unkindnessesofone

[unkindnessesofone]

Work is silly busy. I want to be writing.

[unkindnessesofone]

All aboard the Mac Express. This was perfect and I'll be re-reading it over and over.

Happy National macaroni and cheese day to you! Sharp cheddar and 🍝 please. There's not a lot of noodle emojis on my phone.

Every day is Mac and Cheese Day now. 😂 For anyone who's interested, know that the emoji does not have to be noodle-related, but this fic needed to get written.

Prehistoric Carnage Pairing: Mac (Warfare) x Not-So-Single-Mom!Reader Summary: Travis's dad's a no-show, so Mom and Mac make dinner. Ingredients: sharp cheddar (angst), spaghetti (🍝) Words: 800ish

That's not the knock you were waiting for.

But it sends Travis scrambling off the couch, where he's been sulkily watching cartoons for almost two hours, and to the front door. He yanks it open to reveal… Mac.

"Oh," Travis exhales.

"Hey, bud," he smiles, knowing exactly why he's being greeted with such disappointment. This isn't his first rodeo. You love that he never complains about having to adjust plans for two to accommodate three, but dammit, you wish it wasn't such a regular occurrence.

"Hey." Travis forces a smile and turns, and when he sees that you've come out of the kitchen you've been organizing to keep yourself busy, he sets a course for you instead of the couch. You open your arms, and he walks straight into you with an "oomph."

"Dad's not coming, is he?" he mumbles into your stomach.

You sigh, shooting Mac an apologetic smile from across the room. He's come inside and closed the door, and now he leans against the slab of wood with the air of a man who's not going out for a romantic dinner for two like he's supposed to. Right. Dinner. You have to feed the kid now.

"What do you want for dinner?" you ask Travis. He shrugs, and he sighs, and eventually, he has an answer:

"A dad who doesn't forget me."

Personally, you'd rather eat the one that did forget, but… "I don't think we have that," you say instead. "How 'bout nuggets?"

"Fine."

"You can play video games if you want," you offer.

"Can I just go to my room?"

"Sure, kid."

Oh, this is bad. Travis sighs and retreats to his bedroom, head hanging and feet dragging the whole way. Once his door closes, Mac finally approaches you.

"Sorry," you greet him, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

"It's okay," he smiles. "Want me to go grab some takeout?"

You shake your head.

"We've got…" Crap. You were organizing the kitchen because you were planning on going grocery shopping in the morning, and you needed to make room for everything. "Well, I put off my grocery run 'til tomorrow, but I'm sure we've got something," you laugh.

You lead him into the kitchen. You both stare into the fridge, and the freezer, and the cabinets, taking silent inventory. You've got containers of leftovers in the fridge and bags in the freezer with a handful of this or that left inside. You can work with this.

"We can work with this," says Mac, as if he can read your mind.

"Oh yeah?" you laugh.

"I was a latchkey kid with permission to use the toaster oven," he grins, reaching into the freezer. "Let's get creative."

And creative is exactly what you get.

Approximately 45 minutes later, you knock on Travis's bedroom door.

"Dinner's ready," you call.

"Don't care."

"You will when you see this," you tease in a singsong voice. "C'mon."

The door creaks open to reveal a depressed child who's already in his pajamas over an hour before his bedtime. He's officially given up on his old man. You really should start a club. Or beat your ex with a club.

You put your hands on his shoulders and escort him into the kitchen, where Mac awaits with the masterpiece you've created together.

Travis's eyes land on the baking sheet full of food on the table immediately, and his brows knit in confusion. He wanders closer, taking it all in. When he gets it, his eyes light up. His jaw drops. He moves around the table, looking at it from every angle, getting excited every time he discovers something new.

Mac has used dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets to bring your leftovers to life. They're the only thing you had plenty of.

Fries border a shallow river of ketchup. Fish sticks form a dam around a little pond of ranch. Broccoli florets on top of tater tots make great trees. Fields of mac and cheese provide grazing ground for the herbivore nuggets being held upright by spoonfuls of mashed potatoes. The pterodactyls rest in a nest of chicken salad. Several T-Rexes guard a pile of brussels sprouts, which you're pretending are eggs. Scattered peas serve as what you guess are dinosaur droppings, which Travis will be thrilled by.

Your favorite part is the dino nugget that Mac took a bite out of, which lies in a small pile of leftover spaghetti. It's prehistoric carnage, right on your kitchen table.

"This is the coolest thing ever!"

The clouds have lifted. The Forgetful Dad has been forgotten. The sour mood has been left behind. Your kid stares in wonder at the edible dinosaur-filled landscape before him.

"Mac's an artist," you smile.

"Only when it comes to food," the artist argues, even though he's standing proudly with his arms crossed over his chest. His creative dinner endeavor is an absolute hit… but you fear you'll have to recreate this for years to come. "What are you gonna eat first, bud?"

"The T-Rexes," Travis answers without hesitation. "To give the herbivores time to eat in peace… before I devour them too."

"That's very thoughtful of you," you laugh.

And that's exactly what he does.

Hungry for more? Check out The Mac and Cheese Shop!

[unkindnessesofone]

Zizz [Mac x Reader]

Notes: Requested by the conductor of the Mac Express, @wheels-of-despair. Pure fluff ahead.

This felt like a big deal.

Hand in Mac's hand, you tried to commit the details to memory. He was wearing his denim jacket with shearling lining. The elevator buttons were silver. You were headed to the 34th floor. The small space reeked of cleaning solution. 

It was not every day you accomplish something people said you would never be able to do. You two had bought a house. You were on your way to sign the paperwork that would make you legally homeowners. 

“You're buzzing.” Mac noted, running a watchful eye up from your bouncing knees to the keen alertness in your eyes. 

A two bedroom bungalow with all new appliances. The agent kept saying it was a perfect starter home, but you didn't care if it wound up as your forever home. This felt like a major step in your relationship. No more crashing in Mac's bachelor pad where your toothbrush mysteriously disappeared every couple weeks, no more living with a roommate and her guinea pig (did you know they're crepsecular?), and no more paying a landlord who took months to fix anything. Of course, you were buzzing.

The law firm was fancy. A massive oil painting of a pomegranate hung behind the receptionist that likely cost more than the down-payment on your home. You had never needed a lawyer before so you were using the place your grandpa recommended. 

Sitting down on the velvet sofa as the receptionist instructed, you still felt the same excitement inside your body that made you want to dance in place. The firm was posh, but not so posh that it dulled your joy down to nothing. 

Looking around at the other art work on the white walls, you noticed Mac settled deeper against the cushions and folded his hands together over his stomach. While adorable, it was a telltale sign that he was about to fall asleep. It did not matter where he was. If your boyfriend was comfortable enough, he could crash.  

“You can not nap here.” It was a warning and it leapt out of your mouth as such. Reaching back, you put your hand over both his and captured his attention. 

“I'm not going to.” His voice went up then down like the first hill in a rollercoaster. It was the sound someone made when they were caught and did not want to come clean. “Lower your brows. I'm not going to fall asleep.”

The wait was only two minutes longer before a woman who looked like she did not want to be there appeared and called you both ‘Mr. and Mrs. McDonald.’ Instead of correcting her, you both stood up and followed her noisy heels into a boardroom that looked like it could fit two dozen more people. 

“Mr. Dhaliwal will be with you shortly.” She asked you both if you wanted something to drink while you waited, but she was almost entirely out the door when you said ‘no’. 

Pulling some paperwork about the house from your purse, you smoothed it out in front of you. 

“Hey, can I have your ID?” You wanted to have everything you needed all together. 

Mac didn't answer and you spun to the side in the black swivel chair to see him in position, eyes closed while his shoulder acted as an ill-fitted pillow for his head.

“You can not nap here.” This time more amused, you reached over and teasingly flicked at his shoulder. 

He wiggled awake, wrinkling up his nose in protest.

“Okay, okay, I’m present.” Adjusting his posture, Mac rolled closer to the table until the edge was against his chest and pretended to review the paperwork in front of you. 

“Usually, it's very impressive, but we have to pretend we are swanky people who make big purchases and use lawyers right now.”  While holding out your hand for his ID, you explained.

“They would take our money no matter what kind of people we are. Lawyers are morally bankrupt bottom-feeders.” His voice was gravelly and uninterested, but you knew the sentiment came from the heart.

Mac slid his wallet out from the jacket of his pants and handed over his ID that sat in the first slot.

“Mac, you can not say that here. That's a thought we save for the drive home.” 

There was a brown leatherbound coffee table book in the center of the long table. You stood up and reached across for it, inching it closer and closer by the fingertips. 

“Here. Something to read while we wait.” 

“Schwartz Dangerfield LLP: 120 Years in Law.” Mac read from the cover while you cuddled in as much as the arms of the office chairs allowed. “You just told me I am not allowed to fall asleep.”

Pushing the book, you laughed then slipped your hands underneath your butt. Lawyers ran late. The rumors were true.

When Mr. Dhaliwal walked through the door, he announced himself like a children's show host: loud and full of enthusiasm. It was like he was the one buying the house. He clapped his hands together with a happy boom and reached to shake your hand. As you stood up, you realized it had happened. Mac had drifted off. 

You thanked the lawyer for meeting with you and wondered if you could get away with telling him that technically this was his fault as he kept you two waiting for almost twenty-five minutes. Even in your head, it was hard to make it polite so instead you shook his hand for too long while trying to reach for Mac behind your back with the other. Miraculously, you swiped just enough of his hair that he jolted up and presented himself.

If it was a talent that Mac could slip into slumber anywhere, it was a skill that he could snap out of it and instantly look alive. He stood up, stretched out an arm, and introduced himself with enough charm to distract from the fact that he was almost snoring seconds ago.

Four signatures, six initials, and nine minutes of small talk later, you two were the proud owners of 189 Netley Street. Possession date was a month away, but your bones ached as if that was an eternity.

All the way to the elevator, you had to keep your stomach tight to your ribs to prevent a squawk of delight from jumping out. Once inside the elevator, you and Mac grinned at each other, holding hands as you cheered, ‘We bought a house! We bought a house!’

“I can not believe you took a nap.” Breathy from entertained disbelief, you said while sliding into the passenger seat of his trusty Chevy. 

“I can not believe we bought a house!” Mac stayed positive, turning on the car, and then leaning over the console to kiss you with the sort of gusto that required a power-nap beforehand. Finally, you two were going to live together and you were looking forward to a lifetime of naps with him.

[unkindnessesofone]

hii sweets

please 😿 please please please continue the far as forever fic for gally i AM BEGGINGGGGG 💔 please make it a happy ending my heart is genuinely attached to this fic 💔

I absolutely will. It's in my head, just need to put it down. Fingers to keyboard. Thank you so much for reading it. I really do appreciate it ❤️

[unkindnessesofone]

This is a sign for you to write that self-indulgent fic

[unkindnessesofone]

Bunt [Sam x Reader]

Notes: After writing ROUNDING FIRST, I have decided there is going to be a collection of rec. league stories because it's fun and silly. Here is Sam's. Disclaimer: This has nothing to do with a real person. It's Joseph Quinn named 'Sam'.

Fingers around the chain-link fence, nose close enough to know where it was scuffed and where it was smooth, chew bitter and wet between his molars. Elliot was in Captain-mode and in fine form, gloves hanging out the back pocket of his baseball pants as he watched the game closely. It was rec league and he swore he did it as an excuse to hang out and drink beer with his buddies, but something happened when they all huddled together on the bench. Elliot became something of a sideline dad.  

Hanging his head-low, a sub on the other team walked over to their bench after being struck out again by Sam. In his place, you skipped toward the base with the bat over your shoulder, waving at the pitcher who lost the menacing glare he had been exercising a second before and bashfully smiled as he waved back. 

“Hold it. T-O. T-O.” Elliot barked as he released the fence so quickly that it shook in order to jog over to Sam, corralling him over with a wiggle of his index and middle finger. “Babe, you’re in.” He called back to his wife sitting between Zawi and Kelsey (a spot he had put her on purpose to keep them from making out mid-game). Elliot gave her ass a small slap as she walked past to go to the mound, wrestling her hand into a brown leather glove. 

“What the fuck? Why are you taking me out?”

“Because of her.” Elliot spat out his chew away from Sam's shoes, nodding with the end of his chin at you as you swung the bat through the air, practicing.

“What about her?”

“What about her? She’s not any good at baseball yet always walks when you’re pitching, twice has got a home run…”

“You think I go easy on her?”

“Either you’re going easy on her or the cartoon heart eyes that fall out of your face whenever she’s up make your arms too mushy to pitch.” He was not mincing words as he pulled at the thick fabric of his uniform shirt, his fingers pinching the 'B' in Bastards.

Sam looked to his friends for support, but Ray was nodding in agreement and Tommy was pretending to find interesting clouds to look at while he polished off a cold beer. 

“I don’t know what the Hell you’re talking about. I’m pitching.” Sam stuffed his fist into his glove, but when he turned around, Elliot’s wife was already in position and about to toss the ball. Instantly, you had your first strike.

“I’m not losing to the The D-Bags,” Diamondbacks. “Because you’re rockhard for a girl who won’t go out with you.” 

Sweat flicked at Elliot’s face from Sam’s neck as he turned so quickly to shoot his buddy a glare rarely seen outside of old school western movies. It was Elliot’s cue to go back behind the fence, reaching out preemptively for more chewing tobacco from Ray. 

Elliot stuffed the pouch of snuff into the back of his mouth and then held up two wet fingers at the side of his head. 

“Two games you’ve gone soft on her and two games she’s turned you down.” He said before turning around. “Don’t embarrass yourself.” Elliot sat down, forcing his butt between the sudden sliver of space between Zawi and Kelsey. 

Sam ripped his attention away from the team and looked out at the game. The umpire called ‘out’ and you walked by him, no skip this time, but still a friendly wave. Sam returned the gesture solemnly this time and went to the bench. Once his glove was off, he held open both hands and Mac tossed him a Coors from the cooler.

“I think she's going out with this trainer from the gym by my work. He's built like a gorilla. Maybe you're just not her type.” Kelsey offered with a voice that was as high as her ponytail. 

After they shook hands in the field, Elliot trying not to gloat about being victorious over the Diamondbacks, Sam carried his bag over his shoulder back to his car. He looked up from the gravel parking lot when Erik shouted to ask who was going to be on beer duty next week. Tommy raised his hand and claimed it before Sam had a chance. 

Elliot had just been calling him out, brother to brother. Kelsey had roasted him in front of the whole team and it made him feel two inches small. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see that Zawi was looking at him and mouthing, ‘She's so hot’. It was a good reminder that Kelsey didn't mean to bruise his ego. The beer helped him cool down anyway. 

“Are you guys going out to celebrate?”  Despite its lightness, your voice cut through the hollering and slamming car doors to steal Sam's attention.

He plucked the cap from his head and wiped at it, feeling his cheeks spread upward as he grinned.

“There's some talk of hitting up Buckley's." They sometimes referred to it as 'The Bastard's turf' and it was sounding less like a joke these days. What about you?”

“I don't think anybody wants to go celebrate our pitiful loss.” You laughed, holding the backseat door open with your bum and throwing in your backpack. 

“It's just rec. league. It's an excuse to get together and drink.” That was how Elliot and Erik sold it to everyone on base, talking like used car salesmen who were equal parts excited and obsessed with selling someone a rundown minivan. 

“I think I'm going to need something stronger. My favorite pitcher who makes me look good was benched today.” 

You were flirting. He pierced his own face with the hook you were dangling and stepped forward. The setting sun met your glistening face with a delicate kiss, illuminating the glow Sam always noticed when you walked the bases. He swore it was because you were part-angel. 

“Not my call.” He said like it was an apology. “Wait. What's something stronger?”

“Vanilla milkshake.” It felt like you were reeling him in as he watched your mouth enunciate the two words, making the popular drink sound like proof of God. He was so busy staring that he didn't see you were closing the car door and nearly nipped the tips of his fingers. “Oh! Jeez - are you okay?” 

“Never better.” Sam attempted to laugh at himself, wiping the back of his hand at the red dirt down his pants. “This vanilla milkshake…is that strictly for losers or…”

“You can get in on it, but on one condition…” Holding up a finger, you prevented him from taking another step. 

Please don't say your “gorilla boyfriend” is coming, Sam thought to himself. He felt that he still had a smile on, successfully keeping his concerns to himself. 

“Batting cages this weekend? Could you give me some pointers so I am not the worst player on my team?” 

Sam felt it. A shift above his nose. His eyes were becoming animated hearts like Elliot said. He felt like the clouds parted and the sunshine was blessing his face and not only yours. 

“You aren't the worst D-bag. No sweat.” He said, barely listening to himself.

“What did you just call me?” Confusion contorted your eyebrows as Sam rushed to pull his keys from his pockets. The jingling was so spastic, they sounded like the calling card of a mall Santa.

“There's an ice cream spot close to my place.” He kept it going, glazing over the fact that he had indirectly called you a douchebag. He was not going to mess up this opportunity because the nickname Elliot bestowed on the other team was stuck in his head. He was smoother than this and Sam promised that he would be once the initial shock of the woman he'd been asking out finally asking him out. "I can meet you there, figure out the weekend plan..."

Internally, he swore to be cooler than any gym personal trainer at the batting cages. It was all he could do not to think about you in position, asking for his help.

Thankfully, you agreed with the same smile you always gave him when you approached home base.

He was not going to screw this up, but Sam knew that he was definitely going to let you walk next game.

[unkindnessesofone]

Hand History [Ray x Reader]

Disclaimer: This has nothing to do with the real person. It's the actor with the name 'Ray'. That's it, that's all. First time writing Ray, never tried before. There is some lite smut, so 18+ only. This was a prompt request from @manickakaka. Thank you!

Obviously, you did not know it was Elliot's standing poker night with his friends. In fact, you weren't sure you knew that was even a thing until the door swung open and instead of your brother-in-law blinking at you with a deadpan glazed over look in his eyes that sarcastically said, ‘Thanks for calling ahead.’, you were met with a living room full of men staring back at you cluelessly.

“Is my sister here?” You asked Elliot, trying to keep the conversation quiet enough to stay between you both.

Elliot shook his head, “She goes out when we get together for poker. Are you okay?” He clocked the single backpack strap loose over the shoulder when he first answered the door. Exhaustion under your mascara-free lashes. 

“I need a place to stay tonight.” 

“Are you okay?” Again, he inquired, but this time it was firm and leading as if he suspected real trouble.

“A pipe burst in my building.” 

Elliot's shoulders relaxed and he stepped aside to let you in. 

“You know where the spare room is.” He whistled as he closed the door behind you. Elliot wasn't sure who at the table you knew and who you didn't. There had been backyard barbecues and birthdays that turned into drunk dance parties in the kitchen. Ray waved and asked how you were politely, and he saw Frank nod something of a ‘hello’ as he returned to the table eagerly. 

Once you were settled in the bare bones room that was more extra storage than the designated bedroom, you could hear the guys taunting one another at the table and intervals of laughter. It made you laugh in return as you put the pajamas you had been in when the caretaker of your building said you had to leave back on. They might have been out there happy to play round after round, but there was only so much you could do holed up in a spare room that would likely one day be for your first niece or nephew. 

A knock on the door jolted your attention away from the novel you were half-reading, blankets hanging off your bare shoulders. You were trying to mark your page and sit up at the same time when the door began to open at a snail's pace. A light from the rest of the house spread into your space. 

It wasn't Elliot checking in though. It was Ray, you saw his hand on the doorknob first, and followed his arm up to his face that was a cross between curious and pensive. 

“Hey.” He whispered before you gestured that he could come in. Thankfully, he closed the door behind him. “Are we being too loud out there?” He laughed, knowing very well they were. 

“Yes, but I can't complain. I'm an uninvited guest.” 

Ray shrugged, nervously slipping his hands into his pockets so his arms were tight against his sides. He didn't get the impression that Elliot was particularly put out by your presence. Plenty of friends had crashed on his couch before when they were too drunk to get home on their own. 

“I just wanted to come say hi. Haven't seen you in a minute.”

“Hi.” Reaching a hand up from under the covers, you waved with a flat palm. “Last time I saw you was in this room.”

“Oh yeah?” His throat tightened to make a sound that imitated surprise, but the corners of his lips gave Ray away. He already knew that. He had thought about that every time he had come over to Elliot’s since that night.

“Yeah, my body remembers.” Lowly, you whispered while looking down at your legs covered by the wrinkled blanket, recalling how Ray had spread them apart at the thighs while smirking the same smirk he was wearing right now at you.

There had been a lot of vodka based drinks involved, but even your sister agreed when you told her, it was a long time coming. 

“As soon as I got in here, I felt exactly the same way…” It was an overshare, but one that excited Ray in an instance.

He put one knee on the bed and lowered his gaze down your arms to your legs, remembering the way they brushed against his sides as he pushed them back for full access. 

“Maybe, I should be the judge of that.” After all, he did remember your body's response to his touch last time. He was happy to check and see if it was just as warm and needy as it had been then. 

Devilishly, you were both staring one another down as if you were trying to dare each other to make the first move and start all over again. 

Ray took the bait first. Putting his hands over yours, he leaned in and kissed you. At first, it was subtle - toes testing lake waters on the first day of summer. Once he felt you kiss back, he leaned his body into yours and greedily kissed back like if he was able to spell his name in your mouth he could make you his.

You were trying to pull your legs out from the blankets, eagerly wanting him closer, when Elliot's voice boomed from the living room. All the outside noise had faded until now, “Ray! Stop trying to finger-bang my sister-in-law and get out here! I'm dealing you in!” He sounded annoyed, but you were willing to bet it was all for show. 

Breaking contact with Ray's mouth, you giggled and wiped at your lips with your wrist. You realized now that your sister had told you years ago that she didn't keep secrets from Elliot and that he was privately a consumer of gossip. She would have been all too happy to curl up beside him in bed and fill him in with details of your hookup with Ray last time. 

Ray did not want to play another hand. He wanted to be exactly where he was with you beneath him, making your skin textured with goosebumps from the way he made you feel. 

“Go take all their money and come back and celebrate with me.” You whispered, using your chin to nod him off. 

“Do. not. move.” Ray growled as he kissed you again, nipping your bottom lip as if to leave some imaginary mark until he returned. 

Once the door clicked closed behind him, you peeled off your pajamas and decided to wait for him in only your underwear. Maybe, this night wasn't going to be so hopeless after all.

[unkindnessesofone]

can you do prompt 76 + 94 with ray from warfare? 🙏🏾💕

about to post. will tag you.

[unkindnessesofone]

inspo for rounding first

[unkindnessesofone]

Rounding First [Tommy x Reader]

Notes: Truly the worst photo above, but cabin life means this is what we're doing right now. I listened to one of my favorite albums and then this was born. It's sweet and cutesy.

It was a cotton green sweatshirt that he had seen you in upwards of a dozen times yet he was imagining it featherlight in his hands, pulling it overhead and leaving it creased by the foot of your bed, a place he had now visited outside of his imagination and was having a hard time returning to everyday reality ever since. Tommy suddenly felt sort of desperate as his face began to fade to pink as if his grandma had just pinched at his cheeks. He retreated into his beer once he stopped staring at you across the bar, laughing with your hand over your mouth at something another woman had said. A woman he had not registered was Elliot’s wife simply because admiring you made him lose consciousness. The world became a blur and you were the only thing tangible. 

“It’s hot in here.” He muttered aloud, tugging on the collar of his shirt. His neck was beginning to feel flush, the tinge of color beginning to spread. “Are you hot?” Tommy asked Mac to his left, unsure if the question he was asking was rhetorical or not. 

Mac just shook his head, barely loaning his attention from the game on the TV. 

“You’re just losing it because you always get like that when _______ comes around.” Two seats down, arguably too far away to reasonably notice Tommy’s change in demeanor, Elliot hollered as he swung to the side on the barstool. Now, Mac was chuckling. The opportunity to roast a friend was too good to pass up. 

“Her?” He glanced at you, the white logo of the baseball team on your sweatshirt and your chin stuck out to read the drink menu in front of the other woman. “I didn’t even see _____ come in.” It was not a lie that he had any chance of getting away with, but it didn’t help that he said your name like it was a top shelf fragrance: expensive as it was alluring. 

Elliot hummed behind his last sip, loaded with disbelief while Mac smirked. 

“Nobody mentioned she was coming. That’s all. That’s why I stared for a second.”

“She’s literally on the team.” Mac chuckled to try and disguise how stupid he thought Tommy’s remark was.  Why wouldn’t you be at the wind-up party? You played outfield on the recreational baseball team with him and had for a few seasons, only missing last year due to being in a friend’s summer wedding that was more like a second job. 

Elliot had come around now, squeezing Tommy’s shoulder like a big brother might and then reaching over his head to accept another beer, foam slipping off the edge and catching his knuckles. 

“Okay, so after we played Plumpton…” Tommy began only to be interrupted by his friends barking like animated German Shephards, even Ray and Jake joining in from deeper in the bar. 

“The Saltdogs, yeah…” Elliot pointed at the center of Tommy’s annoyed face with the round end of his stubbly chin. 

“Yeah, well her bag ended up in my car.” They looked similar, you had said so yourself, both small black and white Nike duffel bags, with bats banging around inside. “So I drove it over to her place…” Tommy chose to ignore the ‘know-it-all’ grin and devious gaze that Mac shot up to Elliot. He felt like Danny Zuko in Grease when he was on the bleachers with the other T-Birds, trying to be impressive by sharing his conquest of Sandy, but Tommy couldn’t exactly say that. His buddies would  never stop razzing him if he mentioned a musical. It was cool when Ray rapped out some lines from Hamilton, but Tommy knew he would not be given the same carte blanche. “She invited me in. We hung out. It was…” What word did he want to use? Fun? Cool? Chill? 

“You spent a magical night in a human woman’s bed, Tommy. We’re all very proud of you.” Mac patted his friend’s back with gentle force and gave the glass he was holding a high-pitched cheers. 

“It’s just been kind of weird since. I left in the morning, but I texted and she just sent back a thumbs-up emoji.” Tommy suspected he sounded more like someone at the lunch table with the Pink Ladies than a cool leather jacket wearing T-bird, but it was too late. The words came out as stressed as his face appeared.

Elliot tried to avoid snickering by covering his teeth with a tight smile, but it was still easy to see his amusement. Not even the fullness of his mustache could conceal that he was entertained. 

“Sometimes, you make out with an old friend. It’s not a big deal, man. You can just talk to her if you want to talk to her.” Elliot said like it was nothing, his wife popped up under his arm with her doll-like eyes sleepy from margaritas, half of her second still loosely in her hand which Elliot took to keep it from meeting the floor. He held it over her shoulder, the coolest T-Bird of them all. Kenickie.

“Who is making out with their friend?” She sounded as soft as her skin looked. Elliot was texture and edges and she was silk, but for whatever reason, they were harmonious. 

“Tommy and _____ hooked up. He’s being weird about it.” Mac filled her in, gossiping about his friend like he was not right beside him. 

“Do you like her?” She squeaked loudly, jaw unhinged and eyes suddenly wide enough to be confused for sober, er, more sober. 

“Shh!” Tommy hissed and instantly regretted it. He was drawing more attention to himself and, while he had only ever seen Elliot let his wife handle herself, everybody knew without saying that if you rubbed Mrs. Miller the wrong way, you were going to find yourself at the very top of Elliot’s shitlist. Thankfully, Elliot still seemed pleased. “I just…I really don’t know her outside of baseball, like, I don’t want things to be awkward.”

“It’s awkward if you don't say ‘hi’.” She concluded. Tommy noted that it seemed like she was talking to both himself and Mac who was starting to return his gaze back to the television. He made a note to circle back to that. “I’d have thrown something at you if you didn’t say ‘hi’ at least after we first got together.” Leaning her head back on her shoulders, she was staring right up at her husband with her view hazy again. 

Tommy watched as they communicated nonverbally. Elliot lowered his gaze to meet hers, pulling her in closer so it was hard to see in the dimly lit bar where his hip ended and his wife’s began. He bowed his head, accepting what she had said as law, and kissed her. It was brief. She was obviously used to the tickle of his facial hair. Still, it was impossible not to feel how solid they were. Tommy didn’t feel jealous. It was longing that had a hold of him. He wanted that connection. It would be nice to go away and know that there was someone at home he was intertwined with. He wanted to return to more than a white fridge, night stand, and movies to catch up. 

As if her husband had not just given her eyes that could be described as ‘for the bedroom’, Elliot looked right back at Tommy and turned stern, “If you don’t say ‘hi’ to her, I’m going to meddle.”

“That is not a threat. It’s a promise.” Mac chimed in, leaning the neck of his bottle to Tommy’s shoulder, like he knew what he was talking about.

Over her head, Elliot mouthed in agreement. His wife would absolutely meddle and he, one of the strongest men in the room, would be powerless to stop her.

The walls of the bar felt like they were vibrating from all the noise once it passed ten-thirty. Tommy was no longer alone in thinking the place had grown warm. He weaved through the crowd, returning from the bathroom, to find his buddies who were feeling incredible about their season now that most of them were a few beers deep. He pivoted left when a guy stumbled in front of him, in need of somewhere to sit. Two blond women, seconds away from fighting, parted just enough that Tommy found you with a pool ball rack hugged in both hands and smile that had to be at least a hundred watts slid over your face. 

No thought beyond ‘pretty!’ had gone through his head when you spotted him and waved out of reflex, the smile never letting up. Tommy’s feet took control since his brain was behaving uselessly and he headed over. His hand rested on one side of the pool table between you as he watched you plopped the balls inside the plastic triangle. 

“Are you going to be a better loser than Dinah?” You teased, eyes sneaking up at him from the eight ball in your grip. He was mad at himself for imagining it as his cock, hard in your hand the way it had been nine days ago as you two clumsily moved around your Ikea couch. 

“Tough to say. Depends how much I lose by.” He laughed, circling the table to select a cue stick.

“I’m not really that good. I think Dinah is just drunk. And also not that good.” You laughed only because you knew your friend would have. 

Moving the rack and hanging it up, you watched carefully as Tommy leaned over the table, resting the weight of his chest on the edge, and lined up his cue with deep-set concentration. It was undeniably sexy. Your stomach sucked in as he pulled back and shot at the cue ball. A little sigh threaten to release itself from your mouth, but you sucked it back in and adjusted your posture. 

Tommy claimed stripes and set up his next shot and then another. 

“Were you going to tell me you’re a pool shark?”

“Just lucky.” Modestly, he replied with grateful eyes cast on the felt table. “There’s only so much you can do hanging out on base.” 

“I just always assume you guys are doing karaoke and looking at posters of babes in bikinis that are taped to the wall.”

“Not much karaoke.” He confirmed right before finally missing a shot. 

You could sense his eyes on you as you slid in with a side-step between him and the table. He took a second to back up, giving you room to set up your shot. The balls had rolled out in a way that did not make it easy, but there was some hope to sink the yellow one. Tommy’s eyes lowered as you leaned further down, glancing over your shoulder you felt glad over how he rolled both lips inward as he admired what he saw. If you hadn’t already felt his admiration all over your ass before, you might pretend that he just liked the stitched pattern on the pocket of your jeans. 

“Do you have a karaoke song? Ray has claimed ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ so you can’t choose that.”

Taking the shot, you sank in the yellow, but nothing else moved and you didn’t know how in the world you would get another point. 

“I don’t think I do karaoke.” In thought, his brows flexed down. 

Standing up from your missed shot, you nodded and wrapped both hands around the stick. This time Tommy had to look away. 

“Have you ever done it?” 

He shook his head, studying the layout of the pool balls. 

“How do you know you don’t do it then? You can’t know how you feel about something if you don’t try…” 

In the same second that he was beginning to crouch down, Tommy stood back up and pinned you to the untouched chalk scoreboard with his eyes. 

“Are we talking about karaoke?” He sounded suspicious and your cute little smirk did not help. Had Elliot’s wife already gone to you?

“We are. What do you think I'm talking about?” 

Fuck. 

Tommy's eyes fluttered as he tried to think quicker than his brain would allow. He missed the shot, barely tapping the cue ball as he loosely moved. 

“Nothing, nothing.” He tried to play it cool, walking around the table and holding his empty hand in his pocket, but inside, Tommy felt his pulse racing. He didn't have game like his friends. He couldn't just throw his arm over a girl and make her feel sheltered. His hands had shaken when he first touched you. He had to suppress whines of pleasure when you were only kissing him. 

“Did you think I was talking about you sneaking out without saying goodbye how many mornings ago?” You were walking around the table with your stick upright in hand and Tommy froze, watching you move like he was the ball you'd chosen to strike. “We can talk about that if you would like. Happy to.” The candy pink tip of your tongue was teasing him, sticking out just a touch between teeth. Trying to hide the instant blush that blossomed over his pale face, Tommy pulled his hand from his jeans and rubbed the back of his head back and forth.

You weren’t moving or even studying the pool table to come up with a thought. Tommy had your full attention now. He couldn’t help, but think to himself: Careful what you wish for, buddy.

“I…I did have a really good time.” He managed to stammer out, looking at the sticky and stained hardwood beneath his feet for too long before showing you his nervous smile. 

“That makes two of us.” 

“Hey, ______,” This time when Tommy said your name it was still plenty alluring, but it sounded comfortable now, something within reach. “I just….I never thought that this would happen.” 

“What would happen?” While holding onto the stick, you leaned forward, but you weren’t playing around anymore. You really wanted to understand how you two went from being friendly at baseball, having a great time talking and then decidedly not talking on your couch, to him behaving like a stranger. 

“You and me.” He said it matter-of-factly and watched you blink your way around the answer.

Your head dipped to the side and after a deep breath, he noticed your face fell in a sad, but pensive way like you were deciding how sad it made you. 

“Why never?”

This felt like a landmine and, out of instinct, Tommy looked around for Elliot. He would know the right way to navigate this. He was a firm stance and a smooth talker. When he couldn’t find his large friend, he looked for Erik. A superior. He hadn’t seen the guy since he arrived though. He was left to his own devices. In the crowded, popular spot, Tommy felt completely alone

“Come on, ________, you are…” With one hand, he was gesturing up and down your body over and over, but he stopped himself and thought twice quickly. It wasn’t just that he was attracted to you. He had a schoolboy crush and he was surrounded by alpha males all the time. Most of the guys chewed tobacco on the bench and when they walked into the room, people took notice. Tommy loved the feeling that came with being with his friends, but he did not yet feel like he was at their level. He didn’t think it would ever come and he would live like a little brother begging for a turn at Nintendo forever. “I really like you.” The confession came out collapsed and his chest followed suit. His pool stick had to hold his weight for a second, but he stood up as soon as it wobbled. “I didn’t come over to just try and score and…I hadn’t even worked up the nerve to ask you out and…”

“Were you ever going to ask me out?” Your hands had been in his underwear. This was no time to be coy. 

“I've wanted to.” He was looking down at the floor again. Blinking away the nerves, he tried to concentrate on the green light that it felt like you were giving him. “Would you want to get together sometime?” Maybe it wasn't smooth as butter, but it was straightforward and true. It felt good to be honest about what he wanted.

“The season’s over so we’re about to have free time. Might be nice to have something to do on Thursday nights.” Weighing the options aloud, you teased. Tommy looked white as a ghost all of the sudden so you didn't stretch it out. Instead, you reached forward and put a hand on his chest, checking his pulse. “I'm kidding. Yeah, I would. And not just Thursdays.” 

“You said you wanted to go to the pumpkin patch last game. Have you gone yet?”

“You want to carve pumpkins with me?” Genuinely, you were excited that he remembered. 

“Yeah, you're going to need someone to scoop the guts.” He even remembered you said by the dug out that you hated that part. The idea of his biceps flexing as he reached yanked out pumpkin innards had you feeling the same sudden heat in the pit of your stomach you felt on your couch, laughing with him and inching closer and closer until your knees knocked. 

“It’s a date.” One nod, you clarified. “Do you like scary movies? We could watch one after or during.” Turning your shoulder to Tommy, you finally took note of the shots on the table and started to position yourself accordingly. There was an opportunity to sink red, but it meant likely knocking one of Tommy’s in the basket too. 

“I can do scary.” He agreed, watching you as you pulled back your stick. “Just no clowns. I don’t do clowns.”

Across the bar, Tommy saw Elliot giving him a thumbs-up over a whole room of bobbing heads. He had a cheesy grin that suggested he had finished his wife’s last margarita, but Tommy gave it back to him and earned himself a fist pump through the air from the guy he so looked up to. It occurred to Tommy that Elliot wouldn’t admit to any fear when trying to impress someone - nothing real or as trivial as clowns, but Tommy wasn’t Elliot. He just the little brother who wanted a turn at Nintendo and was freaked out by clowns. And who now had a Thursday pumpkin carving date.

[unkindnessesofone]

Stumbled across this blog and I’m so glad you’re back writing! I loved your old blog & used to read your stories religiously ❤️ Would you ever write for Will himself or is it just characters atm?

That's really kind! Right now, just his characters.

[unkindnessesofone]

Funfetti

lt. derrick “mac” macdonald (warfare) x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k+

summary: It’s your birthday and between having to get Waylon to soccer and then to Courtney’s— it seems like Mac’s forgotten to celebrate.

warnings: some swearing, Courtney’s a bitch again, suggestive dialogue, lots of cake

notes: Happy birthday to one of my favorite girlies @wheels-of-despair! I hope you can enjoy this as much as I did writing it lmao.

Your birthday starts, unsurprisingly, exactly like any other Saturday. It does not start with breakfast in bed or flowers or even a card. It starts with Waylon tearing through the house looking for his other cleat, and Mac— standing over the laundry basket by the door, holding up a shin guard.

“You wanna explain to me,” he calls toward the kitchen with a sigh, “why this was in the damn couch cushions, bud?”

There’s a clatter of what you can assume is toys and a faint, defensive “I don’t know!” from Waylon.

You roll over in bed, press your face into the pillow and really try not to laugh. By the time you climb out of bed and shuffle downstairs, Mac is crouched by the mudroom bench, trying to retie Waylon’s cleats for him because apparently the kid forgot how to use his own hands. Mac looks up when he sees you, and his mouth softens into that little grin you know all too well. “Hey,” he smiles. Then, once he’s done with Waylon’s cleats, he stands and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He tugs you in and kisses your temple gently, “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

That’s it. There’s no big gesture. No confetti cannon. Just his hand sliding down your back when you step past him to pour your coffee. Still— that kiss was all you needed to keep your heart warm, at least for now.

But the morning doesn’t let up.

Mac’s phone goes off just as you pull on your hoodie, about to leave with your guys. So you get stuck driving Waylon to soccer practice while Mac finishes his call on the porch, gesturing wildly at whoever’s on the other end.

Soccer practice is uncharacteristically cold for July, the field is wet from the rain this past week, and it’s loud and full of other parents shouting things like “get in position!” while you sit in the car answering scheduling emails from the office and watching Waylon trot around the field like a distracted golden retriever. When you get him home, you think maybe— just maybe— you’ll get an hour to yourself. But the second you step in the door, Waylon stops short in the hallway and spins around, his eyes wide.

“Oh my God,” he groans. “Mom asked if I could switch this weekend with dad. We’re going to the beach! I forgot to ask.”

Mac, who’s sitting on the couch with his legs stretched out and an unopened beer in his hand, glances up at you, then over at Waylon. His lips twitch like he’s holding in a laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you say flatly.

Waylon shakes his head.

Mac sighs and sets the beer down and pushes himself up. “Alright. C’mon, we’ll run you over there. Unless you wanna pack a bag and walk, bud.”

Waylon groans again but disappears upstairs to grab his stuff.

In the car, Mac drives while you sit in the passenger seat watching the sunset through the windshield. He’s got a hand on your thigh. Waylon sits in the back, humming something that sounds like one of Mac’s old records and kicking his bag every few seconds. When you pull into Courtney’s driveway, Mac cuts the engine and leans an elbow on the steering wheel, turning slightly to face you. “You want me to go up?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I’ve got it.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

You grab Waylon’s bag, climb out, and walk him up the short path to the door. Your routine for the last month or so. Ever since Courtney found it appropriate to comment on Mac’s appearance. 

And Courtney answers after exactly three knocks, like she was standing right there waiting on you. And of course, she looks perfect— slim little dress, her hair done, flawless lipstick. Definitely not beach ready. She takes one look at you— at your sweatshirt and your messy ponytail and your expression— and smiles. That tight, brittle smile she does. “Well,” she says, looking you up and down. “You look… comfortable.”

You frown, caught off guard for a second.

Waylon slips past her into the house with a quick, “Hi Mom!” and then disappears into the living room.

Courtney doesn’t shut the door and just leave this where it’s at. No. She just stays in the doorway, her arms folded over her belly, gaze sweeping over you like she’d like to wring you out for tracking mud onto her entryway rug.

“You didn’t pack him pajamas,” she adds pointedly.

You hold up his bag to hand over. “They’re in here.”

“Mhm.” She glances at it skeptically, then sighs and finally takes it from you. “Well. I guess this’ll do.”

You bite back about six things you could say and settle on a bland, “Thanks.”

Before you can turn to go, she steps just a few steps closer. She drops her voice so only you can hear, undoubtedly not wanting to disturb Waylon or that new stuck up mop of blonde curls sitting on her couch. “You know,” she says, still wearing that faux-sweet smile Mac never fails to mention that he hates, “he really does do better when he sticks to a schedule. Not… whatever all this running-around you two are doing with him is.”

You stare at her for half a second before answering, voice level, trying not to lose your cool. “He’s fine, Courtney. I think we know him pretty well.”

“Mhm,” she says again, like she knows him better. Even if she only has him two fucking weekends a month. Then she glances over her shoulder toward the living room and chirps, “Way, say goodnight to—” She hesitates, her eyes flicking back to you before finishing with, “—dad!”

You bite the inside of your cheek and step off the stoop before you say anything that would make Mac proud in entirely the wrong way.

When you climb back in the truck, Mac looks up from his phone, one brow raised. “You were gone a while,” he drawls.

You shut the door and let out a long breath. “She’s a delight,” You rub over your face and just lean back in your seat.

That earns you a laugh. “Did she give you the ‘he needs a schedule’ speech?” Mac asks as he eases the car into reverse. One of his hands is placed on the passenger seat as he twists to look out the rear window. 

“She did.”

“She give you the ‘you look comfortable’ line?”

“She did.”

He shakes his head as he backs out of the driveway. And by the time you get home, you feel absolutely wrung out.

You still have dishes to finish from breakfast, and there’s so much laundry to fold, and Mac disappears for a little while into the garage to fix something or other while you stand at the sink and let the water run hot over your hands. When you finally shower and crawl into bed, you feel the weight of the day— Courtney’s pointed looks, soccer field wind, the dull ache in your back— they all settle heavily over you.

Mac stays downstairs for a while. The faint hum of the TV drifts up through the floor. You’re just starting to doze when the door creaks open. You roll over groggily and squint.

And there he is— Mac, your beloved boyfriend— standing in the doorway wearing his favorite red plaid pajama pants and that faded old Marine Corps T-shirt that’s definitely seen better days, and he’s holding two plates of Funfetti cake in his hands.

You rub your eyes a bit, blinking as you sit up.

He grins like he’s been caught red-handed. “What?”

“…What is this?”

“What’s it look like?” he smiles, crossing the room. He steps over a laundry basket at the end of the bed and sits on the edge. “Birthday cake. Don’t make me sing.”

You take the plate he hands you slowly, still watching him. But there’s a smile growing on your face.

He sets his own plate to the side and peels off his socks. Then he climbs in bed beside you cross-legged, grabs his plate and digs right in. “You thought I forgot,” he says through a mouthful of frosting.

“You… looked like you might’ve.”

“Nope.” Another bite. “Planned this all along. Tactical Funfetti delivery. Best in the business.”

You can’t help but laugh, and something in your chest finally loosens up. The cake is sweet and soft and absurdly good for something you can assume is from the grocery store. Mac eats like he hasn’t seen food all day, crumbs already clinging to his mustache and a streak of frosting on his knuckle.

“You—” you start, pointing at his face.

“I know,” he interrupts, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “Don’t really care. Worth it.”

When you set your plate down to sip your water, he steals a bite of your slice.

“Mac!”

“What?” he says, feigning innocence. His hands up in mock surrender. “Yours tastes so much better.”

You both laugh until your sides ache. When the plates are empty, he sets them on the floor beside your bed and flops back against the mattress with a satisfied groan.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he mumbles after a bit of silence— holding his arm open to let you get comfortable against him. “Even if I didn’t get to watch you square off with Courtney tonight. You definitely handled it better than I would’ve.”

You roll onto your side and rest your head on his chest, smiling against his shirt. “She’s so impossible, I don’t understand how you were married.” you mumble, letting your eyes flutter closed for a few moments.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “But you’re better than her. And she knows it. S’why she acts like that.” His hand runs up and down your arm oh-so-gently before he starts to fidget beneath you. At first it seems innocent— just him shifting to get comfortable— but then his hand lands squarely on your ass. Not casually. Not accidentally. Definitely on purpose.

You lift your head to give him a look.

“What are you doing?”.

He flashes you that crooked, boyish grin that always has you weak in the knees. “Me?” he says innocently. His palm warm as he gives you a little squeeze. “Just… makin’ sure my birthday girl’s still alive after the absolutely brutal day she had. Just lookin’ for a pulse.”

You snort. “Pretty sure you don’t check a pulse there.”

“Shows what you know,” he laughs, already moving his hand up to the waistband of your pajama pants. He tugs very lightly, testing how far you’ll let him tease you.

You arch a brow at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet—” he drops his voice low, intimate for the two of you, and then he leans down so his mustache grazes your jaw in that way that always makes your skin twitch—  “here you are. In bed. With me. So who’s the real fool here?”

You shove at his shoulder lightly, but he just laughs and rolls onto his side to face you fully. One big hand slides over your stomach, under the hem of your shirt, and rests on your boob like he owns everything under the fabric of your clothes. “Y’know,” he murmurs, running his thumb lazily across the swell of your breast, “it’d be a real shame to let all these birthday crumbs go to waste.”

You just look at him, confused. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” he says solemnly, though the sparkle in his eye gives him away. He presses a kiss under your jaw, “we could just… roll around in ‘em a little. Make some new memories in the Funfetti battlefield.”

You choke on a laugh. “You’re actually the worst.”

“The worst you’ve got,” he corrects cheerfully, nudging you flat on your back and propping himself up on one elbow over you. He leans down and runs his mustache deliberately along your neck, humming thoughtfully as you giggle and squirm. “Mmm,” he hums against your throat. “Frosting. Still smell it on you. This is a problem. Gonna have to take care of it.”

You can’t help laughing even as you squirm away from his ticklish kisses. “Stop,” you giggle, swatting at him half-heartedly.

“Stop?” he echoes, “Stop? Sweetheart, it’s your birthday. You earned this harassment.”

You glance up at him through your lashes, still grinning wide. “You call this harassment?”

“Oh, it’s about to be,” he promises, already slipping his hand down from your chest to your thigh and giving it a firm little squeeze as he pulls it up around his waist. “We’re talkin’… Grade-A, Marine-issued, birthday-level harassment. You’re gonna have to file paperwork about it in the morning.”

You laugh so hard at that you almost forget to stop him when he starts easing his fingers under the waistband of your pajamas for real this time.

“You’re out of control,” you manage between giggles, finally relaxing back against your pillows.

“Oh yeah,” he agrees happily, kissing your jaw again and again. “Completely feral. Somebody’s gotta keep the morale up around here.” And then he pulls back just long enough to give you a completely straight-faced, ridiculous suggestion. “Tell ya what,” he hums softly, like he’s pretending to think about whatever ridiculous idea is about to leave his mouth. “You lie real still… I’ll eat the rest of the cake crumbs off you. Sound good?”

You slap a hand over your face, laughing into your palm while he grins triumphantly. When you peek out at him from between your fingers, his cheeks are flushed red, his eyes gleaming the prettiest brown you’ve ever seen, and there’s still one lonely little sprinkle stuck in his mustache, which somehow makes him look even more incorrigible.

“Mac,” you groan, still laughing, “you’re truly unbelievable.”

“Mm. You keep saying that,” he chuckles as he finally leans down to kiss you properly. The kiss is slow and lingering and full of that ridiculous affection that always catches you off guard. “But you don’t exactly sound mad about it.”

And when his hand slides fully under your pajama waistband and his teeth graze your jaw, you’re forced to admit— silently and rather breathlessly— that you really, really aren’t mad at all.

tags ;; @dancininseptember @robinbuckleywife @kripkie101-blog @bradleybeachbabe @vinecstasy @thejordiverse @preciouslosers @keeryhours

[unkindnessesofone]

finally working on cactus in the valley 2

[unkindnessesofone]

I leave tomorrow for a weekend away and would love some more requests to write some stories.

Request a Prompt

I am working on a few stories at once, but I am also going away for the weekend and like the idea of writing some prompt-inspired requests.

Rules:

Be kind.

Send me a prompt and someone you would like it to be about.

Right now, I write for Warfare characters, most Will Poulter characters, and I used to write for Steve Harrington and Billy Hargrove (It's been a long while, but I am willing to try again!)

I don't mind a lot of difficult subjects, but I am not going to be writing a "dark" fic. That really does not appeal to me.

Be kind.

100 Prompts:

I'd put money on that

I really appreciate you doing that

If I get one more e-mail about this

Don't say ducks again

Are you listening to Cher?

Why do they always call you?

Please make everything better

I need your help

Ask questions 

You're locked out

Do you know the law?

Send him a letter

How are you still alive?

Don't compare us

It's just bullshit

Can you make those changes?

There's not really time for that.

Nobody cares about the cupcakes

Take the day

What a weird thing to say to someone trying to help you.

I'll give you a little treat

You can not nap here 

Well, she hates me. Really hates me.

You are an agent of chaos

I couldn't sleep 

All day. No regrets.

Quick question…

That's a fucked up judgment 

Thank you for handling it

Why are you scared to ask him?

Stop apologizing.

I can explain to you how wrong you are if you would like

Glow stick party!

I'm not your charity case.

Can I bother you for a minute?

Can you close the door, please?

Don't do that. Don't play nice. 

It was not small. 

Do I hear a baby?

What do you mean by ‘I'm not sure’?

I just want to be home

Your intentions don't change anything.

They're whispering over there

We are running off McDonald's 

I shouldn't tell you that

It feels like vacation 

You're the only one who knows who to do it. 

I am so glad you waited until the last possible minute

That is not your call to make

I think it's dealt with

What I feel is hunger

Run. 

Stupid comes to mind.

Celebrate what?

Must be nice!

If it isn't the thief…

Thank you for saving my salad dressing

I do not like this mindset

Yawning is a bad sign.

Everyone is away

Nothing is embarrassing after 3PM on a July Friday

You apologize all the time. 

It can just be between us 

I should have known about Monday

This seems ambitious 

Take it outside

 It’s just a number, baby.

They’re called minions.

Split up

There's nothing in there.

We weren’t at our best

You’re getting water everywhere

I haven’t heard from her since June.

What would I even do there?

You’re staring again

I need a place to stay tonight.

Is that an accusation?

Don’t call me that

This isn’t how I want to remember things.

I’ll probably just cry myself to sleep.

How many?

It will be so disgusting.

It's going to sound ridiculous.

You’re a lot drunker than last time

Would you look at me?

Kiss me like that

Please, make it stop. 

Did he just take a picture?

We have a winner

Do not punish me.

We have very different ideas of a good time.

Is tonight the night?

It's in my backseat.

My body remembers.

You're more important.

It was a long time ago.

Boo fucking hoo.

Join the club.

You grew up.

Why did you think I would want that?

*feel free to use the prompts yourself. tag me. i like to read.

[unkindnessesofone]

THE DEATH CURE DELETED SCENES ➳ Trust each other(2/?)

[unkindnessesofone]

DOG DAY IS LEGIT THE BEST WHOLESOME TOMMY SMUT IVE EVER READ IM BLUSHING

Oh my goodness. I'm so glad you like it. An unairconditioned house is decent inspiration!

[unkindnessesofone]

Dog Day [Tommy x Reader]

Notes: Sometimes you just sit down and write whatever comes and what comes is something real filthy. This is 18+ only!

There was no ideal day for the air conditioner to die, but during a heatwave in the beginning of August felt particularly ill-timed. Desperate for relief, you rolled a cherry Coke can from the fridge over your clavicle, down your stomach, and then between your thighs. Over the kitchen table, you had thrown the shirt and shorts you had on before. If you were going to be cooked in your home, it would have to be on a pair of cotton underwear and a swim top. The beads of sweat racing down your spine suggested that that might be too much material. 

Wiping his flushed face with the bottom of his shirt, Tommy appeared like a vision through the front door, a wrench in hand and a smile on his face. He was better about the heat than you were due to being stationed in various climates. Tommy had a completely different relationship with comfort than you did. 

“Oh, I like this outfit.” Stopping himself abruptly, Tommy drew his gaze up and down the body he so adored, leaning back like he was trying to frame a perfect shot. He went back in motion, putting down the tool on top of the table, and coming at you with hungry hands.

Backing away, you held up both palms like stop signs. The idea of being touched right now when you were sticky and hot was awful. 

“What's the verdict? Can you fix it?” There was hope in your voice that Tommy diminished with a swift shake of his head.

“Oh no. It's dead dead. We have to replace it.”

“When? How?” You did think it was dramatic to say that under no circumstance could you live like this. 

“I texted Frank before coming in. See if he knows a guy.” 

Tommy was closing the space between you both, sunlight pouring in through the kitchen window was soon hidden by his chest against yours as his fingers walked lightly up your back. You could feel that he was turned on and the mischievous smirk fixed under a little line of sweat suggested he was not at all deterred by the humidity. 

“Tommy, we got to go to the store for fans or a window AC, something. I can't do this.” Squirming away from his touch, you griped. Usually, you craved his hands on you, roaming around on a leisurely mission to find new sweet spots. Right now was not a good time. “Tommy, concentrate.” He was looking at you like he was tucked in a booth at Red Lobster and you were the first basket of Cheddar Bay biscuits on the table during Lobsterfest. 

“You're glistening in your underwear.” He pointed out, trying to look you in the eyes, but he barely made a second. Sweat coated the top of your breasts and he wanted to slide himself between them. “I am a man who is in love with you! What do you want from me?” He sensed your annoyed glare as he was not checking in with your face. 

“I'm going to put on a giant shirt and go to the store myself.” Reaching around him, the keys clanged together between your fingers. In a second, you decided on a window unit and a giant watermelon slurpee would be the shopping list. 

Sidestepping to stay in your way, Tommy rested one hand at your hip and took the keys from your right hand without any fight.

“I will drive.” His car and big box stores had working AC, you two could go enjoy together. “I could also take your mind off how uncomfortable you are first…” Dropping his gaze to your underwear, Tommy bit his bottom lip at the idea of pulling them down with his teeth and burying his tongue inside. He always said you had turned him into a voracious pussy-eater having not enjoyed it so much in the past. You had to admit that he had worked hard and upped his tongue flicking game. Generally, he didn't stop until you came against his plush lips. 

You didn't resist. The wheels were turning in your head that felt more like an oven at the moment. Tommy pulled his shirt overhead and dropped it beside him before he began to lower himself down to his knees. He heard your lips part, objection coming, and kept his hands and mouth to himself.

“If we are going to have sex right now, it's going to be in a cold shower.”

“A cold shower?” He was basically asking if you were crazy. “The place I go to not think about being inside you?” 

You sighed just as he groaned, stepping closer so his face was right at your bare stomach. He kissed it while you combed four fingers roughly through his hair. 

“Fine. You can go down on me, but the bedroom window has to be open.”

“Hey, I'm a good boy! I always follow the rules.” He held up two fingers, a scout's promise made in the clammy air, then jumped to his feet. 

Tommy threw you over his shoulders, delighting in the small squeak it prompted from your mouth, and took the stairs with the eagerness of a child before placing you on the unmade bed and crawling up. He almost forgot to open the window, distracted by the view of you on your back and waiting for him. Once a weak breeze had access to the bedroom, your body relaxed against the sheets. Tommy saw a smile slowly twitch under your nose as you shut your eyes and lifted up your arms, making your shimmering chest bounce and his erection ache under his jeans. He stood up off the bed and stripped down to his underwear, adjusting the band for his comfort before excusing himself with a finger raised. 

“I’m going to make you feel so good.” He promised in a deep whisper when he returned, taking you in for just a moment and helping himself to another mental snapshot. You had been trying to focus on what relief you could get that you hadn’t heard Tommy go up or down the stairs. He crawled between your legs and ran one hand up your stomach, an ice cube gliding over your skin and causing you to gasp. Instantly, your body lit up with goosebumps. He was grinning, so proud of himself, when your eyes shot open and found him adoring you. He moved the cube around one breast and then under the other before putting it in his mouth and getting off the bed. 

Tommy folded himself to his knees and yanked off your underwear without any hesitation, hovering his cold breath over your wet slit before licking at it. Shivering with pleasure, Tommy had to put his hands down on your thighs to keep them open and still. He held the cube against your clit and felt you fight the freeze against his grip. The ice cube was melting in his mouth quickly, but the icy memory stayed on his tongue as he lapped at you before sticking it deep inside, flicking rapidly - something he had taught himself and knew it brought you right to the edge of bliss. 

He watched you from his favorite spot, one hand hidden under the pillow while the other gripped at the sheets, wiggling without any control of your body. You were screaming his name, grateful for the interruption and relief from the summer heat, but it was muffled thanks to your legs tightly pressed against his ears. He counted down from ten in his head and watched as you let go right before he hit ‘ten’, coming apart slowly and then all at once in his mouth. 

As your legs freed him, he stretched his neck from left to right  and licked his shiny mouth.

“How do you always know just what I need?” Breathlessly, you turned your head to ask as he found his pants on the ground. It was a tie as to which one of you was stickier with sweat. You were surprised he wasn’t looking for more, something to help him get off. 

“I just do.” He shrugged like it was nothing, but there was pride in the way he stood up straight and smiled with his front teeth on display. “Like I know you are going to need to stop for a Slurpee on the way to Lowe’s.” He dangled the keys above his head as if it was the slushie beverage. “Let’s go. I got to hold up my end of the bargain.” It had not been a lie. Tommy was a good boy who followed the rules.