A/N: First chapter, bitches! Lmao just kidding bruh. Calm down. None of y'all are bitches. Unless, of course, you match one of the descriptions in Tupac's Wonda Why They Call U Bitch then ehh maybe I'm literal but we're not here to know what I mean and what I don't mean. I got a freakin' CILEY STORY that takes place while in their 20'S! Bruh I thought the day would never come. I planned to do a Riley story (which is going to be called Not Your Average Superhero so don't you muthafuckas dare steal my ideas now) at the same time I was writing Tutoring Our Love but hey shit happens and I figured I better get the sequel of DMMRI out instead of waiting after writing several stories. But don't worry now, children lol that just means I have another Riley story coming out (that'll be Mindy which means RileyxOC, so, sorry Ciley fans) and another Juey story because Juey is endgame; Juey is life; the idea of Juey alone is valued more in my heart than any other freakin' idea I've ever had so it's going down and Juey for life. But lemme stop before I get carried away. It's Ciley time now. So, without further ado, I present to you: Mixed Feelings and Money Problems.

P.S. There will be many different points of view—including Huey and Jazmine's because there might be some mentions of them (hey gotta have the whole crew together)—and also including 3rd person point of view or even an omniscient narrator point of view. So yah. LEGGO TO THE DISCLAIMER.

P.S.S. I will actually try to keep up with different lines from different characters depending on the different material within each chapter, as I tried to do with DMMRI but failed on keeping up with it. And I'm thinking about song suggestions… so yah that's the end of my more-than-300 word A/N.

DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN THE BOONDOCKS

Look, fuck you. Fuck the plane you flew in on. Fuck them shoes. Fuck those socks with the belt on it. Fuck yo gay ass fairy faggot accent. Fuck them cheap ass cigars. Fuck yo yuk-mouth teeth. Fuck you hairpiece. Fuck yo chocolate. Fuck Guy Ritchie. Fuck Prince William. Fuck the Queen. This is America. My president is Black and my Lambo is blue, nigga. Now get the fuck out my hotel room… and if I see you in the street, I'm slappin' the shit out of you.

Riley Freeman; The Fundraiser

Riley's POV:

Damn. Who the fuck decided to take the last of that damn Advil, Aleve, whateva the fuck I had in here…

I run my hand through my cornrows, trying to track back in my mind what nigga I let over here with a headache that would take my shit, or what bitch could suck a good dick to take all this pain away.

Damn. Nothing.

I sit down in my bed again, trying to take the pain away…

…But this big ass house has too many windows to even close my eyes in peace.

You see, after Granddad died when I was 17, being that Huey was already an adult, 19, he became by legal guardian for the next few months or whateva. It was either him or someone in Chicago, and frankly, a nigga didn't wanna leave Whitecrest as much as I hate to admit it.

I don't even know… I guess it was too familiar for me to leave for a few months, then try to get re-familiarized with another place, and then come back here for college. Plus, I'd be leaving my homies like C-Murph and Hiro and Ceez behind; shit, I'd even miss Jazmine and Huey's gay ass.

But, luckily for me, Huey trusted me enough to hold it down in Granddad's old house, while he and Jazmine both, in their second year at The University of Woodcrest, got an off-campus apartment (probably to fuck more).

So, in my spare time, when I wasn't banging some random chick from school, or skipping classes or whateva, I began drawing all these crazy different designs and random shit that popped in my head and shit, and I collected/organized them in folders.

Eventually, I had so many drawings and sketches that I could organize them into different folders.

I showed my homies my different drawings, but C-Murph seemed to like them the most… even suggested that I become a tattoo artist.

As for the rest of the crew, Hiro became a DJ at a club, C-Murph was basically living off her dad's wealth—but she had went to college for psychology or somethin' like that, she just didn't go to Med. School for it—Caesar was an entrepreneur and invested in all sorts of things like one of them niggas on that show Sharktank, Jazmine was an up-and-coming fashion designer, Huey the hater took over for Al Sharpton on his show on MSNBC, Politics Nation, and I always had the hookup to the nice clubs.

And after I went to the Woodcrest Community College (I had skipped too many days to get into Yale or some shit like Huey, but I still had the grades), between all the connections I had, I was able to chase my dreams and get a pretty good tattoo gig.

The pay was great, but unfortunately there wasn't that many niggas in Woodcrest willing to pay for a tattoo; let alone niggas in Woodcrest even wanting a tattoo.

So a nigga always gotta beg a bitch like I'm Huey's gay self just to get some paper. Shit, Baltimore isn't that far away. I be calling Baltimore bitches up, telling 'em I'll sleep with them and shit, just to get my hands on some paper..

I swear if I get STD's before I turn 21…

\-_-/

Usually, when you imagine yourself waking up, you imagine waking up gracefully.

Well, imagination is hella different than reality.

All I hear as I wake up is knocking on the door, and my phone vibrating a million times or so.

I got up from the bed, went downstairs, and opened the door, to find Caesar standing there, waiting, with a message.

"Cindy said to, and I quote, 'answer your damn phone, nigga'," he says, walking through the door and making himself at home. "And Huey and Jazmine told me to make sure you knew that they are coming over," he adds.

"So what are you, now, nigga? The messenger?" I jokingly ask, and Ceez laughs.

"Guess so, man. All a homie wanna do is get out there and get his business going, but all these chicks in the industry are tryna get on my dick to get promoted, or if they not with my company to say that I raped them or some shit to try and take me down. Man, I'm so over it."

"I feel you, nigga. I feel you… no homo."

Just then, there's a knock at the door.

3rd Person POV:

"Come in, nigga!" Riley yells at the door, assuming who's there.

"Hey, nigga!" Damian greets, coming through the door. Damian had a twin brother, named Damon, who was lord knows where. Damon was the smart freak, and Damian was the sporty but shy one.

"Aye, where Damon at?" Caesar asks.

"Saw some girl passing on the sidewalk he was digging. I don't know where he went after that, though."

"Damn. Young boul is always getting some," Caesar comments, shaking his head.

"You got that right," Riley agrees, before turning to Damian. "So why y'all here? I thought we were going clubbing tomorrow."

"Damon said that he wanted to—"

"I-I… wanted to," Damon starts coming out of nowhere. He was breathing heavily, as if he ran all the way up.

"Damn, nigga. Where the hell you come from?" Riley says in amazement.

"Africa. Thought you woulda known," Damon jokes, catching his breath a bit more. "But nah the girl I saw was actually crazy, and I needed to get up here A-S-A-P."

"So what did you wanna ask me?" Riley questions him.

"Oh. I ain't got no questions. Cindy sent me over to tell you that she's gonna whoop your ass later if you don't call her in the next 20 minutes. I just brought Damian along."

"More like I drove," Damian corrects Damon.

Riley gulps a little bit, processing Cindy's threat. "And exactly how long did it take you to get over here?" he asks with worry.

"15 minutes driving, one minute parking. Then it took a minute for me to come up here, and two minutes, after that, for Damon. So, yeah… you only got a matter of seconds left before your as gets beat," Damian does the math for him; able to tell what he was worrying about.

Riley runs to his room and picks up his phone, before shooing all of them out.

"Go, niggas, go!" He yells.

"Don't forget dinner!" Caesar yells as a reminder right back at him.