ryujin out by the wrist who had to drop the clothes she had clutched previously in a pile next to the door, having been given no opportunity to replace them tidily.

At first you had thought you were upset, the burning sensation in your chest was mistaken for sadness, but when you brought your hand up to your eyes to wipe away the tears which now fell, the downtrodden feeling switched into anger very quickly. Not only did Chenle lie and act as if he had cared about you and your family, but he had the audacity to talk about you all as if you were a group of hoarders who couldn’t keep your yard presentable.

You slammed your car door shut - while you had previously loved your run-down little jeep, you supposed perhaps the Zhong family liked to comment on that too - ignoring the comforting words Ryujin was uttering as she climbed into the passenger seat.

“Are you busy on Saturday?” You asked as you gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white, turning the key in the ignition.

“Uh- I don’t think so. Why?” Ryujin replied, eyeing you warily.

“How do you feel about gardening?”

It didn’t take long for Chenle to realize he had traded in his old problems with (Y/N) (Y/L/N) for a whole set of new ones. You had returned to school the next week, and the way you constantly avoided him was simply a reminder of how much of a jerk he had been. Not to mention when he woke up on Saturday morning to discover you and Ryujin in your garden pulling up weeds, the guilt panging in his chest as he watched you toil away.

Then one day a week later or so, he was walking back from playing basketball from Jisung when things got weird.

His grandfather stood in your front yard, a pair of sheers in hand as he clipped at the hedges which had grown over your windows, conversing quietly with you as you worked.

He had only ever seen his grandfather in slippers - where the hell had those work boots come from? He didn’t even know his grandfather knew how to use sheers let alone would willingly help a random girl from across the street. The more he watched from his bedroom window, the madder he got. His grandfather had said more to you in the last hour than he had the whole time he had lived with them. Chenle wasn’t even sure if he had ever seen his grandfather laugh before, but there he was, laughing at something you said.

You had been struggling with hacking away the hedge when his grandfather had approached you. Ryujin had abandoned helping you a while ago, but you still appreciated the help she had given you originally. You knew gardening wasn’t necessarily her thing. You wanted to think that the reason you had decided to fix up your yard was not because of what Zhong Chenle thought of you, but to make your house better in this new pre-mom times, as your brothers had begun calling them. After what he had done with your mom’s sheet music, why were you meant to care about anything he thought? But sadly, you knew deep down you did.

“Are you pruning that Hedge or hacking it to death?” You heard someone call out, and you swung around to see a man whom you couldn’t help but recognize as being related to Chenle. They had the same smile.

You laughed awkwardly, clutching the sheers a little tighter. 

“I’m Chenle’s grandfather. Sorry it’s taken me so long to come over and introduce myself.” He smiled again and outstretched a hand which you then shook.

“Nice to meet you.” 

“Are you planning on cutting these all to the same height?” He gestured towards the hedges. You breathed in, looking at the hedges which you had previously been ruining.

“That was the plan, but I might have to take them out. I’m not very good at this, if you can’t tell.” You joked.

“Oh, these are Hicksii shrubs. They should prune up nicely.” He replied, pulling out a pair of gloves he had appeared to have brought with him, and reached out for the sheers you had been holding.

You eyed him wearily, as he cut at the hedge. “Listen, Mr. Zhong, if you’re here because of what Chenle said, I don’t need your help.”

He leaned back and looked at you sincerely.

“I don’t know what my little shit of a grandson said to you, but I’m just here because of the crime you were committing on these shrubs.”

The previous reluctance you had felt was immediately relieved as you let out a sincere laugh, not expecting his crude language.

You both worked together on the yard for weeks, and the whole time you worked, you talked. Mr. Zhong was incredibly kind, and it was honestly nice to know that there was someone in that house who wasn’t watching and waiting for your families next screw up. He told you how you had the same spirit as his wife who died a while ago; apparently you both had the same strong will. Although the conversation that stuck with you the most was a few days into working together and he had tentatively asked you about what was happened with you and Chenle. You had explained the situation while you painted the wood you had bought together to make a fence.

“Well, do you like Chenle?” He had asked, and your face warmed, your hand which held the paint brush stilling.

“I don’t know... It’s something about his eyes, I guess.” You looked down, embarrassed. It felt really weird discussing this with his grandfather.

“But what about him?” Mr. Zhong had asked, his hand still as well.

“What do you mean?” You asked, eyebrows furrowing as you turned your head.

“Well - I mean think of it like this. Your father’s a painter, isn’t he? Well, a painting is more than the sum of its parts. You have to look at the whole landscape. A cow by itself is just a cow, a tree is just a tree, a beam of light is just sunshine, but when you put it all together - it can be something magical. Do you think Chenle’s more than the sum of his parts?” If he had asked you a month ago you would have said absolutely. Chenle was entirely more than the sum of his parts, in every conceivable way. But now you weren’t so sure.

“I- I don’t know.”

Meanwhile, Chenle was still struggling to apologize to you. He had spent all week trying to approach you at school, but when it came to holding a grudge, you were truly impressive. You always found a way to duck him, either turning in the hallway to walk the other way or having Ryujin exit through doors first when he tried to block them to confront you. And every time you were out in your yard, his grandpa was always there. It wasn’t until one day, on a cold Saturday morning towards the end of October, when his grandpa had gone into town to buy cream for his hands because all the yard work was starting to get to him, that he found his opening.

“It looks really good.” He commented, grabbing your attention from where you were watering the grass with a hose. You looked up at the boy whom you had dedicated your life to, who stood awkwardly behind the fence you had put up with his grandfather. You wished you could say he looked bad, but in a flannel shirt, black t-shirt and jeans he had never looked better.

“Thanks.” You said quietly, turning your back to him to continue your work.

“I- I’m sorry for what I did.” He piped up and you sighed before switching off the hose and turning towards him again.

“I don’t get it, Chenle. You could have just told me you didn’t need them. You didn’t have to give them away behind my back.” You looked at him, and for once, you were the one looking into his soul, not the other way around. You looked into those eyes, those dazzling brown eyes which bore into you that belonged to the boy walking around with your first kiss and you thought that perhaps his Grandpa was right. Maybe Chenle wasn’t more than the sum of his parts.

“I don’t know - It was dumb. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I shouldn’t have said anything about your yard either. It wasn’t right.” You let your eyes rest on his face again. You were sure - Chenle was definitely less than the sum of his parts. You shrugged.

“Maybe it was for the best.” You turned back towards the grass, turning the hose on again as if to signal, this was the end of the conversation.

“I- I guess I’ll see you around.” He said, hesitantly. You didn’t even turn to look at him this time.

“I guess.”

He spun to make the short trek back to his house, but not without turning back to look at you one last time before opening the bright red door of his house. Your acceptance of his apology was not all he had hoped for, but at least now he could watch TV with his family with a guilt free conscious. although the atmosphere between his grandpa and dad was nearly palpable, especially when his grandfather reached for the cream on the table beside them to rub into his hands.

“That girl working you too hard?” His dad slyly commented, ignoring the foul look his grandfather sent him in response as he rubbed cream into his hands.

“’That girl’s’ name is (Y/N). And no, she isn’t working me too hard.” 

Chenle’s dad widened his eyes slightly, staring down into the brandy which he swirled in the glass he held.

“Do you not think it’s a bit, I don’t know, weird, that you have the time and energy to spend time with the girl next door but not with your own grandson?” He replied snippily, ignoring the way his mom interjected.

“-It’s okay, Dad-” Chenle began, but couldn’t finish as his father cut him off with a sharp, “No, it’s not.”

“Do you know why the (Y/L/N)’s hadn’t fixed up their yard until now?” His grandfather asked, more rhetorically than anything.

“Yeah. Because he’s too busy with his paint-by-numbers kit.” His dad answered, chortling to himself at his own joke, taking another sip of the brandy he was drinking.

“The illness Mrs. (Y/L/N) had was incredibly hard to treat, not to mention emotionally draining. Every penny they had went into hospital bills treating her, and even then, she had been in a coma for 8 years, and then unresponsive for another 5.” Chenle stared down at his hands, trying his best to zone out the argument, especially considering he had been the asshole who tried to give away this poor woman’s music.

“I don’t see what their vegetative mother has to do with their pride in ownership. Realistically, if she had looked after herself more, maybe they wouldn’t have been in this mess.” His dad had answered, once again laughing at his own joke.

“They don’t own that house, they rent it. It’s supposed to be the responsibility of the landlord, and it was nothing to do with how healthy that poor woman was, (Y/N)’s Mom had a blood condition that made her susceptible to strokes, and that’s what made her so ill.” Chenle’s mom sighed from where she sat next to him on the blue couch, before his father had the opportunity to reply and dig himself into a deeper hole.

“That poor family. We should have them over for dinner.” She announced, standing up, grabbing the still full glass from her husband’s hand as she moved into the kitchen.

“We are not having them over for dinner!” His father shouted from the living room.

“We should have them over for a sit down fancy dinner.” She replied, almost deliberately ignoring him.

“We are not - Hey!” He called out as he heard the buttons on the landline beep with each number his mother punched in.

“I’m sorry, I can’t here you over me inviting them over for- Oh hello, (Y/N), dear.” At the sound of your name, Chenle sank farther into the plush couch seats. He just wanted to watch television in peace.

“Shoot me now.” His dad mumbled.

“Careful what you wish for.” His Grandfather replied, not tearing his eyes from the tv and this time he was the one to ignore the evil look which was shot his way.

And so, dinner with the (Y/L/N)’s was in his imminent future, which only made things more uncomfortable at school. Much like when you had taken that month off in school, he found himself focused on the idea of you more than he had previously. He couldn’t get you out of his head, you and your poor mom. He thought he would apologize for the music thing, you would begrudgingly accept his apology, and you could live the rest of the senior year blissfully ignoring each other’s existents. While you had apparently stayed true to the plan, he couldn’t help the way his eyes drifted to find you in class. He had spent 10 years in the same class as you but he had never noticed how you automatically pulled your bottom lip into your mouth when you were focused on something or the way you smiled to stop yourself laughing when Ryujin mumbled some sort of snarky comment. In the same bout of insanity he had experienced at the beginning of the year, he may have mistaken your smile as being pretty. Except this time the insanity did not melt away into resentment, but instead grew into a roaring monster of butterflies anytime he saw you.

He was starting to think he was sick or something. It was like his whole life had been flipped upside down; in what universe was he the one with the clammy hands and racing heart around (Y/N) (/L/N), and she was the one ignoring him? He needed to talk to someone - and who better than the lord of advice himself, Park Jisung.

Luckily for him, him and Jisung were the first people in their home room class the day of the dinner; usually you were in early, but today you conveniently hadn’t been. “Dude, I need your help.” Chenle emphatically exclaimed, sitting down in his seat next to Jisung before explaining the situation.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)? You hate her. You’ve hated her for 10 years.” Jisung blankly stated, and Chenle shook his head. 

“That’s the thing, I don’t think I do. I can’t stop thinking about her.” Jisung rolled his eyes.

“You definitely hate her. Think about it, you just feel bad because of the mom thing. And you insulted her house, but I mean come on, it was a mess anyways.”

“It’s not her fault. Their family is in crazy amounts of debt because her mom had some sort of untreatable illness and she was sick for so long. Do you know apparently, she had been sick for like 13 years? It must have been torture on their family.” Chenle defended, the stubborn side of him which was declaring, it’s been a decade, why stop hating you now, losing out to this new need to defend you.

“Oh, God, really? Well then, there’s your answer.” Jisung replied, leaning back in his chair with confidence, as though he had just solved the world’s problems. Chenle’s eyebrows knotted together, cocking his head.

“What do you mean?” 

Jisung scoffed, as if it was the most obvious thing since the last advice he had kindly bestowed on Chenle.

“You don’t want to be with someone with that in their family. Dude what if she infects you with it?”

Chenle wanted to hit him. He was certain, he had never before in his life been closer to punching someone and God did Jisung deserve it. How dare he say that? He wanted to tell him that it was much more complex than Jisung’s derogatory simplification of your mother’s illness, and just because Jisung was failing biology did not mean he had the right to be going around and saying things like that about you. He wanted to tell Jisung to keep his stupid opinion to himself, but despite this intense fury he felt searing up his chest, all he could manage was a stiff laugh.

“Oh. Yeah.” He mumbled, not looking at him in case the smug smile which had graced Jisung’s face flipped the switch which would erupt the burning anger in his chest.

You had been running late that day. You liked getting up earlier and beating the traffic to school, now more than ever, with the sullen mood your house had fallen into, although with the dinner with the Zhong family in your near future, the three boys of your house appeared cheerier. Your father was good friends with Mrs. Zhong and she had always been a good neighbor, and your two brothers were old friends with Chenle’s older sister. You were only one against the idea, but realistically, what harm could one dinner do? You had woken up and been ready on time, but when you climbed into your sturdy little jeep and turned the ignition keys, the engine made an unfortunate spluttering sound, that rather sounded like it was simply giving up.

You had taken a stab at fixing it, popping the hood and pretending as though you had a single clue about what to look for, but upon realizing there was no hope you started glancing worriedly back at your house. Surely one of the three people who all knew all to drive would know something about what was wrong with the engine. Biggest problem was, they were all asleep, and if you woke them up, you might have lost a hand. You were heavily considering risking the hand when, by some sort of divine intervention, a familiar voice called out to you.

“Need help?”

You started, spinning to see Mr. Zhong, the familiar and kind old face smiling at you. You hated how similar his smile was to Chenle’s; he was simply a reminder of who you thought Chenle used to be. Nonetheless, you smiled and nodded, gesturing to the hood and taking a step back.

“Please. It’s all yours.”

He worked in silence for a moment, pulling at the machinery inside the bonnet.

“How old is this car?” He asked, and his muffled voice could not disguise the astonishment in his voice.

“Uh, I think the last person to drive it was my Mom, so, that should tell you.” You half joked, awkwardly watching him work until he indicated to you to try again.

You climbed into the car and turned the ignition, and it spluttered again, but this time the spluttering graduated into the unhealthy purring sound you were used to.

You rolled your window down, and called a gracious, ‘thank you!’ out the window, but before you could proceed the short drive to school, the man stopped you, leaning against the side of your car.

“Wait a minute, I want to talk to you about something.” You uncomfortably clutched the steering wheel tighter, raising an eyebrow at him, as if to say, ‘go on.’

“You and Chenle? How’s that going?” He asked, an eyebrow raised in a similar fashion, although his was more teasing where yours was questioning. Your heart leapt as your face warmed.

“Oh - uh. I haven’t really spoken to him since.”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised.

“Why?” You asked, trying to discreetly gulp away your nervousness.

“Oh, he’s just been speaking about you a lot more, is all. Have fun at school.” 

Your five-minute drive to school was the most anxiety ridden drive you had ever experienced. What did he mean speaking about you more? He was asking about your relationship so would that suggest Chenle was saying nice things? Did Chenle maybe like you? Of course, the idea of Chenle having any sort of romantic feelings towards you felt nearly laughable at this point, but this glimmer of hope that had remained from the past ten years that maybe, just maybe, you had finally grabbed the attention of those sweet brown eyes simmered in your chest before you could push it away. He had treated you badly, you reminded yourself. You didn’t need him.

You stormed into school that morning, affirming that you did not need Zhong Chenle in your life, and if he did finally notice you, that was not your problem. But the little girl in you who had walked up to the door of your classroom to overhear Chenle say your name insisted on eavesdropping. And who were you to say no to her?

“... That’s the thing, I don’t think I do. I can’t stop thinking about her.” You couldn’t stop instinctual fluttering of your heart. Chenle couldn’t stop thinking about you. Chenle couldn’t stop thinking about you. Your previous conclusion that he was not more than the sum of his parts was thrown out of the window and replaced with schoolgirl butterflies.

“You definitely hate her. Think about it, you just feel bad because of the mom thing. And you insulted her house, but I mean come on, it was a mess anyways.” You rolled your eyes. Park Jisung was a self-righteous dick.

“It’s not her fault. Their family is in crazy amounts of debt because her mom had some sort of untreatable illness and she was sick for so long. Do you know apparently she had been sick for like 13 years? It must have been torture on their family.” You had never heard him defend you before, and you couldn’t help the small smile which grew on your face.

“Oh, God, really? Well then, there’s your answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t want to be with someone with that in their family. Dude what if she infects you with it?” Your previously elated heart dropped to your stomach as your face fell. Chenle wasn’t going to let him away with that, was he?

“Oh. Yeah.” He was. Zhong Chenle had the perfect knack of getting your hopes up, and just when your heart had warmed to him again, crushing it, and you were sick of it. You spun on your heel, making your way back out to your car without even thinking about it. You didn’t want to have to look at him.

You thought about the situation as you got ready for dinner that night.  You were sick of this stupid game of cat and mouse, where you inevitably always ended up hurt. And thinking back on the past ten years, Chenle had never been a good friend to you. Ever. He gave away your sheet music, he insulted you and now he was talking about you with his friends as if you were some sort of plague just waiting to infect him. You were sick of it and you were sick of him. Zhong Chenle meant nothing to you anymore.

You had half an idea to march out into the hallway where your father was calling you and tell him that you did not want to go, and he couldn’t make you. You drew together pieces of this declaration in your head before firmly making your way into the hall, entirely ready to tell him where the Zhong family could go, but then you saw his face. He had shaved for the first time in a month, the clothes he wore was ironed and smart, and you could have sworn he smelled better than he had in a while. Your previously parted lips closed again and instead of communicating your desire to be anywhere but the Zhong house, the corners turned slightly, mustering up the most sincere smile you could. You could suck up having to sit opposite Chenle for your family - They had gone through so much recently, you thought maybe you could deal with him for another night. 

Your plans to snub him was momentarily interrupted when you realized, as he stomped down the stairs into the entry way of the house, where your family awkwardly hovered, exchanging greetings with the Zhong family, he had worn your favorite jean jacket, white t-shirt and black jeans combo that used to make you melt at the knees. Like always, it made his dark hair seem darker, but you pushed back the bubbling butterflies. What he had done was unforgiveable.

“Why don’t I show you guys my room?” His sister had emphatically exclaimed to your brothers who glanced to your dad. He gave a disinterested shrug, and the three stomped up past where Chenle came from. “Chenle, sweetie, why don’t you bring (Y/N) up to your room? The adults can talk down here.” His mom suggested.

“No, Mrs. Zhong, it’s okay-” You began, but you didn’t get to finish.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, I know you won’t want to be stuck with the adults. Just no funny business!” You ignored the sly comment which Chenle’s dad mumbled under his breath about, ‘that being unlikely,’ and hesitantly made your way up the stairs, following in Chenle’s footsteps. His house was the exact same as yours - sure his stairs didn’t creak from years of you and your brothers abuse , and it was much sleeker - the black and white modern décor juxtaposed greatly with the warm, yellow tones of your own house, plus the fact they obvious could afford to have their carpet replaced with hardwood floors, but other than that, there was nothing spectacularly upper class about their house that would suggest they had any right to look down on yours. 

His room matched his personality to a tee. With grey-white walls plastered with posters of his favorite musicians and athletes whom you didn’t recognize, the room was small but clean and smelt like him. That familiar citrusy scent you associated with him filled the air, and past you would have been intoxicated by him, but current you knew better.

He sat down on top of the checked black and white duvet cover, (little did you know, he was secretly celebrating the fact he had happened to change the Stephen Curry bed sheets the day before) and gestured for you to sit down beside him. You remained standing.

“Uh- Hi.” He greeted, a softness to his voice you didn’t recognize but nearly succeeded in melting the barricade you had placed around your heart. Nearly. You didn’t respond, staring down at your shoes as if, suddenly your vans were the most interesting thing in the world.

“You look really pretty.” There he was again, trying to get your hopes up only to smash them again. You wouldn’t let him. Not this time.

“I know what you and Jisung were saying about my mom. And I’m done with you, okay? You can stop this act now.” You blurted out before you could even stop yourself.

Chenle’s face fell, and his head jerked to the side, almost as if you had genuinely slapped him in the face. He looked like a wounded puppy. Why was it so hard to stay angry at him?

“I- Look, (Y/N), it was wrong what Jisung said, I know. I wanted to hit him.” You raised an eyebrow, which sharpened your features and nearly made Chenle melt, both from the radiating heat of your anger and the sheer attractiveness of the action.

“You didn’t say anything to him. You just agreed and laughed. Like a coward.” You replied, simply.

“Yeah - I know. It was wrong of me. I’m sorry, but look, I’ve had a recent... self-discovery and I like you, (Y/N). If you could just give me a second chance.” He pleaded, standing up to look at you sincerely. His honest, chestnut eyes did not hold the same rotten core you had seen in them a month ago in the charity shop, but you held your ground nonetheless. “Third chance, you mean. Realistically, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. We’ve lived next to each other for 10 years and we’ve had, what, two civil conversations?” Chenle was the one to look down at his feet now, focusing on the hardwood floors. You weren’t wrong - you didn’t really know each other. You relished in the silence as Chenle thought for a moment, before he mumbled,

“That doesn’t change how I feel about you, though.” 

“Well it should.” 

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by his mother’s screaming for them to come to dinner. You had turned and left before he even had the opportunity to draw breath and he was left alone in his empty room, which grey walls that had previously been illuminated with the presence of you had dulled in the absence of your vivacity. 

Dinner was a success for the most part, except for the torture of sitting across from you. He bore holes into the side of your head, but you were so skilled in acting as if he wasn’t there, he was starting to question his actual presence at the dinner table; if it were just you and him sitting there, he would have been convinced he was some sort of ghostly apparition.

“So, you paint, right?” His grandfather had directed toward your dad who nodded politely.

“Yeah, I always loved art and - well I couldn’t afford to go to college so I thought why not kill two birds with one stone and do something I love that I don’t need a college education for.” He replied, the bright look on his face when talking about something he loved was so similar to how you used to look at him that Chenle almost felt sick with guilt.

“And you make much money off of that?” His dad had commented, his knife and fork obnoxiously clinking against the plate. Chenle almost sunk down in his chair.

“I make enough.” Your dad replied, stiffly. He spoke how you spoke to him a mere 15 minutes ago.

“Didn’t you used to like art?” His grandfather had asked, turning to his Dad who shrugged, sipping from his expensive wine glass.

“I painted a little.” Chenle had never seen his dad so uncomfortable.

“No, I remember, you wanted to go to art school, right? But my daughter here talked you out of it.” His dad squirmed in his seat as his mother awkwardly laughed, avoiding the topic entirely and asking your dad another question about his job.

The more your dad discussed his ventures into the world of art, the quieter his dad got. He tried to plaster on a smile every now and then, but underneath, Chenle could tell he was sad. He thought about how his dad had always looked down on your family, and the countless times he had referred to your dad as being ridiculous, a low-life who needed to get a ‘proper job.’ He watched the man who had dwindled his life away and wondered, if he was simply angry at himself, as opposed to the kind family across the street. His father was a coward who didn’t chase what he wanted because he was too scared. Chenle swore to himself there and then, that he would not be a coward, like his father. He refused to become the bitter, jealous old man across the street. And so, late that night, after you had all left, he rifled through the papers on his desk and hatched a plan.

Patience and timing were key elements to Chenle’s plan - A month, to be precise. The day of the Christmas talent show. Everyone was excited to watch Chenle perform, especially now that it had been spread that he was dedicating his performance to someone in the audience. Pretty much everyone in the school who was attracted to boys were praying it was them. All except for you, who still hadn’t spoken to him since that fateful night in his bedroom and had resumed your strategic avoidance of him.

He nervously peaked from the side of the stage of the school theatre which had been transformed from it’s boring wood and red velvet into an explosion of tinsel and fairy lights, the excessive Christmas décor almost hurt his eyes. He stared into the audience past Chaeryong’s skillful dancing on stage, despite her optimistic glances towards him, as he clutched sheet music in his hands. He had enlisted Ryujin’s help to ensure that you were sitting in the very middle of the front row, despite her unwillingness. He had to promise her that if he broke your heart again, she had a free pass at kicking him in a very private place. His attention was only broken from the way you hid a laugh as Ryujin whispered into your ear, by Jisung frantically running up to him, whispering as to not to disturb Chaeryong’s performance.

“Dude! There’s a rumor going around that this mystery chick you’re playing for is (Y/N)?” Chenle simply blinked at him.

“And?”

“Is it true?” 

“Yep.” Jisung threw his arms in the air incredulously, whispering as loud as their setting allowed him,

“What the hell is the matter with you! You have every single girl on campus wanting you and you want (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Chenle spun to stare out into the audience again, turning his back to Jisung. “Leave me alone, Jisung. You wouldn’t understand.” He whispered back, watching and clapping as Chaeryong took her bow, exiting at the other side of the stage.

“You’re right! I completely don’t understand! Have you flipped or something?” Chenle ignored him, breathing out slowly, trying to calm his nerves. 

“This is it.” He mumbled, more to himself than Jisung, ignoring his friend who made a last minute attempt to grab him before he walked on stage.

The entire audience sat with bated breath, you included as he sat down at the piano, almost excruciatingly slowly. You stared at your hands, trying not to look up at the stage because you knew that he was probably about to sing some love song to Chaeryong, since his feelings for you had obviously dissipated since that night, and then they would kiss on stage and everyone would be happy for them. You included. Probably. If you were feeling in a particularly positive mood.

“Um, so I’m sure you all know, that I’m dedicating this performance to someone. Which I am, but I’m not going to say who. Yet. They’ll know who they are.” His smooth voice echoed throughout the entire auditorium, officially piquing your interest as you lifted your head up to look at him. He had already moved to face the piano, his fingers - which were unusually shaking - hovered over the keys as he examined the sheet music in front of him, pressing down the first chord.

Your stomach dropped, the familiarity of the scalic motif he played with his right hand causing you to audibly gasp. You hadn’t heard this piece since you were four. You raised a shaking hand to your mouth, ignoring the way Ryujin was almost definitely staring at you with concern. He had kept the sheet music. You had thought all the time, it was in the back of some shop, never to be played again. But here he was, playing your mother’s music in front of the entire school with pride, his skilful fingers dancing from note to note as if it were as simple as breathing, the music enveloping you in a blanket of comfort.

His playing ended too quickly, finishing with a short section you didn’t recognize and ending on a perfect and harmonious cadence. The audience tentatively applauded, the majority - as in everyone but you and Ryujin - more confused than anything, until he walked to the end of the stage, directly in front of you.

“My favorite color is red.” He stated, looking down at you in your chair.

“Wha - What?”

 “I am the worst loser ever. Seriously, if you play a game with me and you win, I will find ways to blame you for making me lose.”

“Chenle, wha-” “You said you didn’t know me, right? I’m terrified of spiders. I love basketball more than football but I’m better at football. You couldn’t pay me to take science the second it isn’t mandatory anymore. I talk in my sleep. I’m crazy ticklish. I would literally die for Stephen Curry. I’ve been an idiotic dick, for lack of a better word, for the last ten years, and if you let me, I would love the chance to get to know you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face as you stared into those eyes - those once again dazzling eyes which bore into you, no evidence of corruption, the oh-so-familiar sensation of your heart warming to his words blooming in you once again, as if it had never left.

Your smile resonated within him and he questioned what the hell had he been doing the last ten years. How could anyone, ever want to run away from you?

“If you break my heart, Zhong Chenle, you have Ryujin to answer too.”

He chuckled, the sound of his laugh more musical than anything he could’ve produced on stage, and as you watched him, you came to the conclusion that Chenle was more than the sum of his parts, astronomically. You knew that Zhong Chenle was still walking around with your first kiss. But he wouldn’t be for long.