Cepsofcordy - Just An Idiot Trying To Make Her Way In The Galaxy

the long way around - epilogue

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader Rating: M Word count: 2,930 Notes: We’ve finally made it to the epilogue! I’ve loved the feedback on this fic and I want to thank everyone who’s left a comment on it. I hope you love this concluding part as much as I do! The immersive Van Gogh exhibit is a real exhibit that I highly recommend going to, it’s beautiful. Reblogs appreciated! Warnings: Non-descriptive sexual content, swearing, food mention, feelings 

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Hi,

It’s your friendly neighbor fanfic author here. In the light of this apparent new trend of people feeding unfinished fics to AI to get an “ending,” and some people even talking about “blanket permissions,” let me just say this:

I EXPLICITLY FORBID ANYONE TO FEED MY FICS TO AI. DUDE, THAT IS ABOUT THE LEAST RESPECTFUL THING YOU CAN DO. IF YOU DO IT, SHALL YOU BE EXCOMMUNICATED FROM YOUR FANDOM AND WALK ON LEGOS BAREFOOT TILL THE END OF DAYS.

That is my anti-permission.

Thank you for your attention.

Miller Morales Mechanic Shop (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Part One of Miller Morales Mechanic Shop

Summary: Something is wrong with your car. What, exactly? You have no clue. So you bring it in to some professionals- who also have a toddler running around the shop.

W/C: 2.3k

Warnings: language, Frankie is a dad, brief mention of divorce and trauma bc poor Frankie, there is a child heavily involved in this so if you don’t like kids this isn’t for you :)

A/N: WELCOME TO PART ONE EVERYONE! This is such a cute AU and I’m BEYOND excited to start sharing it with you all! I don’t know how many parts this will be or anything but I can’t wait to take it and run with it.

Marisol Morales behaves for very few people. One of those is Ben Miller. Unfortunately, she has decided to break her own rules today.

Frankie loves summer. He loves his little girl playing outside in her baby pool, taking her for walks around the neighborhood with their three-legged dog, all of the fun parts. The hard part is when the nanny goes on a vacation and Mari has to come to work with him.

Benny and Frankie, ever since the chaos that was the Lorea mission, run a small mechanic shop together. Miller Morales Mechanic Shop isn’t necessarily the busiest place in town, but they make enough to get by and have some disposable income too. Mari loves to hang around the shop with her daddy and uncle. She’s there more than Frankie would like, but he supposes it’s not the worst thing in the world. When Frankie and Jules split and Frankie won full custody, he’d hoped a nanny would take care of most everything when Mari is home all day in summer. Sadly, he was in for a rude awakening when no Mary Poppins showed up on his doorstep.

It’s normally not too bad; Benny hung the moon in Mari’s eyes. If she won’t do something for her daddy, which is still somewhat rare, she’ll always do it for her Uncle Benny. That makes the day run much smoother. Mari has a whole host of quiet-time activities and toys to play with, and the men generally trade off periods of either working on the cars or being with the little girl.

Her favorite activities at the shop include drawing on the concrete with thick sticks of chalk and playing with her toy helicopters and planes. Benny insists tanks are cooler, but Mari prefers flying her Polly Pockets in the chopper, running through the garage and making flight noises. She’s a smart little thing; for her age, she’s picked up big words and can make sentences out of three words, which is quite a stretch for a baby just over two years of age. She calls for Benny and Daddy and knows the names of his tools: wench, scu-dwive, and her favorite, win-seeled wipe fwuid. She loves to babble at customers while they get their oil changed.

-

Being shit with cars is no fun. It only increases the anxiety when some light flashes on your dashboard. The lights can mean so many things that you find it ridiculous; “check engine”? Check it for what? To save yourself the anxiety, you find your nearest mechanic and pay them to deal with it.

Today, as you pull over into a gas station, you check your phone and find that the nearest shop is a place you haven’t heard of. It must be new. Miller Morales Mechanic Shop, 0.6 miles away. The name implies something more local and homegrown. You’re more than willing to support a place like that, so you start up the engine, pray you don’t explode, and make your way over to the shop.

It’s nearby, like the map indicated. The outside is a quaint little place, tucked in a strip mall next to a coffee shop, a dentist, and an insurance agency. The three car bays are empty, and knowing next to nothing about how these shops work, you pull inside and park your car, letting it run as you wait for an employee. The bell dinged to let them know you were here, so you stay patient and listen idly to the hum of the talk radio show from your car’s speakers.

After a minute or two pass, you realize that maybe this wasn’t the right place to be. Maybe you were supposed to go in the front or something. Concluding that you probably aren’t where you’re supposed to be, you turn off the car and get out only to be greeted by the sound of buzzing lips.

You can hear a baby’s voice, mimicking some kind of vehicle’s sound, and for a second you’re worried this place must have you hearing things. Then, from a swinging door to the front comes a little girl, running and babbling to herself about her toy helicopter.

She has a head full of dark brown curls, tied back into two puffs with pink scrunchies, and matching pink leggings and a t-shirt far too big for her, the back emblazoned with the shop’s logo. She’s barefoot, tiny feet slapping against the cold cement.

“I told you I had to piss, Fish!” A man’s voice shouts from one end of the garage.

“No you didn’t, dipshit!” Another man shouts back. Being caught in the middle of their argument is quite comical, if you’re being honest with yourself. “She’s fucking two! You can’t leave her alone like that, man!”

The first voice is matched to a person as a tall blonde man emerges from the customer service side of the shop. “Marisol Morales, come here,” he insists sternly as he rolls up the sleeves of his jumpsuit. “Come on, you’re gonna trip.” Ben is embroidered on a patch over his heart.

She pouts at him before stumbling forward and continuing to run, stopping as she sees you and looking up in confusion. Her lower lip sticks out in a pout as her eyes scan your face, as if she’s trying to remember if she knows who you are. “Hi,” she finally concedes as you bend to her level.

“Hi there,” you smile and hold out a hand. “What’s your name?” You pick her up, holding her on your hip so that she doesn’t trip, like Ben so desperately feared.

The second, unknown voice shouts for the little girl again before boots clunk on concrete up to you, rounding your car and stopping. This must be the girl’s father, you realize, as you rake your eyes up his body. He wears the same navy blue jumpsuit as the other man, though it’s unsnapped over his chest, exposing the white t-shirt beneath. The patch on his chest reads Catfish. He wears a ball cap and warm brown curls peek out from under it. He has scruff and a hooked nose that perfectly matches the one on the little girl. “I Mari,” she introduces herself proudly.

“Hey, leave her alone, Mar,” the man shakes his head as he hoists her up to hold her on his hip. “I’m so sorry about that,” he says with an embarrassed smile, showing a dimple beneath the scruff on his chin.

“No, it’s not a problem,” you laugh then set her down and tell the little girl your name. “Aren’t you just the cutest?” You chuckle as she looks at you. She blushes and buries her face in the man’s chest, giggling shyly.

He looks down at the little girl then up at you again. “Well, uh, hi. I’m Frankie, and you’ve met Mari already.”

“Your daughter?” you ask as you look at the pudgy little girl, who now stares at you in awe.

Frankie nods and adjusts his ball cap, pushing his hair back with it. “Yep. Our nanny is on vacation, so she gets to hang out around here,” he chuckles and kisses her head, setting her down. “Go see Benny, yeah?” He asks her. She happily waddles off towards the blonde man, who gives you a wave then heads into the back. “What brings you in?”

“Would you laugh if I told you I don’t really know?” You admit with a shy smile. “My check engine light came on while I was on the highway. I don’t know the first thing about cars, so I was hoping you’d figure out what that meant.”

“Nah, no laughing here,” he nods and gives you a genuine smile before looking over at your car. “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I’ll have you pop the hood for me and I’ll give it a look?” He asks.

“That would be great. Thank you,” you tell him, the desperation for his help in your voice. Now that you get the chance to really look at him, he’s quite attractive. His eyes are deep set and a beautiful brown, and they crinkle when he smiles. Facial expressions only accentuate the lines in his face, but he’s certainly not old. His eyes still hold his youth.

“No problem.” He leads you to the car and you pop the hood open before getting out. “Could I take your keys?” he asks you. “Just so I can turn it on and off and all that good stuff.”

“Yeah, of course,” you nod frantically and hand them over to him. “I’ll… be in the waiting room?”

“That’s how we usually do it,” he chuckles as he takes the keys from you. “Just shout for Benny if Mari annoys you again.”

That makes you frown. “She’s not annoying at all. She’s adorable,” you smile as you look over your shoulder and see her and the blonde man playing together.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” he laughs and points his wrench at you as he walks to the hood of the car.

Shaking your head, you can’t help but laugh as you head back to the waiting room. You walk in and Mari perks up, turning to look at you. “Hi! Playing helicopter,” she tells you in her stunted speech as she holds up the toy.

“You sure are,” you nod and sit next to her. “Can I play?” You ask, looking up at Benny, silently asking him the question too.

He nods and Mari squeals happily. “Friend!” She shrieks and hands you another helicopter. “Go pew pew, okay?” She drags them across the toy mat like they’re cars, and you follow suit.

“Okay,” you laugh. Looking up at the blonde man, you extend a smile his way and introduce yourself. He’s busy repairing a Barbie dollhouse with a screwdriver.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Ben, Benny, whatever you wanna call me.”

Driving your helicopter around the ground, following Mari’s lead, you chuckle. “No preference?”

“Fish calls me Benny.”

“Fish?” You ask and tip your head.

“Frankie, whatever. We’re buddies from the service. His code name was Catfish,” the man explains with a shrug, testing the hinges of the plastic door.

That makes you smile down at Frankie’s daughter. “Really, just buddies? Could’ve sworn you’d be brothers,” you tease the blonde, blue-eyed man. “Does Frankie know how to do his daughter’s hair?” You ask and fiddle with her two pigtails.

“Yes, he does,” Frankie insists as he walks out to the front, cleaning a wrench. “But just barely.”

You look up at him, embarrassed. “Her pigtails just look a little messy. Then again, she was running around like crazy,” you laugh and watch her rush over to Frankie, insisting he pick her up.

Bending down to grab her, Frankie groans at the ache in his joints. “She was. I could use some pointers, if you’ve got ‘em.”

“Of course,” you nod and stand too, brushing the dust from the concrete floor off on your pants. “What’s the verdict on the car?” You ask.

Frankie turned, watching as Benny walks out to the shop, but he turns back to face you. “Oh, right. The engine was misfiring, and unburned fuel was being put into the exhaust system, and that damaged the catalytic converter.”

You nod as you listen to him, really staring at his face more than anything. He’s just so damn pretty, you note as you admire the curve of his nose, his slightly sunken and dark eyes. His lips look beautiful and soft, even though they seem a little chapped. When he stops talking, it takes you a second to process it. “I don’t know what that means,” you admit with a shy smile. “I told you. I don’t know shit about cars,” you laugh, playing it off like you were lost when you were really lost in his eyes.

He shakes his head and laughs, bouncing Mari on his hip. “Your car is gonna need some work. Couple hours,” he shrugs. “If Benny and I get to working on it together, an hour and a half, maybe?” He admits.

“Yeah, that’s great. I can watch Mari,” you offer.

Frankie would never be this trusting normally. You’re a straight-up stranger, but your demeanor is good enough for him. Besides, you’re right here. He can check on the two of you every so often, and Mari seems to love you. “That would be great,” he smiles. “You really don’t have to.”

“No, I have nothing better to do,” you chuckle and look at the little girl. “You wanna play?”

Mari nods excitedly and Frankie sets her down. She rushes back to her toy mat and you watch her go. “Thank you, again, for fixing all this.”

“Just doing my job,” he nods. This time, it’s his turn to admire you. He stares at your face, examining the curves and angles that make you up. Your eyes are kind and warm as they follow the little girl, and he can see that he’s making a good choice here.

When you sit down, Mari comes and sits cross-legged across from you. “What are we gonna play?” You ask her, looking at her wide variety of toys. Her pile includes dinosaurs, Matchbox cars, lots of toy helicopters and planes, Barbie dolls, and a plastic tea set.

“Tea party!” She says and hands you a tiny plastic cup and a felt muffin.

“Oh my goodness,” you gasp in a fake accent. “How delightful!”

Frankie peeks over his shoulder at the two of you. He could really get used to that sight.

-

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Hey so I’m hyped that Trump’s gone and all but let’s just remember that things don’t magically get better from here on out - we have to keep working for them.

Keep supporting blm.

Keep protecting trans kids.

Keep welcoming immigrants. 

Keep defending marriage equality.

Keep believing women.

Keep working to make our society more fair, just, and accepting of all.

My Side of the Fence

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (no Y/N) Word Count: 6685 Warnings: Swearing, fluff, a small touch of angst, brief mention of death, brief mention of a terminal illness, drinking. Summary: When you move in next door to help take care of your ailing aunt, you and Frankie form a budding friendship as you live out your lives on opposite sides of the fence line, that maybe could be something more. A/N: Unbeta’d. Also, any Spanish is courtesy of Google Translate, so I profusely apologize to any native speakers if something is incorrect. This series has a Spotify playlist that you can find on the Series Masterlist. Some suggested listening for this chapter would be: Forever’s Gotta Start Somewhere by Chad Brownlee, Unbreakable Heart by JJ Heller, and Shallow by Lady Gaga & Bradley Cooper.

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Next

It’s a quiet Saturday afternoon. The baby is down for her nap. Santiago is inside getting the two of them drinks. Will and Benny, as always, are late to arrive. It’s game day; the Marlins versus the Phillies. The countertops of his kitchen bogged down in an array of chips, dips, and other snacks. Frankie could be inside, relaxing in the coolness of the air conditioning instead of the buzzing heat of a Florida summer. But he’s not.

For the last fifteen minutes or so, he’s been sitting on a patio chair under the shade of his front porch. Watching you. As you hoist cardboard boxes from the dark green Chevy Trailblazer parked haphazardly in front of the house next door. The front passenger tire is rolled up over the curb, the guts of it stacked ceiling-high with moving boxes, baskets of laundry, and totes of random kitsch. A rickety trailer filled with mismatched bedroom furniture is hitched behind it.

He’s been watching, partly out of curiosity, while he’s been fumbling to string together the right words in his head. Words that would entice you to accept his offer of help without him coming off as some creepy old man. They taunt him, glued at the tip of his tongue, while he sits and broods over his continued silence.

“Your new neighbor is kinda cute, Fish,” Santiago comments offhandedly as he pops out of the front door, gawking over the top of the fence at you. He’s got two longneck beers fisted in one hand, the condensation dripping down the brown glass in thick beads while he stares. He diverts his attention back to Frankie, letting the screen door shut with a squeak-thunk as he strolls over. He drops into one of the wicker patio chairs beside him, holding out one of the beers.

Frankie grabs it as Santi takes a long swig from his, watching as you bound back towards your vehicle.

Santiago quirks an eyebrow and points towards the neighbor’s house with the mouth of his bottle, “What happened to the sweet lady who lived there? I liked her.”

“She’s still around,” Frankie shrugs, sipping his beer. The lady in question, Miss Robin, has lived beside him since he moved in, right after he got out of the service. A little eccentric, she’d quickly earned herself the title of his favorite neighbor. She’d cemented the sentiment further when she’d staunchly supported him after the spectacular failure of his marriage. They’ve had so many conversations he’s lost track of most of them.

She’s old school. Classic. Kooky, but fun.

He’s never seen her go a day without donning ruby red lipstick, an ornate flower crown in her hair, and cat-eye glasses attached to a chain around her neck. She and her wife, Virginia, used to throw the wackiest themed parties for their friends that carried on until the cops came out to shut them down. And every Christmas or birthday, she mails him a handwritten card, even though there’s, at best, ten yards between their houses.

Of course, the parties stopped when Ginny passed away from heart complications just before his daughter Viviana was born. The cards are shorter now, the penmanship less clear. Miss Robin’s health hasn't been doing so great lately. She used to greet him at the fence line when he’d get home from work. Give Vivi a smooch on her chubby baby cheek. A bright red lip print left behind. Matching giggles floating between them as they babbled together.

These days he’s lucky if they get a wave from the picture window out front. She’s gotten frail. Lipstick sloppy and flower crown askew from her shaky hands. She can’t go anywhere these days without a tank of oxygen. It was a shit hand she’d been dealt and he hated watching as her exuberance faded.

She didn’t have any kids of her own, but she had siblings and nieces and nephews aplenty. As her illness progressed, it was getting too hard for her to manage the dishes, laundry, yard work, and other chores by herself. He’d done what he could for her: mow the lawn, bring up her mail, haul her trash bins back and forth from the curb. It was kind, but in the long run, he knew there was no way he could manage both his side of the fence and hers. That’s why you were there.

She’d told him you were her favorite niece as he brought a bundle of bills and junk mail to her door one day. She’d ushered him and Vivi into her flower-laden backyard to explain the new face that would be arriving soon. She knew he would worry about a stranger flitting around her house every day. She’d sat with him on the back patio, sipping ice tea and soaking in the late afternoon sun. Vivi chased butterflies and bugs on her wobbly toddler legs while she told him near everything about you. By the time she was done, the pitcher of tea was empty, the sun was dipping below the horizon, and his daughter was dozing off in his lap. He’d left that day feeling like he knew you almost as well as she did.

That was part of the reason he felt like such a dick right now, watching you fumble with a too-large box as you twisted to fit it through the front door. He eyes the furniture in the trailer critically, wondering how you planned to get it inside by yourself.

“Where the hell are Ironhead and Benny?” Santi questions, checking his watch and glancing both ways down the block, “First pitch is in twenty minutes and-” he trails off when he realizes Frankie isn’t paying attention. He stares between his best friend and you, observing how Frankie’s eyes follow you with each trip you take from the car to the house.

He hums to himself thoughtfully and then chugs the rest of his beer. Smacking his lips with a satisfied “Aah,” before leaping to his feet with a clap of his hands. Frankie watches, dumbstruck, as he saunters to the fence line, leaning against the chain-link as he calls out to you, “Hey gorgeous! You need some help? I promise we don’t bite.”

You’re half-in, half-out of the backseat, reaching for a laundry basket of clean clothes when you hear him and turn his way. He’s handsome with his sharp jaw, dark wavy hair with streaks of silver, and five o’clock shadow. He’s got an almost cocky smile broad on his face while he waits for your answer.

You throw back a grin at him, “Uh, sure. Thanks!”

Aunt Robin has mentioned her neighbors to you. To give you the lay of the land, so to speak. Most were ho-hum, but there were some compelling characters mixed in. There was the nosy biddy three houses down, who eked out her old age gawking at everyone from her windows and reporting “persons of interest” to the neighborhood watch. Then there was the middle-aged couple across the street with two mischievous teenage sons. The boys like to swipe lawn ornaments and set them up in wildly inappropriate scenes across the neighborhood. Lastly, and Aunt Robin’s most-loved neighbor, was the divorced father who lived just next door. He always looked out for her, his daughter was sweet, and she found his friends to be such interesting young men.

You’ve heard a lot about him, actually. More so than any of the others. If this is him, though, he’s different from how you pictured. Cheekier and less reserved than what had been described to you.

“Catfish!” Santiago turns to shout at Frankie, “Let’s help the lady out!”

Leave it to Santi to throw around his swagger and resolve the issue he’d been mulling over for too long.

Unlike his friend, Frankie abandons the barely drank beer in his hands on the deck of the porch. Broad hands swiping the silent baby monitor from the railing beside him as he shuffles down the steps. He’s still clipping it to a belt loop as Santiago is rounding the fence, swinging around the end post into the next yard.

“Pendejo,” Frankie mutters, lifting his well-worn hat off his head to card through his hair, and replacing it before he follows after. He loiters a few paces behind Santi, as you hand his friend one of the boxes from the backseat of the SUV.

He shifts it so he can hold it one-handed, flashing a charming smile as he extends a palm out to you in introduction, “Santiago Garcia.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say, offering him your name in return and then glancing over his shoulder. The man behind Santiago is handsome too. He’s a bit taller and more broad than his friend, with coffee-brown hair that winds up around the edges of his ball cap in soft-looking curlicues. You can see a thin silver-white scar just under his left eye that stands out against his tanned skin. He’s got rugged salt and pepper scruff and a matching mustache that twitches along with his upper lip as his eyes meet yours. They are a warm, rich brown and they roam over you, examining your features the same way you did his. Between the two, you think he’s the more attractive one.

Santi follows your line of sight to Frankie, a little amused at being so utterly forgotten, “Fish, stop lurking back there and say hi.”

With that, he readjusts the box in his arms and heads towards the front door, not even asking where that particular parcel belongs. Frankie takes a reluctant step forward, scratching nervously at the nape of his neck. You’re damn pretty. He already knew that, sort of. Miss Robin had shared a few old photos with him, but boy, were they poor comparison to the real thing before him now. It sure as fuck made him more jittery as he reached to shake your hand, too.

You notice how your whole hand is engulfed by his palm and the curves of his fingers. Rough and work calloused, his hand seems a perfect match to the man before you. Beat-up ball cap, red t-shirt stretched out at the neckline from wear and washed out jeans. He has all the appearance of a hardworking, easy-going man. And you like that.

“So...Fish, was it?” you question, raising your eyebrows in unison when he remains silent.

It’s mostly because he can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you are.

“It’s Francisco,” he replies, clearing his throat and finally speaking, “or, uh, Frankie. Morales,” then he points to the house behind him with a jerk of his thumb, hoping you don’t notice the weeds in the flowerbeds or the porch rails with their chipping paint, “I live next door.”

As if that wasn’t fucking obvious. He mentally groans at his own stupidity, but you don’t notice as you hit him with a million-watt smile that shoots right to his heart.

“So, you’re the neighbor!” you say excitedly, pulling him into an unexpected hug that leaves him reeling as you continue, “Aunt Robin told me about how wonderful you’ve been to her since she got sick. You have no idea how worried we’ve all been about her being in the house by herself.”

“U-uh,” Frankie stumbles for a reply before one catches on his tongue, “I-It’s no problem. Neighbors are supposed to look out for each other.”

“Well, I really appreciate it,” you beam, pulling back to look him earnestly in the face, “Not enough people feel that way these days.”

Admittedly, he probably has an outdated view of urban Americana and maybe it might be suitable if he lived anywhere else. The neighborhood he lives in isn’t the greatest. Thirty or so years ago it was the ideal with its cookie-cutter houses and tree-lined streets. Nowadays too many families have been pulling out of the city for suburbia and the country. The houses ended up sitting vacant or converted to rentals, leased to sketchy college students looking for cheap rent off-campus. The ones that stayed behind were either too attached to their homes, like Miss Robin, or couldn’t afford to move, like him.

He offers you a lopsided grin that pulls a dimple into his right cheek as he motions to the back of your vehicle, “What should I grab?”

“Anything is fine,” you say, sweeping up the basket of clothes you had set down when Santiago had called out to you. Frankie pops open the tailgate to grab one of the larger boxes stacked back there and follows after you up the front walk.

The house is a quaint single-story two-bedroom affair, the outside a muted pastel blue with white trim and a dark gray roof. The age of its owner is more evident inside, with retro scalloped wallpaper, wood paneling, worn shag carpeting, and faded linoleum. A bright mix of tangerine, canary yellow, and walnut that would have been in vogue when the home was purchased.

Your aunt is seated in a plush velvet lounge chair across the room. Santiago kneels beside her, leaning on the armrest as she pats his cheek affectionately. He whispers something to her that makes her eyes go wide before she bursts into laughter. You give them both a wave as you and Frankie pass through the living room and take a left into a short hallway.

The first door on the right is ajar, the room lit by an outdated ceiling fan that swirls lazily overhead. You step inside, wiggle an elbow towards a pile of boxes in the far corner, and tell him, “Over there is fine,” as you plunk the basket in your arms into the bottom of the closet on the other side of the room. He stacks his armload with the others before the two of you retreat back through the house.

“Francisco,” Miss Robin coos at him as he passes, waving him over with her hands, “You come over here and give me a hug real quick.”

You linger at the doorway, watching as he crosses the room without hesitation, wrapping her petite frame in the broadness of his own. He’s careful of the tubing and nosepiece for her oxygen as he embraces her and you can’t help the grin that spreads ear-to-ear as you brush past Santiago as he’s heading in with another load.

“How’s our Vivi?” she asks Frankie in a soft voice as he pulls away again, “I miss her sweet face.”

He tells her all about how big his daughter is getting. Tall for her age. Her features seem less baby-like every day he picks her up from daycare. Growing into a miniature version of him, as his friends would tell it. Then there are the new words and colors and songs she’s learned.

Aunt Robin smiles softly, watching as his eyes flick up to look at you each time you cross the room with another load.

“The two of you will have to come have dinner with us sometime,” She pats the back of his hand excitedly, “My girl is a good cook. She’ll take care of us,” and then a sly grin pulls at her lips, “I hope you’ll look out for her like you have for me.”

“Of course I will,” he promises, pecking her on the cheek as he stands again, “I should get back to helping before Pope accuses me of slacking.”

With three of you put to the task, it’s quick work emptying out the back of the Trailblazer. A few small totes and a crate of bathroom essentials are all that remain, which are easy enough for you to get later. Frankie and Santiago make the decision to start hauling in the bedroom furniture next, unloading your dresser from the back of the trailer as a souped-up truck rolls into Frankie’s driveway.

All three of you shoot looks over the fence as Will and Benny hop out of the cab. They’re bickering about something as the doors slam behind them. As you watch them you wonder if your new neighbor and his friends have cornered the market on good looks.

“Pope! Fish!” the younger of the two shouts, holding up a six-pack of fruity beer, “What are you boys doing?!” before he motions dramatically towards Frankie’s house, “The game’s already started.”

“More of your friends?” you question Frankie, as he and Santi gently set down the dresser on the walkway. The older one has already jogged over to where the three of you are standing, relieving you of the empty dresser drawer you were carrying.

“Will Miller,” Frankie introduces you to the man in front of you, “and that’s his brother Benny.”

Benny is still standing in his driveway, passing belligerent looks between all of you before his brother barks, “Get over here and help Benjamin!” and he heaves an annoyed sigh before setting his beer on the truck’s hood and hustling over.

You are a little taken aback by all of the unexpected help, as the four of them manage to unload your entire bedroom setup into the spare room in no time flat. Aunt Robin is thrilled over all of the extra visitors, who all greet her with kindness and familiarity. You glance at Frankie, who is laughing as your aunt pinches Benny's cheeks, and are overwhelmingly grateful for the fact that he has clearly done more than just check-in on her every so often.

You’re walking the four of them back to the fence line when a navy blue Kia slips into the driveway behind you, your best friend behind the wheel.

“Turns out I didn’t need you after all Liv!” you crow as she exits the vehicle, taking an appreciative look at your newfound company before nearly being barrelled over by your large Goldendoodle as he charges towards you in excitement.

She lets out an exasperated noise as he trots away, “I’d have been here an hour ago if your furry friend here would have gotten his ass into the damn car when I told him to.”

“My Gatsby?” you fuss, leaning over to scritch him as he prances circles around you before he skirts past you to investigate your neighbor and his friends with inquisitive snuffles at their legs, “Sounds about right for you, you hairy monstrosity.”

Liv takes a few moments to get through some introductions while you try to wrangle in your canine companion.

Gatsby decides that out of the four of them, Frankie is the most interesting subject. His two large paws scrambling up onto his chest, so he can sniff at Frankie’s scruff and slobber at his chin. You tug at his collar with an authoritative, “Get down!” but your neighbor takes it all in an easy stride, rubbing Gatsby down with both hands.

“I probably smell like my dog,” Frankie says aloud, talking to your dog and not you, “Little shit is going to be jealous if he finds out I’ve been petting you.”

As if on cue, a brown and black foxhound pops up into one of the front windows next door, a boisterous yowl sounding through the baby monitor at Frankie’s hip. You hear him groan moments before a shrill cry of “Papa!” carries over the sound of the dog. He nudges Gatsby back down onto all fours and waits for you to get a hold of him before he locks eyes with you, “That’s my baby girl. I gotta go.”

“No, of course,” you tell him, “Thank you so much for the help. I owe you.”

“It’s no trouble,” he smiles at you one last time, before retreating with his friends towards the house.

There are dishes in the sink that need washing. Laundry in the dryer, growing wrinkled and cold. The counters need to be wiped down and the floors swept. But you are in the backyard instead, enticed by the beauty of the day. It’s temperate and bright, dappled sunlight glimmering through the leaves of the maples, oaks, and cypress that spackle the neighborhood. The air is rich with the heady sweet florals of Aunt Robin’s garden and the resonating sounds of joy that drift over the fence.

Frankie’s back deck has been invaded by his friends. They take turns cracking jokes, choosing songs from a classic rock playlist, and rolling in the grass with his beautiful daughter. It’s heartwarming, watching these burly grown men love on that tiny, sweet girl. Which is part of the reason that you’re out here, planting blush pink chrysanthemums in the already overcrowded beds and letting the housework wait. You’ve been drawn in by your neighbor and his friends from the moment that you met them.

You’ve gleaned a lot, observing them from the quiet corners of your yard. Sometimes getting details straight from Frankie. Or through sly comments made by your aunt, who delivers them in breathy whispers against your ear when she catches your lingering looks when they turn up next door.

There’s straight-laced Will, with his clean-cut, all-American appeal. He’s tall and laid-back, with a no-nonsense take on life. Steady and cool no matter what chaos breaks out. His brother, Benny, is cut from a similar cloth, though his personality skews into goofiness. You get the idea he likes to be the loudest person in the room, dropping wise-ass remarks or instigating tickle wars with Vivi until she’s red-faced and lost in a giggling fit. Santiago, well, you could tell from the get-go that he fancies himself as some suave casanova. Full of honeyed words and cheeky grins, strutting around like a peacock looking to mate. He likes to crow to you over the fence, dropping saucy flirtations that always fail to bait you. Then there’s Frankie. He’s warm, smart, and uncommonly kind with a quiet, soft-spoken charm. In the last few months, he and Viviana have managed to stitch themselves into your life as if sewn in by an expert seamstress. It’s a delightfully unexpected symbiosis.

It started small. He’d bring up the bins on trash day if you got home late. Casually remind you as he leaned on the fencepost that you should park in the driveway at night not the street, otherwise the cops will ticket you. You would sneak Alamo, his hound dog, treats threaded between the gaps in the chain-link. Sit out on the back patio with your Bluetooth speaker blasting Disney songs, so you and Vivi could serenade each other while she blew bubbles or splashed in her kiddie pool.

It grew, with him offering to continue to mow the lawn when Aunt Robin’s ancient contraption refused to start. In exchange, you took his daughter on adventures to the neighborhood park where she would burn off most of her excess energy. Afterward, he’d sit at the back patio with you, downing an icy beer while you and Vivi sipped pink lemonade, watching the dogs sprint through their respective yards. You once spent an afternoon clearing his flower beds of weeds and coaxing his dying coreopsis and zinnias back to life. Carefully pruning and watering them over weeks until they bloomed in bursts of gold and garnet and magenta. He canceled a night out with the boys to sort out your washer when the drum refused to spin and it puddled water down the hallway. Sending you next door to use his, watching cartoons with Viviana while the clothes went through the wash.

It evolved into Monday movie nights at his. Some PG thing playing on the flat screen while his daughter wedged herself between the two of you. Gorging on popcorn and pretzels and soda. Then Wednesday night dinners at yours. You’d cook, he’d set the table. Vivi would read stories with Aunt Robin while you both cleaned up. She’d fall asleep on Gatsby's wispy haunches while Frankie waltzed with your aunt in the living room as Eric Clapton and Barry White played on her old 45s. You’d snap pictures of it all with a vintage polaroid camera you found gathering dust in the back of a closet. You’d walk them to the fence, twisting Vivi’s curls around your finger while you kissed her sleepy head goodbye.

There was hardly a day that went by that you didn’t spend at least a few minutes in each other's company. Conversation between the two of you seemed easy, passed back and forth as you went about the routine of your days. It wasn’t hard to see why Aunt Robin was so fond of him. He was the best sort of neighbor to have and an ideal kind of man: respectful, honest, and hardworking. An EMS helicopter pilot for one of the local hospitals, who talked proudly about his job without being arrogant. A devoted father and friend. It was no great wonder that you were hiding a hopeless crush on him.

For all the time the two of you spent together, it felt like there was still a barrier between you, like the fence that separated your yards. Something unbreachable that kept you firmly apart from the realm that encompassed him and his friends. It was likely that Frankie was just doing the neighborly thing, looking out for you as he had your aunt and nothing more. Which only made you feel ridiculous when you imagined being invited into their inner circle. Instead, you would simply pretend you belonged as you eavesdropped on his life from here.

Across the fence, Alamo has been making a pest of himself, stealing snacks from Vivi’s tiny fingers and begging for handouts from the grill. Santi shoos him away with a stern, “¡Vete!” and a clack of the tongs in his hands until the dog retreats. He makes another round of the deck, nearly tripping Joanna, Benny’s fiancé, as he nudges against the back of her knees seeking to be pet. Then trying to scramble into Laura’s lap as she drops to sit beside her husband, until Will pushes the pooch down and playful swats at his hindquarters as he sulks away.

Thoroughly deflected by everyone in the nearby vicinity he skitters down from the deck and trots to the fence line. He plants himself inches from it, yowling dejectedly in your direction until you turn to acknowledge him.

“What’s the matter, pup?” you coo, setting aside your trowel and packing soil around the roots of your freshly planted chrysanthemums. You spread out a new layer of mulch around the stems before giving him a sympathetic look, “Are you being ignored?”

Frankie spots you as he’s returning from the kitchen, a Capri Sun in hand to soothe away his daughter’s tears since his furry troublemaker had gobbled up the last of her goldfish crackers. He watches you toss aside your gardening gloves and scoot up to the chain link to dote on the offending beast, sliding the patio door shut behind him. You beam him a radiant, pearly smile as his gaze lingers and catches your notice as he crosses the deck towards Viviana. You only break it when Alamo summons your attention back to him with a throaty whinge.

Still, he can’t look away as he passes the drink pouch to his daughter’s waiting hands, dropping into a deck chair. You let out a laugh as the dog licks at your fingers through the gaps in the fence. It’s a bright, tinkling sound that makes a tightness pull in his chest. To say that he’s infatuated by you is an understatement. You’ve engraved yourself into his quiet life. Though you may have come along to care for your ailing aunt, he’s found himself and his daughter often the equal recipients of your adoration and kindness.

There’s always a small part of him that feels unworthy of it. Despite regular visits with his therapist, he struggles to accept that he deserves the life he has, with his beautiful daughter, his strong friendship with the boys, and this newfound connection to you. He’s haunted by the demons of his past and a gnawing sense of inadequacy. Still, he tries to remind himself to be grateful. Especially where Vivi is concerned; his baby girl thriving with how you devote your free hours to her. It’s a tempered joy that makes his heart ache when he realizes how much she’s needed more than just his presence in her life.

He thinks about the way you teach her the names of the flowers in his yard, leading her slowly around the perimeter as her tiny hands brush across petals and fern fronds while she repeats them back in her soft toddler stammer. Or how you sit on the front porch with him in the cool hours of early morning as he takes groggy sips of black coffee. Pulling Vivi’s hair up into fancy ponytails, french braids, and poofy buns before he carts her off to daycare, while he listens half-awake to your instructions on how it’s done. You’ve even taken up your aunt’s place at the fence, waiting for them to get home in the evenings so you can smooch her cheek and tell them both goodnight.

It feels so perfect and natural at times that he’s constantly looking for more ways to be near you. To take a stroll around the block with him at sunset, take a day with him and Vivi at the beach, or to have you join in when the boys and their ladies come for a weekend barbecue. But just like the day you moved in, he’s hopelessly tongue-tied and unable to parse out the words, worried it will come out wrong or that his feelings will be on full display when he’d rather keep them close to the chest for now. His divorce has left him with a residual vulnerability that’s made him averse to emotional displays for fear of censure.

“Okay, I’ve got to get back to it, buddy,” you tell Alamo as you rise to your feet, wiping his slobber onto your jeans. He pouts and begins to pace in front of you, stopping to gaze expectantly at your back door and make small whimpers. You know he’s looking for Gatsby to keep him entertained, now that you have to leave him. The two of them like to run each other ragged, sprinting up and down the fence line together with reckless abandon for hours.

Normally your canine would already be out here with you, but he has a penchant for rolling in freshly tilled dirt, so you’ve kept him inside under Aunt Robin’s supervision while you did your planting. The hound dog seems disgruntled by this fact, continuing to pace and making a series of upset sounds at you. You murmur a “Sorry pup,” as you gather up your tools and move on to another section of the garden where you’d spotted some weeds poking up through the mocha brown mulch. He’ll just have to get over his disappointment.

You turn your back, plucking at the offending weeds as his pouting cries go quiet. You assume he’s gone back to being a nuisance to the people in his own yard until a loud bark shatters the quiet hum of insects and softly spoken chatter from Frankie’s deck. A cacophony of voices rise in alarm as you swivel back just in time to see Alamo take a flying leap over the chain link, paws nearly grazing the top as he crests to the other side. His body makes a soft whump as he lands in the grass.

“Jesus!” you shout at the sight of it before the dog is bearing down on you, his wet nose snuffling at your ankles as you try to grab a hold of him. He skirts from your grasp, backing away a few feet before leaning into a bow, rump raised playfully in the air as his tail swishes furiously behind him. You crouch and try to summon him to you, “What’s gotten into you, hm?”

Frankie stares, dumbfounded, for only a moment before he’s jogging in your direction to help. When the dog refuses to come to you, you step towards him instead, but he bolts at your approach. Meanwhile, your neighbor scrambles over the fence and into your yard much less gracefully than his pet. His brows furrow in irritation as he tries to sneak up on him, but the dog turns at the last second, spotting him and darting away as Frankie curses, “Alamo! ¡Maldito perro! Get your ass over here!”

The hound likes this game of cat and mouse since it means the both of you are now giving him your full attention as you pursue him through the grass. Baiting you in by letting you get mere inches from him before he zips off at the last second.

“Mo!” you holler and he turns his head back at the use of his nickname but doesn’t slow down as you continue to follow him, “This is my side of the fence, not yours. Get over here!”

He’s unfettered by your statement, slipping through Frankie’s fingers as he loops back around the yard, stopping briefly to jump on your back door and paw at the glass. The excitement of it all has drawn Frankie’s company from the deck for a closer look and your aunt to the door to watch it unfold. You see Gatsby from the corner of your eye, fogging up the glass as his snotty nose presses against it. You can hear him whine, displeased that you’re out there having fun without him.

“Honey?” Aunt Robin asks through the screen of the door, “Everything okay?”

“It’s fine, Auntie,” you reply with a breathless huff, side-eying Frankie as he dives unsuccessfully towards his dog again, “Alamo just...came for a visit.”

He moves beside you, leaning onto his knees to recover from the chase, as Alamo pauses several feet from the two of you, grumbling an apology, “Sorry about this.”

“Not your fault he’s a pain in the ass,” you smirk, trying to form some kind of game plan to lure him in, “We could try to bribe him?”

Frankie gives you a nod as you quick-step towards the house. You keep treats on a shelf just inside the door as a reward for Gatsby when he does his business and doesn’t destroy any of Aunt Robin’s flowers. The pup in question is still watching you through the glass, alone now that your aunt has confirmed nothing is amiss, and returned to the other room.

“Back up Gats,” you warn, cracking the door open just enough to reach into the box without giving the Goldendoodle space to escape. Alamo hasn’t missed out on this though, yapping at him in an effort to incite his friend to join him in terrorizing you and Frankie. Which successfully spurs Gatsby on. He wedges himself against your legs, pushing with his full weight until you are stumbling back and he is barging out the door. You let out a sigh as you walk back to Frankie’s side, “And now there’s two.”

The both of them are running laps through your yard, letting out barks and yips and playful growls as they zip by at breakneck speed. Frankie takes a lunge towards Alamo as he passes by, but his reflexes aren’t a match for the canine. The hound easily avoids him at the last second, but Gatsby doesn’t pick up on his friend’s detour soon enough to do the same, trying to zip between Frankie’s slightly splayed legs and knocking him off balance. He throws his arms out for stability and you instinctively reach for him, but it only ends up in throwing him further off-kilter as his weight pulls you both down.

Frankie lets out an aggravated groan as his back slams into the ground, having tried to twist in a way that his body ends up as a buffer between you and the dirt. He takes the brunt of the fall, as you end up half across his chest, your head knocking hard into his chin. He tilts his head to look you over as you sit up, rubbing softly at the crown of your skull, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, brushing your hair out of your face. He watches as it cascades over your shoulder, dogs forgotten, as he’s struck by the thought of how easy it might be from this position to curl his fingers in the strands at the nape of your neck and pull you down to kiss him. Curious about what your skin might taste like if he were to pepper kisses down your jaw and lave at the pulse point of your neck.

His eyes bore into yours, rich orbs of hickory blazed with amber flecks as the sun catches in the iris. He smells of spicy cologne, charcoal smoke, and sweat. You give him the softest smile as you glimpse briefly at his lips and wonder if they’re as warm and soft as they look. Then up to his mop of curls that have come loose from underneath his cap in the fall. You briefly consider trying to twist them into ringlets like you’ve done with his daughter's hair, just as someone nearby clears their throat loudly. You both look up to see Benny leaning on one of the fence posts, a cheesy grin scrawled across his face.

“Fish!” He prods at his friend, “If you wanted to sweep her off of her feet, there are better ways to do it.”

“Fuck you, Benjamin,” Frankie spits as he flips him the bird, rolling onto his side before standing, his back and knees complaining at the effort. His other friends, at least, had the decency to keep their teasing comments to themselves. He leans down and offers you a hand up before scooping his hat off the ground and replacing it on his head. The dogs are still completely caught up in their game, tearing playfully through your backyard. He doesn’t want to impose on you, but after that last disastrous attempt, he doesn’t want to try and wrangle Alamo again until the furry beast has gotten this burst of energy out of his system. He pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance as he glances back to you, “Can he just, I dunno, stay over here until he gets bored? I’m too old to be chasing him all over hell and back. I’ll come back for him after he wears himself out.”

“I don’t think Aunt Robin will mind,” you agree with a small shrug of your shoulder, just as resigned to let them entertain themselves as he is. You’ll just have to go back to weeding the garden and gazing longingly into his yard. You try not to let your disappointment read on your face, plastering on a teasing smile as you motion towards the fence, “Are you planning on hopping back over that way, or do you want to go the long way this time?”

“I’ll go around please,” Frankie chuckles quietly, “My back can’t take any more abuse.”

Leaving the dogs to their own devices, you walk side-by-side with him towards the back door. You lead him through the house and out the front, a silent wave to your aunt as the two of you pass by. Just out of the front door he turns to you suddenly. He stumbles on the words for a moment, pink tongue peeking out between his lips before he speaks, “Listen, do you, maybe, want to come over for a bit? I at least owe you a drink for putting up with my menace of a dog. I promise the company isn’t terrible either. Benny’s a pain but the rest of them are decent enough.”

You beam him one of your million-watt smiles at the offer, “I’d love that! Let me just pop back in to let my aunt know.”

His eyes follow you as you disappear back inside, heart fit to burst. He’s not sure what this is between the two of you or where it might go, but this seems as good a first step as any.

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Next

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Y'all

People are actually fucking dying in Palestine and all over the world because of international negligence and U.S. aggression.

And you're having a meltdown over a celebrity you don't know? What the fuck is wrong with you?

You know what you should be angry about, my fellow U.S. Americans? The fact that your fucking tax dollars go to "foreign aid" to help Israel bomb the fuck out of Palestinian children and the fact that fucking Biden is not doing a goddamn fucking thing.

Why don't you give your local representatives a call and scream at them? God knows they fucking deserve it.

Please sign and share this petition, please, please for this unarmed man who was shot at 95 times by POLICE OFFICERS.

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Justice for Jamarion Robinson

You Ain’t Woman Enough

Frankie Morales x Reader

Word Count: just under 4400

Tags: Pining, Fake Dating because Frankie has an annoying coworker, cursing, my roughly unedited terrible writing, I don’t think there’s anything else?

A/N: Okay, y’all. I wrote a thing. It literally would not have been finished without the constant support of @rzrcrst​. I’m just going to put this here and yeet myself into the void. Let me know what you think. Or not, it’s whatever. Gif credit to @pascalplease​ (let me know if you don’t want your gif used, sweetie)

The bar was crowded and loud, but you still heard Frankie’s quiet curse as he pulled his cap further down over his eyes.

“You good, Frankie?” you asked with a nudge of your shoulder.

He huffed and curled in on himself more. “You remember me telling you about that girl I work with? The one who works the gate?”

How could you not? He had complained about Kelly almost as long as you’d known him. 

Keep reading

If you're still doing marcus requests... do you think you could write something where he just broke up with Teresa and is preparing to go to DC, and the reader is his best friend, but she tries to muster up the courage to confess that she loves him before he goes? Thank you 💕

AHhh this is so cute! Thanks for requesting this! <3

Stay

Marcus Pike x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: tiny bit of angst followed by fluff!

Love is a funny thing. 

It’s a funny thing simply because it can be so many things at once. It can be a warm slow growing feeling that begins as butterflies in your tummy before eventually moving it’s way into your heart. It can be an all at once feeling that seems to blow you off your feet. It can be a comforting feeling that reminds you of home and all the wonderful things that come with it. But it can also be sad. It can make your heart ache and your fingertips tingle. It can make your stomach roll in anxiousness, and make your mind run wild with all the different outcomes. But most of all, love is a powerful thing, able to make even the strongest man crumble beneath the weight of it all. 

Which is what happened to your best friend. 

You watched as Marcus experienced everything that love is, before the woman of his affections snatched it away when she realized her true feelings lied in another. While you were there as he cried on your shoulder and held you tightly in his arms as his grief ran out of him like a river, you couldn’t help the small sense of relief that washed over you. You too have experienced what Love is, except it was for the man who had cried in your arms, for the man you knew you could never have because he only saw you as his friend. 

You too knew that Love can be sad. 

You witnessed the awful ache that spread it;s tendrils through your chest when he told you he was leaving. You felt the way your stomach seemed to turn in on itself as you stood outside his door, ready to lay everything before him, no matter the outcome. Because you also knew all the good that Love can be, and that outweighed the bad, tenfold. And if there was even the slightest chance that Marcus could return the love you held for him, then you had to take that leap of faith.

You stood outside of Marcus’s apartment, wringing your hands together nervously as you built up the courage to knock on his door. It had been several weeks since Teresa had broken things off with Marcus, broken his heart. And now, he is leaving for DC, having told you the news over one of your weekly movie nights with empty Chinese takeout containers lying on the coffee table. You had held back your tears, shielded your crumbling heart as you hugged him and wished him the best. Because that;s what friends are supposed to do right? Encourage each other to pursue what’s best for them and what they want to do. Yet, as you hugged him and he hugged you back, you were unaware of the other heart breaking right across from yours. 

Marcus didn’t want to leave you. In fact he had hoped you would reduce his plan, ask him to stay so he had a reason too. Because, unbeknownst to you, Marcus had only pursued Theresa because he never thought he could have you. He hadn’t realized this until later, after he had been talking to you one night after the break up. But it seems even you didn’t want him around enough to ask him to stay. So he made the arrangements to go to DC, hoping time away from everything would help him forget. 

Marcus was actually packing the last of his bags when you took a deep breath and knocked firmly on his door. You shifted from one foot to the other anxiously as you waited for him to answer, and you felt your heart rate speed up as you heard his footsteps nearing the door. When the lock clicked and the door was pulled open to reveal the face of the man you loved, you felt a small if somewhat nervous smile come to your face. 

“Hey Marcus,” you greet quietly.

He beams at you, holding the door open wider to guide you into the apartment, “Hey, I didn’t expect you to come by,” he says, closing the door behind you and shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks around the mostly empty apartment, “I’m not really in the best spot to entertain right now,” he jokes.

You shake your head and send him a small smile, “You know I don’t care Marcus,” you say, “I just came by too…” you trail off, unsure of how to segway into what you want to tell him, “I wanted to see you again before you left,” you say finally, eyes falling to the floor. 

His eyes soften at your words, as if he himself had forgotten that he's moving across the country. He shifts on his feet for a moment before finally speaking again, “Why do I feel like that’s not the only reason you came all the way across town?”

You feel tears well up in your eyes at his words. Ever the FBI agent, trained to notice all the little things. Before you can stop yourself you launch yourself into Marcus, wrapping your arms around his middle and burrowing your face in his chest. Your tears soaking through the white t-shirt he’s wearing.

“Please don’t go, Marcus,” you beg quietly, voice wet with tears, “I don’t know what I’m going to do if you go.”

 After his momentary shock at your sudden actions, Marcus wraps his arms around you tightly, resting his head atop your own, your name falling from his lip, “I’ve already made the transfer...and all of my things have been moved down there. I can’t just-”

“I love you.”

Your voice is barely a whisper as the words slip past your lips, but Marcus hears them, and you feel his entire body tense, but you don’t move from your position in his arms. Instead you pull him tighter to you, afraid if you let go he’ll run away.

“That’s what I came here to tell you,” you admit, “I’ve felt like this for a while now but never said anything because I didn’t want to ruin what we had, and then you and Theresa -”

You hadn’t even been able to finish your sentence before Marcus was pulling you away from him, cradling your face in his hands and crashing his lips to yours. It didn’t take you long to respond, your body melting into his, as your hands rested on his wrists. Your tears seem to flow harder now, mixing together where your lips meet as you are bombarded with an onslaught of mixed emotions. Your lips move against his naturally, as if you both had done this a million times despite this being your first kiss. Marcus pulls away slowly after a few moments, both of you desperate for air. His hands stay where they are, his thumbs wiping at the tears on your cheeks, as your own hands fall to his chest. 

“Marcus? W-what, why did you-”

“I love you too,” he rasps, resting his forehead against your own, “I didn’t realize it then, but I love you so much, and I only used my relationship with Theresa as a way to try and smother my feelings for you.”

You pull back from him slightly, his hands falling from your face to rest on your hips instead, “Why didn’t you say anything?” you whisper, confusion tugging at your brows. 

He chuckles and shakes his head, “Same reason you didn’t,” he says, “Because I’d rather have you as a best friend than not have you at all.”

You smile at his words, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment before looking up at him, “Well I hope after that kiss we can be more than best friends now.”

Marcus lets out a laugh and nods, “I think I can agree to that,” he says quietly, his demeanor turning sheepish before he speaks again.

“Stay the night?” he asks, pressing a short kiss to your lips, “Please?”

You smile and return the kiss quickly before nuzzling your head into his chest again, “Of course, Marcus. And I hope you’ll call and cancel that transfer tomorrow.”

Marcus smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before resting his cheek against it once again, content to finally be holding you in his arms. 

 “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

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