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theegoldenchild · 21 days ago

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Chapter Five: The Devils Tongue (Part 1)

Warnings: Smoke is horny | Stack is horny | Sera is horny | I am horny

Whispers through Mississippi started slow, the way southern rumors always did. Nothing more than a tilt of the head and a hushed breath passed between hands full of laundry or mouths full of honey butter cornbread.

“They say they bringin’ music out to the north field…”

“One of them juke joints… with dancers and shine and God knows what else…”

“Right behind the preacher’s house, Lord have mercy…”

Sera heard them all. At church. At the water pump. Through the walls when her father met with the deacons. The same words repeated like scripture passed down the wrong way.

The SmokeStack twins were opening a juke joint, and not just anywhere. Not thirty miles up the road like they said they would. Not on neutral ground with enough distance to keep peace in the state. But right there. On the north field. A heartbeat away from her father’s back porch. Like a slap in the face to Pastor Samuel.

And legally? There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Because that land… the north field… was no longer his. Smoke and Stack had drawn up papers before the battle and slipped them in the mouth of war like a knife beneath a blessing. Pastor Samuel had signed off on it, too proud or too desperate to read the fine print. It was theirs now. All of it.

Sera stood in front of the open window of her upstairs bedroom, watching the transformation unfold in the distance. She hadn’t been outside in weeks due her restricted freedom and the schedule of a housewife with no husband. She scrubbed. She stitched. She read. She prayed. She was finally being seen as good again.

She didn’t allow her hands to touch herself anymore. It was a one time occurrence even though the protective shadow stood outside her door every night waiting for more. Instead of giving in she would sit on her hands until they went numb. The only true form of relief she received was when she went to sleep. It was the only time she felt free enough to let the twins cloud her mind without judgment.

But now… the world was moving again, just beyond the edge of the tree line. Where once there was wild grass and silence, there were now men. Men building a frame out of reclaimed wood and intention. Men hammering under the sun, smoking cigarettes and singing in low voices while Stack strutted across the foundation like a carnival ringleader. His suspenders hung loose at his hips, white button-down open at the collar, gold tooth flashing every time he tossed his head back and laughed.

Sera watched as he pulled a flask from his pocket and toasted a man twice his size. He wasn’t helping, just directing. Giving out orders with a grin that suggested he was halfway drunk and still the smartest man on the field.

Smoke, on the other hand, worked in silence. Jacket off, sleeves rolled, his undershirt clinging to the hard shape of his back as he dragged barrels of supplies from their truck. No smiles. No jokes. Just labor.

Downstairs, Pastor Samuel paced the parlor like a man waiting for fire to walk through the door. “They mean to shame me,” he murmured under his breath, hands clenched behind his back. “To tempt God right on holy land!” He stopped in front of the window and scowled out toward the north field. “Liquor. Dancing. Woman’s legs flashing under red lights. Music that stirs sin up from the bones.”

“Then why sell them the land?” one of the deacons asked.

Samuel’s jaw tensed. “They didn’t say nothin’ about this when they signed. Said it was temporary. Said they just needed it for defense.”

“They defendin’ something now,” another deacon sighed. “Their right to party, I reckon.”

The room fell into a tense silence. Samuel broke it with a slam of his fist on the window frame. “They’ll burn in hell for what they’re doing!”

That night, when Sera crept out of bed and pulled back the curtain again, the bones of the juke joint had been raised. The walls stood. The dance floor was built. And a glowing sign leaned against the steps, freshly painted in blue and red:

The Devil’s Tongue

The name itself felt like a dare. A joke that clung to her skin like cigarette smoke she wished to smell again. She touched the window glass, fingers lingering. She couldn’t hear the music yet. Couldn’t smell the liquor or see the women in low-cut dresses. But she felt it somehow. A slow, wild heartbeat starting to stir beneath the soil. One that matched her own.

The heat never left Mississippi, not even when the sun gave up and the stars pulled their blanket across the sky. It clung to the ground like sweat to skin, curling into the roots and pressing against windows like a watchful ghost.

Sera stood barefoot on her back porch, fingers clutching an empty pail, her eyes fixed on the silent well pump. It had coughed and sputtered all morning and now it was nothing but a rusted hunk of metal. Dry, breathless, useless. Just like yesterday. And the day before that… And the day before that…

She shifted, looking out past the trees toward the north field. The juke joint was almost finished with lanterns that glowed in the distance like a row of watchful eyes, flickering against the frame of the new structure. She could hear hammers still ringing out in the distance and the low thrum of voices too far away to decipher.

Her stomach turned in knots. She shouldn’t go. She knew she shouldn’t. But her skin itched with the stick of the day. Sweat clung beneath her arms, behind her knees, at the curve of her back where the cotton of her dress stuck like sin. Her hair, pinned tight beneath her scarf, felt heavy with dust and oil. She needed a bath. But she needed forgiveness more. And so she made herself pure the only way she knew how before walking into the lion's den.

She layered her body in silence. First, a slip, plain and soft, yellowed with age. Then, the second dress, brown, thick muslin with sleeves that reached past her wrists and a collar that scratched against her throat. Then, a third, black, starched and long, hanging loose down to her ankles. It swallowed her whole.

She took a black scarf and wrapped her curly hair tightly, then draped another across the lower half of her face. All that was left were her eyes. A pair of tired honey orbs that flicked to the heavens one last time. “Lord, please don’t let no one see me.”

The pail creaked in her hand as she stepped off the porch and began the slow walk toward the north field. The woods whispered around her as she moved, branches brushed her shoulders while grass crunched underfoot. The trees thinned the closer she got, replaced by an open field and smoke curling upward from the juke joint chimney. She stayed to the edge where the shadows were thickest. Somehow the pail felt heavier the closer she came.

Laughter drifted across the breeze and boots scraped against wood. She saw them now, men sitting on crates and barrels, some smoking, some drinking, some talking low with the slack confidence of those who knew they owned the night. Sera kept her head bowed, steps slow and cautious, skirts rustling as they brushed her ankles.

“Now what’s this?” one man called out, voice slurred with liquor. “Ain’t that the damn preacher’s girl?”

She stopped dead in her tracks like a deer caught in headlights.

Another man leaned forward, squinting at her. “Lord have mercy, she look like she tryin’ to scare the devil himself in all that black.”

A low ripple of laughter erupted amongst the men and her eyes stayed on the ground. She moved again, feet whispering across the dirt with embarrassment latching onto her like a second skin.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouths or I’ll slit your throats and use them vocal cords for catfish bait.” That voice didn’t laugh. And it didn’t have to. Smoke was tucked off in a corner sitting on a crate and watched Sera’s every step. He didn’t need to shout. He didn’t even stand from the crate he was resting on. All he had to do was turn his head towards his men, give them a look, and silence followed.

Sera reached the water pump, hands shaking like a leaf as she tried to make the water come out. Her eyes darted once towards the porch just long enough to see the slant of Smoke’s jaw under the red lantern glow and the way he watched her.

Stack appeared from inside the juke and leaned against a post, arms crossed with the glint of his gold tooth flashing beneath his smirk. “Pretty girl… my little dove… we missed you,” he drawled. “You goin’ to a funeral, or tryin’ not to tempt a soul on God’s green earth dressed in all that black?”

Like always the sound of Stacks voice caught Sera off guard and her hands jerked the handle too hard. Water splashed everywhere, soaking through all three of her dresses and the cold water clung to her now wet stomach. Her cheeks flamed. “I’m just gettin’ water Mr. Stack,” she mumbled, voice muffled by fabric.

Stack said nothing as he stepped off the porch with an unhurried and deliberate movement. He closed the distance between himself and Sera, merging their shadows together under the moonlight. His fingers came up slow, the way a wolf would approach a skittish rabbit. No rush. No threat. Just intent.

And for some reason Sera didn’t flinch when his hand touched her scarf. But she did stop breathing for a moment. Delicately, he slid his fingers beneath the scarf that covered her face and loosened the knot at the back. The cotton slipped under his touch and the damp air kissed her skin as he drew the scarf away and dropped it into her trembling hands.

“There,” he whispered, voice deep and soft. “That’s better.”

Soon as the scarf came off she diverted her eyes away from him. Everything about this was too intimate and Sera wrestled with the idea of touching herself again tonight. Her lips were red and full from biting them too much. And Stack couldn’t help himself. He lifted her chin and guided his thumb over her swollen bottom lip… just once. Her shoulders twitched at the contact, and she gasped so quietly it almost sounded like a moan.

“Too pretty to stay hidden, little dove,” he said. “It’s a sin, really. Coverin’ all this up like God didn’t take His time makin’ you.”

Behind them, Smoke stilled completely. Not a muscle moved. His eyes were locked on Stack’s hand on Sera's lips. And the way her body stiffened before quivering under the weight of attention she’d never been taught how to carry.

“I—my daddy says…” she stammered, eyes flicking toward the pump like it might save her.

“That nigga says a lotta things,” Stack chuckled, stepping just slightly to the side still holding her chin and forcing her to face him. “And I bet you ain’t ever questioned a single one.”

Sera made eye contact then, just for a second. Enough for Stack to see her eyes, all stormy and lost. Like he was driving a ship filled with her emotions and could guide her back to shore.

“You don’t gotta answer to no man out here,” he rasped. “’Cept’ maybe us.”

“Stack,” Smoke finally warned before walking near the two of them.

Stack didn’t take his eyes off Sera. His voice dropped to a murmur, almost sweet. “I’m just admirin’ her, Elijah. A man can’t enjoy lookin’ at his woman?”

Sera blinked as her mind started racing a million miles a minute. His woman? Stack was claiming her as HIS woman? And that name…. Elijah. It tangled in her thoughts like a loose thread. It felt sacred and forbidden.

“…Elijah,” she whispered, tasting it like something sweet she wasn’t supposed to have. “Is that really your name?”

Behind her, the pump creaked once in the wind. The lantern’s glow flickered on the porch and casted both twins in molten amber. Stack turned his head just slightly, watching the chaos he created unfold. He knew better than to say Smoke's real name, but seeing his older brother lose his composure around Sera was becoming entertaining.

Smoke moved without speaking before standing beside his brother—broad shoulders brushing Stack’s, both of them now a wall of muscle and firelight.

They weren’t in their suits tonight. Just white undershirts clinging to sweat-slick coca butter skin. Broad chests rising steady and deep. The cotton stretched tight across every sharp line… hard work and violence carved into the shape of two men who didn’t belong to God or the law.

And Sera… she couldn’t help it. Her eyes wandered. First to Stack’s chest… then to Smoke’s stomach. The way his shirt clung to the lines carved just above his hips. The faint dusting of dark hair there. She quickly looked away and mentally prayed to the high heavens.

“You don’t say my name like that,” Smoke said suddenly, voice sharp enough to snap her attention back to his eyes.

He stepped closer, just enough to greedily capture her full attention. And then his hand came up. The same hand that has been infiltrating her dreams for weeks. He took her chin from Stack like passing a torch, holding her face now between his own fingers. And gently his thumb dragged across her bottom lip.

A shiver rolled down her spine and Smoke’s eyes didn’t move. “That name’s dangerous in your mouth,” he warned, thumb still teasing the seam of her lips. “You say it again and I might forget I’m tryin’ to be good.”

Sera’s chest rose in a shaky breath. Her lips quaked under his thumb.

“I—I didn’t mean to tempt you,” she whispered, her voice catching like a prayer half-swallowed. “I just never heard it before. It’s a real nice name…”

“Don’t matter if it’s nice,” Stack cut in, his voice smooth and wicked like all this wasn’t his fault. “It belongs in the mouth of a woman who’s ready to own it. You ready to own our names, little dove?”

Sera didn’t answer. The air between them was heavy, like moments before a hurricane when the sky forgets how to breathe.

Her fingers nervously fidgeted with the wet fabric on her stomach. The water had splashed more than she realized drenching the front of her dresses. Now the fabric uncomfortably clung to her skin as she kept trying to pull it away.

Smoke’s eyes dropped to her twitching fingers and lingered as unholy thoughts and flashbacks filled his mind. Tonight would be another night of self-control he isn’t sure he has anymore. He exhaled through his nose before letting Sera��s face go and pinched his bridge.

“Come on,” he said roughly, voice edged with something he didn’t bother hiding. “You can’t go home like that.”

Sera blinked up at him. “What?”

“I said, come on.” His jaw worked like he was fighting with his own teeth. “You’re soaked. Ain’t decent. Come inside the barn. Dry off fore’ your daddy sees you like this.”

Stack’s grin grew. “Or don’t,” he teased, cocking his head. “Let the preacher get a good look at my woman… wet, breathin’ heavy, and wearin’ all these damn dresses like modesty might save her.”

Sera’s mocha freckled face flushed scarlet. “I didn’t… I wasn’t tryin’ to—” She stuttered over her words, eyes flicking between the twins, too flustered to run but also too nervous to stay.

“My daddy’s comin’ home soon,” she said quickly, breath tight. “He’ll notice I’m not at the house.”

Smoke leaned forward, his face unreadable in the lantern light. “Then move fast.” He turned without waiting and started toward the barn, his broad back cutting through the dark like a blade. Stack gave her a playful smile and followed behind, whistling low.

Sera hesitated while looking at the twins and the road back to her home. The walk back would be uncomfortable with a wet dress, but then it would be difficult to explain to her father how she accidentally got three dresses wet tonight.

The water sloshed in her bucket. The wet fabric clung to her skin. And every inch of her burned with bubbling rebellion. Just for tonight, she would willingly follow the lions into their den.

The barn loomed ahead, once quiet and forgotten, now pulsing with music and light. Opening night was tomorrow and the twins had turned it into something else entirely. The thrum of a distant record played on the phonograph. Dim lanterns glowed from the rafters. Tables lined the edges. The scent of tobacco, moonshine, and heat hung in the air like a warning.

Smoke held the door open. “Inside,” he ordered, voice firm and cracking with irritation. “Ain’t nobody gonna touch you. We just don’t want nobody seein’ you like this.”

Stack leaned in close to Sera's ear and whispered before glancing down at her clinging skirts. “Though if you ask me, they should see you. You might convert half the sinners in town just by walkin’ past.”

Sera ducked her head and stepped in. Heat rolled through her as the door shut behind her and trapped her inside with two men who didn’t know how to pray… but sure as hell knew how to sin.

The barn’s music was a low hum in the distance now, muffled by the walls that separated the front room from the back. Smoke didn’t speak as he led her deeper into the converted juke joint, past crates of bootleg whiskey and mystery crates that smell of gunpowder and metal. Stack followed behind, quiet but not silent, his presence was felt more than heard.

Sera’s eyes adjusted slowly to the shadows until they reached the rear of the barn, an unmarked door tucked between a record shelf and an old upright piano. Smoke opened it with a worn key he kept on a chain around his neck.

The space inside was nothing like she expected.

A faint drop light flickered in the middle of the room revealing a simple iron-frame bed in the corner covered in dark sheets, thick quilts, and pillows. Lots of pillows. Too many for one man.

A steam iron hissed faintly from the far table, a white mist rising above a freshly cleaned pair of slacks. Before Stack joined his brother outside, he was back here ironing their clothes for tomorrow. Unlike the rest of the converted barn, this wasn’t a room for entertaining. This was Smoke’s room, where he would privately wind down after fighting the world.

“Sit,” Smoke ordered gently, nodding toward the edge of his bed.

Sera looked between the welcoming bed and Smoke before slightly shaking her head no. “My clothes are wet. I’ll mess ya bed up,” she whispered.

“Won’t be wet for long… or maybe you will,” Stack answered from behind, already walking towards the steam iron. “I’ll take care of the dresses. You just sit tight, little dove.”

Sera gripped onto the wet fabric of her top dress and hesitated. Her arms folded tight over her chest, and her eyes landed on the oak floor, to the bed, to the iron… to anything besides the twins. “I… I don’t know if I should.”

Stack turned halfway, glancing over his shoulder. “Ain’t no one askin’ you to strip down bare, darlin’. But sittin’ in soaked fabric don’t do nobody no good. Go on, take the top one off. I know you got fiddy’ more under it.”

She still didn’t move. Her spine was rigid with uncertainty, like a deer in a snare, not sure whether to flee or surrender.

“That dress stickin’ to your stomach like that?” Stack murmured. “You’re gonna catch cold before you get home. You want to go home to ya daddy snifflin’?”

Sera scrunched her face and quickly fixed it, “I’m fine… can’t nobody catch colds bein’ wet in the summer,” she said quickly and defensively.

“You’re not,” Smoke cut in quietly, his voice an authoritative thread of reason in the thick air. “You ain’t fine. You’re cold, and wet, and tremblin’ even though it’s a hunnid’ degrees tonight. Let us help.”

Nibbling on the inside of her cheek Sera looked over at Smoke who was sitting in a chair across his bed and taking his boots off. Like he didn’t just give her the final push she needed to comply. Hesitantly, her fingers rose slowly to the ties at the back of her neck. Her movements were stiff and nervous, but also determined… determined to show Smoke she knew how to follow directions. Why? Well, she wasn’t quite sure about that yet but it felt natural to do so. The first dress came loose with a reluctant sigh, and she peeled it off, water dripping from the hem as she folded it in her arms.

Stack moved forward to take it, but not before letting his eyes travel over the second dress now revealed. This one clung closer to the skin but not enough for his liking. He took the garment from her hands, his fingers brushing hers for a split second longer than they should’ve. No smile. No teasing. Just a pause before he turned back to the iron.

Sera swallowed and turned her back to them as she shyly lifted the second dress at the hem. Her hands shook with trepidation. The wet cotton stuck to her thighs, refusing to come off easily. The sound of it peeling from her skin was deafening in the silence. Keeping her eyes glued to the wooden floor she avoided handing Stack the second dress and instead placed it next to his work station.

“You wearin’ another under that one too?” Stack asked, quieter now.

Her voice was tight and she nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, almost to himself.

She didn’t respond. The third dress came off slower. For some reason she didn’t feel as shy giving him her final gown of armor. But she still wasn’t able to make eye contact as she placed this dress next to the other one. She stood there in her plain white chemise and form fitting bloomers, the thin cotton clinging to her every curve. Modest by any standard. But not to them.

Stack turned his back under the pretense of adjusting the iron’s dial, but his hands clenched tighter than they needed to. Smoke stared a moment longer before letting his eyes drift up to her frazzled face.

“You don’t gotta be nervous,” Smoke said quietly while pushing his desires down. “Ain’t nobody gonna touch you unless you ask us to. You safe here.”

Sera’s eyes lifted and she bit down hard on her bottom lip almost drawing blood to conceal her shock. “I’m not askin’ for that,” she said quickly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not askin’ for nothin’,” Stack replied, in a hushed tone. “That’s the part we don’t like.”

She blinked and turned her head. “What?”

Stack sighed and shook his head, “You don’t ask for what you want. You wait for someone to give you permission. That ain’t livin’, dove. That’s just breathin’ quiet.”

The tension settled between them again. Smoke crossed to the dresser and pulled out a white button-up shirt… his. It looked soft and worn, sleeves rolled just above the elbow and a faint scent of sandalwood still clinging to it. “Put this on,” he said, offering it without looking directly at her. “Till your things dry.”

Sera reached for it carefully, fingers brushing his as she took it. The shirt hung heavy in her hands, and when she slipped it on, it swallowed her tall curvaceous frame falling to mid-thigh, the collar open, and sleeves trailing past her fingertips.

Stack watched her move from the corner of his eye while working the steam iron over her first dress. “Don’t get too comfortable in that shirt, pretty girl. You’re liable to turn a man religious walkin’ ‘round like that.”

Smoke ignored him and sat back in his assigned seat for the night and continued rolling a cigarette. Sera watched him curiously before sitting on the edge of his bed. “Why… why do you have so many pillows?” she asked softly, her voice colored with innocent confusion. “Ain’t just you in here, is it?”

Sera didn’t mean to ask an intrusive question but she genuinely was curious about the pillows. Stack burst into a laugh behind her, not cruel but full of wicked delight. “Ain’t no woman in here, if that’s what you mean,” he chuckled, pressing down on the fabric. “But them pillows sure seen their share of sins.”

Sera blinked, face heating. “I— I don’t understand—”

Smoke ran a hand down his jaw and finally looked up, his cold gaze cutting through her to glare at his twin. “I use ’em when I can’t sleep,” he said evenly, ignoring his brother’s grin. “That’s all.”

But Sera didn’t miss the tick of his jaw… or the way he refused to look at the bed when he said it.

Stack gave a low hum and chuckled to himself. “He sleep just fine when he’s got the right thing in his hands.”

Sera turned her face away, but not before the brothers saw the flush rush up her cheeks, blooming high across her cheekbones. She tucked her knees in tighter beneath the oversized white shirt, trying to disappear into the fabric but the effect only made her look more precious and touchable. Like some delicate secret wrapped in cotton and candlelight.

Smoke said nothing at first. He sat with one ankle resting on his knee, elbows on his thighs, a tin of tobacco in one hand and paper in the other. His gaze flicked toward her, completely indecipherable. “You ever rolled a cigarette before?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Sera blinked. The question seemed ridiculous considering her background but she let her sarcastic answer die on her tongue. “No, sir.”

He gave a short nod and tapped the tin open with his thumb. “C’mere,” he said, in a detached yet seductive tone. “I’ll show you.” Stack raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say a word. Instead he focused on his task and continued this best to dry Sera’s dresses.

She didn’t move at first. Her amber eyes searched Smoke’s face for mischief or cruelty, but found only that mysterious calm, shadowed by the golden glow of a nearby oil lamp. Her fingers clutched the shirt tighter. “I—I’m fine over here…”

“Like I said sweetheart… You’re safe,” Smoke reassured, still focused on the paper in his hands. “If you gon’ be sneaking around here with us sinners, you might as well learn new skills.”

The room went quiet and Stack stopped what he was doing to turn and glare at his brother. Smoke and Stack haven’t fought for the attention of the same woman since they were little. And right now it seemed like he was three steps behind as his brother effortlessly took all of Sera's attention. His signature grin dropped and twisted into something quieter… almost possessive.

Sera’s breath came a little quicker, heart thumping like it wanted to jump out of her chest. She shifted again, then slowly climbed off the bed. So many sins had been committed in one night and she tried to keep a mental list of everything she’d have to repent for.

1.) Being alone in a room with TWO dangerous men.

2.) Stripping down to her undergarments in front of these men.

3.) Sitting on a man’s LAP…

4.) LEARNING TO ROLL A CIGARETTE!!

The list seemed never ending, and she didn’t even include how the forbidden wetness had returned between her thighs. Her bare feet padded across the floor, the oversized shirt falling around her knees like a curtain. She stood in front of Smoke for a moment, unsure what to do next.

Smoke looked up at Sera and lowered his leg back down before spreading his thighs wide, “Sit,” he said gently, patting his thigh. “I don’t bite, sweetheart.”

She obeyed, carefully lowering herself into his lap. Even though Sera wasn’t a petite woman, her thick thighs draped over one of his and she felt so small… and protected. Her back stayed stiff as a board as she tried not to let any part of her touch more than necessary. But he was so warm and solid, and her juices were flowing through her underwear leaving little droplets on his slacks. Smoke made no mention of it but let one of his hands drape across her waist and maneuver her on his lap so she couldn’t feel his growing secret.

“Relax,” Smoke muttered near her ear, speaking more to himself than her. “Ain’t no sin in sittin’. Now watch.”

Sera nodded and leaned forward slightly, her side brushing against his chest. The scent of smoke, iron, and something faintly woodsy wrapped around her as he guided her hand gently to the tin.

“This here’s the tobacco. You pinch it like this…” His fingers brushed hers rough, but patient like he wanted to cherish this moment. “And you roll it gentle. Real slow. Gotta feel it. Not just use your hands—use your senses.”

Sera nodded, her breath catching every time his fingers touched hers again, every time the soft rasp of his voice fell too close to her ear. Her whole body was trembling and she subconsciously clenched her thighs together. Smoke noticed, just like how he noticed everything but he didn’t comment on it.

Stack watched them from across the room, no longer focused on ironing and his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re doin’ fine,” Smoke murmured again. “Just like that, baby.” The cigarette was shaped, ready to light. But Sera didn’t move. Her fingers still lingered over his, eyes still focused on what they’d made. “You’re a fast learner,” Smoke added, voice rougher now.

The sound of her soft voice, the way she shifted shyly in Smoke’s lap, the trembling curve of her thigh under the hem of that white shirt, all of it twisted something hot and mean in Stack’s gut. “Didn’t know we was givin’ private lessons tonight,” he chimed as his jealousy blatantly radiated off of him. “Tell me, ‘Lijah… how many other little doves you taught that trick to?”

Smoke’s hand stilled where it had been guiding Sera’s fingers. His jaw flexed as he looked up, not moving her and definitely not letting go. “I ain’t gotta teach anyone but her,” he said low. “Ain’t my fault you too busy flirtin’ to make things stick.”

Stack sucked his teeth and without another word, he walked to the edge of Smoke’s bed, and made himself at home. He sat down with his legs wide and posture relaxed like he wasn’t deliberately intruding. From his back pocket, he pulled a worn silver tin and cracked the lid open with a flick of his thumb.

“You know,” Stack said as he packed tobacco into his palm, “I ain’t never had trouble teachin’ a lesson when it mattered. Some folks just learn different.”

Sera looked between them, her fingers twisting shyly in her lap. She was still perched on Smoke’s knee, now with less certainty like she could foresee the chaos waiting to erupt.

Stack didn’t look at his brother when he spoke, and focused his eyes on his redhead angel. “Maybe she wanna learn from me next,” he said, voice quiet and teasing. “See how different the teacher makes the lesson.”

Smoke let out a slow breath through his nose and leaned back in the chair as he tightened his grip on Sera’s hip. He didn’t move Sera, didn’t rise to meet the provocation. Instead, he set the cigarette they made aside and looked up, his posture calm but his eyes told how he was tired of the game. “There ain’t no need to start trouble,” he said evenly. “Not in front of her.”

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back as Stack and Smoke began bickering like children that didn’t know how to share their new shiny toy. Smoke was losing his patience with his brother.

“Nigga, you got some nerve sittin’ here runnin’ ya mouth like I won’t whoop your ass from here back to Chicago.”

“Ain’t nobody fuckin’ scared of you, Elijah!”

While Smoke and Stack continued to bicker and exchanged biting words between them like flint to steel, Sera sat silently in the middle, unsure where to place her hands, her thoughts and her shame. In the heat of the moment, Smoke unintentionally shifted Sera directly onto his growing erection before picking up a nearby ashtray and chucking it in the direction of Stacks head.

“THROW SUM ELSE I DARE YOU!”

“WATCH YA MOUTH YOU LYIN’ SUMMA’ BITCH!”

It was subtle at first, just a small movement, his hands still steady at her waist. He realigned her to keep her out of the crossfire and placed her soft covered heat directly over the firm ridge of his arousal. The contrast made her breath leave her body and she almost arrived at heaven’s gate. It felt good. Too good. Her thighs tightened instinctively and a dangerous warmth flooded to her lower belly. This was a level of sin she wasn’t sure a night of repentance would fix.

She hadn’t touched herself since that night. That night when Smoke’s voice had stirred something buried deep. Since then, she’d refused to look inward, way too frightened to explore what waited behind her curiosity. Too afraid of what she might become if she gave in.

But tonight… the air hung thick with desire. Like a storm rolling slow and low across the fields. It whispered to her, beckoned her. Promised that if she dared to dip a toe into darkness, she wouldn’t fall alone. Smoke would catch her and Stack would comfort her.

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Their arguing faded, reduced to static on the edge of her mind as she gave in to the devilish sensation. Smoke’s arms, strong and unmoving, bracketed her body like pillars. His chest rose and fell behind her back, steady and unbothered. Too consumed with arguing with his twin. She exhaled slowly and began to move. Barely. Just a cautious shift of her hips back and forth to test the friction. The thick line of him nudged through his slacks up against her blooming flower that pulsed with each movement.

It was maddening. Up and down… an inexperienced grind… back and forth. Each motion of her hips was gentle and full of exploration. She inhaled sharply as Smoke's shirt rustled over her succulent thighs, letting both men see the wet spot forming on her panties. Her hands found Smoke’s thighs, and she gripped them lightly as she sought the pressure her body craved.

The pleasure was delicate at first, like the flutter of a moth’s wings. But it built slowly and steadily. This was different from when she touched herself. Back and forth… up and down… A warm flush crept up her chest and neck. She no longer heard their voices. She closed her eyes and just focused on her breathing and the wet heat gathering between her legs.

Back and forth… left to right… right to left… up and down… Sera gasped again, her breathing ragged and shallow. Her hips moved with more purpose now testing limits she’d never dared explore. The heat expanding between her legs was damn near unbearable, soaking through her cotton underthings and making her acutely aware of every sensitive inch pressed to the twitching hardness beneath her.

She didn’t hear the creak of the chair when Smoke leaned in closer and didn’t sense the room shifting. Not until his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Whatcha doin’ sweet girl?” he whispered, voice husky. “It feel good don’t it? Keep goin’ for me… don’t stop this time… I’ll be here to guide you.”

Her body gave a soft shiver at his words. Her thighs tensed around his trying to close but he slid his hands down to them and held each one open. She didn’t speak, she couldn’t. She just moved, driven by the need curling tighter and tighter low in her belly.

Smoke’s grip on her thighs flexed, then eased, guiding her rhythm ever so slightly, like he was tuning a song only he could hear. “Don’t rush it,” he whispered again, “Just like that… Take your time…”

Then she felt another presence approach. Stack had gone quiet for too long and that was never a good sign. Sera’s eyes opened slowly and the haze of desire clouded her vision as she saw his boots come into view. She tilted her head upwards just slightly and that was all he needed.

Stack crouched down in front of her, his towering frame folding like a wolf preparing to pounce. His eyes were dark and for a split second Sera had to question if she was looking at Smoke or Stack. His firm fingers lightly gripped her chin, tilting her face toward his.

“You don’t stop now, darlin’,” he ordered in a rough tone with something more dangerous than lust. “You keep goin’.” Sera opened her mouth hoping to respond but no words came out, just another whimper and silent moan.

“You hear me?” he growled, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “Ain’t no shame in takin’ what you want. Not here. Not with us.”

Smoke’s lips still lingered near her ear. “You’re doin’ so good,” he purred, his tone a complete contrast to Stack’s rough edge. “Look at you… our little church angel learnin’ how to move.”

Stack’s hand slid down her throat until it rested just above the curve of her chest. “You keep rocking’ on him ‘til we say stop.”

Sera’s heart thundered behind her ribs. Their voices tangled around her like tobacco in the lungs, addictive and dangerous. Both men were hard enough to cut diamonds. Their bodies coiled tight and strained beneath their clothes. Yet neither gave in… they just watched.

Every subtle twitch of Sera’s hips, every stuttered breath and delicate shift, each pass of friction seemed more delicious than the last. This was a show. One she wasn’t even aware she was performing. Smoke’s jaw clenched, his hands steady where they gripped her, guiding just enough, allowing her to find her pace on her own. Stack watched like a hawk pretending to be unaffected but the pulse on his neck betrayed him. He was barely breathing. And Sera? She was unraveling by the second. If this addicting sensation and dizzying pleasure was possible with her undergarments still clinging damp between them, what would happen if her bare skin touched his? Would it break her? Would she survive it?

She whined quietly. “E-Elijah… I… I ca—”

But she didn’t finish. Smoke growled, like the sound scraped up from the pit of his stomach. His hands slid to her inner thighs, thumbs spreading her open just enough to stop her motion cold. She whimpered at the loss of pressure. Then, slowly, he leaned her back against his chest, angling her hips forward and exposing the damp fabric stretched over her pulsing center. Her head lolled back on his shoulder with her eyes glossed over with lust.

Smoke’s grip was firm and controlled. His mouth brushed the crown of her head with a tenderness that didn’t match the fire in his eyes. “You made such a mess, my love,” he teased, tone deceptively soft. “Bet he’s wonderin’ how you taste now.”

Stack’s eyes darkened then and Smoke’s voice dropped lower and colder. He didn’t look at Sera as he spoke, he looked at his brother, a smirk curling his lips. This was payback. “If you need help to finish,” he said, slow and condescending, “ask Elias real nice and he might help.”

The tension snapped taut like a drawn bowstring. Sera shivered hard, the sound of Stack’s real name crackling through the room like a match being struck. Her body ached, her thighs quivered and she was now wide open in Smoke’s lap with her sanctified pussy soaked and pressed forward, like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. Like a turkey laid bare for carving on Thanksgiving day.

And Stack—no, Elias—was starving. That cool, collected mask cracked, if only slightly. His nostrils flared. His tongue darted across his bottom lip. His fists flexed at his sides like he was fighting himself not to take. The silence grew thick between them, as if the very walls were waiting.

Sera looked between the two of them with her breath ragged, skin flushed, and her innocence in tatters. And then she turned her attention to Stack. Her voice though soft carried a weight that made the room hold still. “…Elias,” she whispered, eyes wide and vulnerable. “Please… help?”

His name, sweet and unsure on her tongue, shattered whatever restraint he had left.

And the devil in him stirred.

Tag List:

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xxanaduwrites · 1 year ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a residue series installment ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

sweet talkin’

main hive 🐝 | next part here: honey, are you comin’?

✎ elementary-teacher!reader (miss.honey) x biker!benny 🏍️

summary: in which “uncle benny” picks up johnny’s girls from school and finds some honey along the way ;)

warnings: not much of anything besides talks of danger & some side eyes from on-lookers. an absolute fluff cake of a piece really. enjoy! x

author’s note: ngl there is some inaccuracies. i fully made up locations & such. never been to chicago or illinois even, but maybe someday :)

word count: 2.8k

💌 requests are open, send ‘em honey 💋

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You remember it like it was yesterday, the very first time you met Benny Cross. Ironically, it was one of those sticky sweet days in June, just before the start of summer ‘65. The Chicago heat was hard to beat in the cramped little classroom you worked in on Phipps Avenue. Your third graders were all flushed faces with curly cues frizzing about, and their red little cheeks burned in exhaustion. It was no surprise that you lost their ears to the tsk tsk tsk of sprinklers swirling about on the school grounds. Even though the principal was against it, you were rather relieved to see your students running about the wet grass come dismissal.

It was a lovely reprieve, truly to be out of the shoe box you worked in at the end of the day. Sure, the heat hadn’t let up. It was awfully sweltering passing clammy hand to clammy hand to their designated pick up person. But you loved being a teacher. Moreseo you loved those sweet turned up smiles that graced those baby faces of your students as they chatted about their after school plans. Heading down to the local pool or picking up a firecracker pop at the corner store was such a sweet treat. It made you miss being that young again, finding hidden treasures through the little bits of life.

You moved like clockwork during dismissal, attentive as you made small talk with parents and hugged your students goodbye. The pick of the cycle was usually smooth on your part. You knew who tended to be retrieved right away and who was left hanging, so it took you by a hint of surprise when you found yourself still hand in hand with Mr. and Mrs. Davis’s little girls.

You knew the Davis’s well — as well as anyone could holding residence in the quaint village of McCook, Illinois. Mr. Davis and his wife Betty were perishoners at the local church you frequented with your Ma and Pa. St. Caron’s on the corner of Rose and Dawn. You’d see them all together in their Sunday best, the kids in puff pastry kind-of dresses packed together in a pew with their Ma, while their Pa was mulling about in his pressed suit and tie. There was no trace of the Vandals you’d come to know, the Johnny that would be amplified under that some-what imposterous clean cut demeanor. You’d see him solemn as ever ushering pew to pew with the collections basket for the poor and at communion during the mass.

Yet, if you had to name one thing that complimented Johnny to Mr. Davis, it had to be his consistency with being on time. Never once was he ever late to church. 12pm sharp he’d be looking at his watch, waitin’ for the priest and deacon to do their thang. The same applied for his children and their respected school schedule.

It took you a moment to remember the note from the office that was sent up in the afternoon. In your defense, mastering concentration in this heat proved almost impossible. Until it wasn’t. You could see the lovely writing of the secretary with that neat cursive of hers in the back of your mind, reminding you that the Davis girls would be picked up by their Uncle Benny come dismissal.

That would explain it, you thought. But would it really? Fathoming a member of Mr. Davis’s family not being as meticulous as him? You momentarily wondered how the man would react to such a thing as being late. You were sure it wasn’t in his vocabulary by any means.

Your fingers, engulfing the petite ones of the Davis girls, squeezed their hands reassuringly. “M’sure your Uncle Benny will be here any moment.” Neither of them said anything as you glanced between the two flanked at your sides, little eyelashes blinking up at you without a care in the world. And here you thought they would be just as anal-retentive as their father.

They weren’t.

Since the school yard was becoming less compact with people, and the principal put an end to the fun with the sprinklers, you figured some chit-chat wouldn't hurt to keep them occupied. “You girls have any fun afternoon plans?”

The Davis girl on the right, taller, darker hair, lookin’ far too much like her father — a carbon copy if you will — spoke up then. “Yes! Uncle Benny is takin’ us to a picnic. Gonna see Daddy race his bike, Miss. Honey.”

A bike race, huh? You couldn’t remember seeing anything in the McCook weekly papers ‘bout an upcoming cycling event. But, hey maybe you happened to miss it on your skim of the thing, when your Pa just so happened to put it down for a second durin’ dinner.

“Well, ain’t that sweet!” You chirped, smiling brightly at the girls with genuine excitement in your eyes. “Sure it’ll be tons of fun.”

“S’not when Daddy gets all muddy.” The smaller girl, the one that looked more like her mother. Lighter hair and lighter eyes said. Her tiny face contorted into a grimace.

Muddy? Weren’t cycling races on the roads?

Surely the town would block off the streets like they did for those celebratory parades. The little one was probably exaggerating.

“Aw,” you hummed, a frown dousing your features. “M’sure your Pa is just real dedicated, y’know?” You tried to bring out the bright side for your student. “S’like when you buy a fresh book and worry about those pages dentin’. Y’won’t know if you like it if you don’t read it, right?” The girls nodded. “Dentin’ the pages just goes to show all that love you had for that book while readin’ it.”

“I guess…” The Davis girl shrugged, tiny fingers wrapping about the strap of her pretty pink backpack. Seemingly, she wasn’t as impressed as her sister to the right.

You were gonna change the subject. Gonna start chatting ‘bout something else, when a twist of tiers against the pavement sent a squeak across the air. Your mother-hen instincts kicked in instantly, protective hands pulling the girls behind you without a second thought. All heads turned simultaneously to the intrusion on the road, expecting the worst. Expecting a crash of sorts. But no, there was no crash, just a slick car pulling abruptly up against the sidewalk and jerking to a startling stop. One that could only be equated to the driver going far above the speed limit in a school zone.

It went quiet. Far too quiet as the lot of remaining faculty, students, and parents alike kept their eyes peeled back sharply at the reckless driver. Funnily enough the attentive stares of onlookers could have very well been just as bad as those witnessing an actual crash.

You weren’t any better than the rest, collecting snap shot after snap shot like a roll of consecutive film. You could still hear the engine cutting out, the door swinging open and closing with a solid flick of his wrist. A wrist that would do far worse to you in the bedroom. Far worse in the eyes of your religious upbringing, but would feel too holy to you to be considered a sin.

You only caught a glance of him for a second until his back was facing towards you, thick white letters staking his claim with a skull and crossbones for the Chicago Vandals on his cut down vest.

You’d heard a thing or two about those motorcycle men. Your father ranting and raving about the disturbances near route 95 and police chases. But never, had you ever seen one of them in the flesh up close and personal. A shrill of unprecedented delight shot up your spine at the colorful sight, no longer reserved to those blurry black and white paper cuttings.

Stopping in his tracks, you figured his car must have broken down or somethin’ – but no. He was putting out his cigarette with his worn down boot before making his way over to you, and oh he had his eye on you alright.

A relative unease wahed across the school yard, harder than the obvious heat wave as he sauntered across without a care in the world. As if dozens of heads weren’t makin’ disgusted faces and whispering about. Yet a clear intimidation set over them, people stepping out of the way without a word as if he was a Bible figure. Like Moses parting the red sea.

“Uncle Benny!” One of them chirped. Who you didn’t know, couldn’t know with the sudden flush creeping against your cheeks. Your heart dropped to your stomach once you realized who it was and that the man himself with dirty blonde scruff, calloused fingers, and a black inked layer over a honey toned canvas was makin’ a beeline to you. A beeline to you and the girls.

It was the taller Davis girl that must have called out his name, cause suddenly she was pulling you and her sister forward to meet Benny half way. You almost tripped down the stairs within the broken bubble of her excitement. Barely having a moment’s notice to collect yourself, you found your pristine baby pink ballet flats toe to toe with some scruffed up biker boots that had seen better days. You managed a breath before you looked up and boy were you glad you did.

The wind was practically knocked clean out of you when you were caught face to face with the Benny Cross. It wasn’t because you were scared of him — no. You were more taken aback with how pretty he was. How his deeply set ocean eyes managed to speak volumes without saying a word.

And suddenly, on the front steps of Phipps Avenue School you felt seen. More seen than you had ever felt in your life. He wasn’t the only one sticking out like the sorest of thumbs. So were you with your baby pink tank to match your shoes with your signature embroidered denim overall dress. Hair up and out of your face, loose honey curls frizzing about. Your kitsch tastes and unpolished attire were rather baffling for the picturesque depiction gracing the magazines your Ma read at the salon.

Some would say you were lost somewhere in Neverland. Lots of your fellow teachers would crack jokes here and there ‘bout it too. Sure, on a bad day a jab or two could get to you — but hey you liked what you liked and you weren’t gonna change that. Not for anybody. Not even for your Ma or Pa who grimaced at your bedazzled pins wedged into your messy curls during Sunday mass.

So Benny, well who were you to judge him?

“Hi, you must be Uncle Benny,” you greeted the brood of a man in front of you, flexing a sweet-like-honey smile that was just oh-so-you. You let go of the Johnny look-a-likes hand then, allowing her to wrap her small self around Benny’s leg in pure delight to see him as you outstretched your hand in a shake. To your dismay, he didn’t take it. Instead, his free hand that wasn’t mushing up Johnny’s girls dark locks as he patted her head fished for his pack of Marlboro reds in his vest pocket. That didn’t stop you from introducing yourself though. “I’m Miss. Honey.”

He gave you once over, eyes tracing you from head to toe before the edge of his lip tweaked up in a sly smile. “Honey, huh?” He mused, that deep set voice of his, thick and smokey sweetin’ up something deep inside you.

Dropping your hand back down against your dress, the material felt rather rough on your clammy skin. “Yuh-huh.” You nodded, that tight smile of yours making your eyes twitch just a bit.

A fresh cigarette materialized between his teeth then, unlit. A strange courtesy you found rather charming on the midst of educational grounds. “Hm,” he hummed, the narrow cylinder vibrating against his lips as his eyes devoured you a second time. Yet, you figured he was more unimpressed. Most were anyways.

“Benny! Benny! Can we go see Daddy now?” The girl wrapped around his leg yanked his belt loop with a small finger. The little one was still at your side, hand in hand with you. It was kind of amusin’ how different the two were. It was simple figuring out who was the bigger Daddy’s girl of the two.

“In a ‘inute, sweet-art,” he mumbled, that cigarette of his disrupting any fully coherent sentence from spillin’ out. “C’mere ‘ittle one,” he motioned to the shorter girl who was rather uninterested in leaving. In the midst of your conversation, she managed to keep her hand raised, keeping herself conjoined to you as she sat down on the bottom step in complete and utter protest.

“Don’t wanna.” She pouted down at her bunny tied saddle shoes that matched her pretty little pick-tails.

In a sense, you couldn’t blame her. Now it was all adding up. What was really going on. This wasn’t just some run of the mill village cycling marathon. This was a Vandals bike race.

Any other teacher would have probably made a stink, called the parents in for a sit down with the principal over infiltrating their kids in a biker environment infused with criminal records. But, you weren’t like that — no. Especially when you’d see a child’s eyes light up with so much delight. It was clear that Mr. Davis’s look-a-like was really proud of her father. Who could blame her? Respected throughout the community, a family man who put his all into a trucking' job.

A picnic with some bike racin’ wouldn’t be so bad, right?

Not with Mr. Davis involved.

So, you gave the benefit of the doubt. Sure, it could have been for all those reasons that were swarming about your head, but in actuality your heart was working double time over your mind. The image of the Davis girl clinging to Benny’s leg had teddy bear written all over it, giving you all the sweet talkin’ you’d need. Ironically enough, in due time that soft side of him would turn into plushy lovin’ reserved just for you.

“Lemme,” you mouthed to Benny before getting down to the little one’s level. Flattening out your skirt you took a seat next to her and rested both hands over her own in her lap. “Remember when we were talkin’ about a good book? Dentin’ the pages?” The girl nodded, but didn’t meet your eye. Instead, Benny doing the opposite, his eyes practically grilled onto your peripheral vision. “Well, sometimes if we are too protective of it. Too keen on keeping it all in tack, we’ll never learn not to and we’ll just be more and more disappointed when we come across a little crack we never created in the first place. We may not like it, but it’s there, and there is so much love there.” You squeeze the little girl’s hand. “Just like your old man racin’. You may not like it, but he does, and that’s quite alright. You know why?”

“Why?” She looked up at you then, little doe eyes attentive as ever, clinging onto your every word. It was times like this that reminded you why you were a teacher.

“‘Cause you love him, no matter what” You replied, tilting your head ever-so subtly to observe her reaction.

And oh did Benny love you. He didn’t know it then. Couldn’t fully compartmentalize it until later. Yet, unbeknownst to you, it was one of the first of what would become many of Benny's thoughts on how damn good of a teacher you were, how fine of a wife you’d make, and how sweet of a mother you’d be.

Thankfully, your words must have resonated with the little girl. It only took a moment for those delightful dimples of hers to grace those little features before her lips turned up in a sweet smile. “We gotta go Uncle Benny!” The girl declared suddenly, standing up straight with a whole new attitude. You were glad to supply the optimism. That’s what you were all about. That was the lesson you hoped to instill to your students the most.

You couldn’t help but smile yourself, feeling like a warm blanket was being draped over your shoulders soundly. Not uncomfortable. Not contributing to the intolerable heat wave. You’d only been in your second year of teaching, but hey — small victories like this made it worth it. Made you proud of yourself, even if you couldn’t find such gratitude from others.

Little did you know, Benny — he was so fuckin’ proud. Proud to see you spreading such honey-coated wisdom to a youngin’. And there on the steep steps of Phipps Avenue school as the little one wrapped her arms around you and thanked you profusely before grabbing Benny’s hand and heading to Johnny’s car, he found his mission.

You were gonna be his wife.

He was sure of it.

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this was so much fun to write! i hope you liked it :) i’m thinking of also including some honey interviews curtesy of danny ! stay tuned for “from the hive” 🎙️🐝

also to note, my requests are open for any miss honey x benny cross works + any convos about these two in general. don’t be shy honey, i’m all for yapping in the asks.

+ don’t forget to comment if you’d like be added to “da bee hive” (my version of da tag list)

smoochies. all da love xanadu 💋

da bee hive 🐝🍯:

@nervousnerdwitch

@sunnbib

@rose-deathman

@austinbsblog

@thegabbyh

@jihyowrrld

@bellesdreamyprofile

@superemobitch

@m00npjm

@imusicaddict

@astrogrande

@alana4610

@cynic-spirit

@mariaenchanted

#miss honey x benny cross #benny cross x reader #the bikeriders fanfiction #benny the bikeriders #johnny the bikeriders #johnny davis #benny cross #austin butler #tom hardy #austin butler fanfiction

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autisticgingerblonde · 11 months ago

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If Fallout 4 companions had TikTok accounts

Cait would have an account dedicated to fighting and thirst traps (aimed at women mostly). Teaches women self-defense techniques. She earns a spot in the algorithm of muscle mommies. She also raises awareness for addicts and former addicts, educating on the effects of drugs and the reasons people seek them out in the first place. Honestly, it's a very good account to follow.

Codsworth is just confused about TikTok. He's like "oh so what are the children saying these days? Aura? I'll have to add a new word to my vocabulary banks! Cheerio, mum!"

Curie makes educational videos for all ages and all subjects. She has a series of learning Japanese, a series of vaccines and the science behind them, a series about the effects of different types of parenting, you name it. She also takes suggestions from her audience on what new things to research.

Danse has unintentional thirst traps. He talks about power armor and the Brotherhood of Steel but also posts workouts. These are what get the most attention out of everything he posts. The BookTok girlies find him and all hell breaks loose in the comment sections. He responds to this with, "Thank you, civilians. I am not sure what you mean, but I am glad you are supporting the Brotherhood of Steel by being on my page. Thank you for your enthusiasm for our righteous cause. Ad victorium." People armchair diagnose him as autistic.

Deacon does "GRWM as i tell you about the time i ______" videos where each day he looks completely different and you can never tell if he's telling the truth or not. He also does head shaving videos that double as story times or opinion pieces. You can't tell if those are true or not either.

Dogmeat has a viral account followed by millions. Get's a lot of "I can't imagine liking this guy" comments with the op replying to their own comment with "anymore than I already do. Huge fan!"

Hancock does subtle cheeky thirst traps and dance challenges. This entire post was inspired by the FACT that Hancock would participate in the brat summer trend and would do the Apple dance with Fahrenheit filming it. He also tells stories, mostly of him being high. He gets a lot of requests to cosplay Deadpool.

MacCready has a lot of things he does. Some videos are sniper trick shots, some are Grognak the Barbarian yapping (he does short lore deep dives when he can), and some are about being a young single dad. He doesn't show Duncan's face because he's extremely protective. Casually drops the most insane lore about his childhood which leads to comments like "are we just ignoring that he said he grew up in a cave?"

Nick Valentine would be a very popular fashion and "a day in the life of a detective". He'd do vintage fashion looks, like loose slacks and suspenders with a trench coat to top it off. Sometimes does a deep dive into detective history. Gets a lot of thirsty comments to which he replies "that's one way to get the coolant pumping."

Old Longfellow has the appeal of the New England, stormy weather, sweater-wearing fisherman aesthetic, and he tells stories of his youth while showing people around the area he grew up. Learns mobile phone cinematography to make it look cooler. Every video has either a lesson or a skill for survival.

Piper's account is solely focused on news and truth, posting every source she uses. She uses the trend of an insane video, like someone falling badly on the ground or getting splashed with water, and stitches it to look like a seamless transition of her rolling from the fall or being splashed to start talking about her news stories. It gets traction so she continues.

Porter Gage has a side gig of running TikTok accounts for different people. Gets the money, doesn't get the backlash when they get canceled for racism or worker exploitation.

Preston has an account dedicated to charity work and social activism. He makes sure to highlight organizations he feels are doing the world a service and regularly has fundraisers. He's well-known for always sharing content from people in dire situations and raising money for them. Has a master document of Go Fund Me pages and vets every one of them.

Strong has a lot of those unintentional boomer tiktoks that are 1 second long and he's just looking at the screen in confusion.

X6 cyber bullies the rest of them because he thinks having a TikTok is cringe and stupid (he is currently writing hate comments with his TikTok account)

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toallthingscinderellaboy · 2 months ago

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Cinderella Boy Character Analysis

Buddy: The psychology of being a scapegoat (1/4)

Y’all. I wrote this character analysis wayyy back in December, days before the season 1 finale aired. Then because of the last line and the excerpt used, I decided to not post it because I was worried about non-fastpassers seeing the line and having the finale spoiled for them. So here we are 6 months later, and I am suddenly remembering that I had this in the notes app and decided to post it LMAO!!!!! I did add some slight changes to some of the wording because we have been knowing Buddy is a key now, but just know that a majority of these points were made before we knew he was a key.

This is going to be a four part post about the psychology of Buddy, Chase, Buddy/Chase being different sides of the same coin, and then Deacon.

Now let us begin with by far my most favorite character: Buddy.

I personally believe Buddy to be a scapegoat. For those who are unfamiliar with scapegoats, it is often an individual, or group of people, within a dysfunctional environment who are unfairly blamed for any wrongdoings wether they are to be truly at fault or not.

Dysfunctional families will have a scapegoat child in order to deflect any of the internal/external issues at hand and presume that the conflict is due to the scapegoat. Many scapegoated children tend to have many of their physical, emotional, and mental needs neglected due to the blame they are forced to carry. With this comes unique personality characteristics that can be seen in scapegoated children. I am going to go over some of these personality traits with Buddy and share why within the Ex-Libris ranks he is a consistently considered the scapegoat. We can also assume, that this has to do with him being the villain key and that by him being the villain key, it has allowed him to take on a scapegoated role.

Character Trait #1: Trust issues

Scapegoats tend to have trust issues. Due to everyone around them assuming they are a consistent problem, they feel as if they cannot trust others with their vulnerabilities in fear it will be used against them.

In episode 32 we see Buddy tell Chase “My life usually depends on not trusting them. So you’re absolutely right.” The reasoning as to why is because he has been unfairly placed in a scapegoated position. He believes that his life quite literally depends on not trusting others, and considering he is a key, then yes, his life very well depend on not trusting others.

Character Trait #2: Strongly Defensive

Scapegoated children often are the only ones to ‘fend’ for themselves. When everyone points a finger at them, there is no one left to defend the scapegoat but themselves. Because of this Scapegoats are very, very defensive, believing even well intentioned constructive criticism is an attack.

In episode 31 we see Buddy immediately get defensive with Chase. While they are fighting Buddy states, “You smug brat. As if you didn’t try to weasel your location out of me? You’re just as self serving! You’re not better than me!…You think you’re some kind of hero? You’re only here for one thing: narratonin....Don’t ever say that! You arrogant, self absorbed-childish little brat!” When called out for tricking Chase, Buddy immediately becomes verbally/physically defensive. (He’s also projecting but that is a whole different post.) Even though we all know Buddy was in the wrong, he chose to become defensive rather than calmly listen to what Chase was saying.

We see this again in episode 53 when Deacon makes a jab at Buddy’s “baby teeth” Buddy immediately starts to say that “my teeth aren’t baby.” Rather than letting the statement go and realizing Deacon is making a half-hearted joke, Buddy starts to say that he would bite Deacon. Buddy can’t let even a small baby joke go without getting defending himself or attempting to prove that ‘no my teeth aren’t baby.’

Character Trait #3: Tend to speak the truth/point out lies

@Jthealien already made that the most amazing post about Buddy and his tendency to speak the truth, so please go check it out here

I will add to this by saying that scapegoats are often scapegoats because they tell the truth. A dysfunctional environment/family can only remain dysfunctional if it remains unlit (aka lies only). Scapegoats often attempt to shed a light on the issues at hand by speaking out, only to be punished for it. This doesn’t mean they stop speaking out though. They continue to shed a light on the lies, manipulation, and cruel treatment.

Although Buddy does not share a lot of information about himself or may lie through omissions, he never truly outright lies to Chase.

Character Trait #4: Perfectionist

Scapegoats tend to have a perfectionist mindset. They believe that if they are ‘perfect’ they may finally be able to gain approval from the dysfunctional family.

We have seen Buddy place emphasis on completing the books ‘perfectly.’ In episode 4 when Chase tells Buddy he found a shortcut to completing the books Buddy yells, “That’s not a shortcut! That’s cheating!” In episode 6 he challenges Chase saying he has to do the book with “No cheats, no bookmarks, no shortcuts. We also see Buddy practicing his lines beforehand in episodes 43 and 52. Placing an emphasis that he wishes to complete the books ‘in the correct way’ or ‘perfectly.’ Buddy most likely has this perfectionist mindset because he believes that if he can complete the books perfectly he will be able to gain someone’s approval, complete the book the ‘correct way’, or because he has been taught doing the book any other way is ‘wrong.’

Character Trait #5: Struggle to control emotions

Scapegoats tend to struggle to control their emotions for various reasons. When raised in an environment where emotions are constantly running high, scapegoats tend to struggle handling their emotions and react disproportionately to any given situation.

In episode 25 when we have a flashback to the first time Buddy and Chase met. As Chase was explaining to Buddy that he found a key, and rather than hearing Chase out, Buddy chooses to grab Chase and verbally belittle him. In episodes 20/21 Buddy goes as far to smudge the dirt Deacon had been writing in and then dropping a rock on Deacon’s head. In both instances he had already insulted Deacon, but took things a step further due to him not knowing how to handle his anger/frustration/jealousy. In episode 31 Buddy begins to verbally/physically attack Chase on the island due to Chase simply calling out Buddy’s crude behavior.

Final Thoughts

With all of these traits being shared, and with the knowledge that Buddy is a key, it is safe to assume that he has been scapegoated within the ex-libris ranks. We are not yet aware of the specifics, but for him to be placed in this role would greatly affect his self esteem, outworld views, and mindset. We see this throughout season 1. As we know, ex-libris is a shady group of people who value themselves first and foremost, it would make sense that as a result by treating the keys lesser than, it would create a scapegoat out of the keys. And if Buddy was once human, who then turned into a key….well what did he do as a human to allow them to turn him into a key?

My guess is that Buddy was already a scapegoat within the ex-lirbis ranks. I am willing to bet that he found out how horribly himself/others were being treated, spoke against it, and as a result was punished for it by being turned into a key. The villain key no less.

“The creation of a villain necessarily implies that of a hero, even if both are purely fictional. Sometimes it is the villain, or villains, who are in need of a greater villain. Especially in a time of crisis, unscrupulous leaders and politicians can cynically exploit the ancient and deep-rooted impulse to scapegoat to deflect and distract from their own inadequacies and evade, or seek to evade their legitimate burden of blame and responsibility.” (Excerpt from The Psychology of Scapegoating by Neel Burton.)

“No. No, I’m not. I’ve never been the hero in any story. Not even my own. But I think, I’d like to be your hero. Just this once.” (Buddy, Episode 61, Cinderella Boy)

#I may or may not be projecting a lil in this post oops #cinderella boy #Cinderella Boy webtoon #Cinderella Boy character analysis #webtoon comic #chase hollow like and follow #Cinderella Boy nox #Cinderella Boy buddy #nox cinderella boy #buddy cinderella boy #webcomic #character analysis #psychology #webtoon cinderella boy

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ausetkmt · 1 year ago

Text

These Black Heroes Terrorized the KKK in the Civil Rights Movement

youtube

#Deacon's for the defense #Youtube

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amazinglyegg · 2 months ago

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I haven't been on Tumblr or active with fallout for a long time, but I've always really loved how you write for the companions and I remember reading through your masterlists for comfort whenever I was boref or sad! I don't know if you still do requests, but,

How do you think the companions would be with a Sole Survivor with anger issues or a nasty temper? Especially if they're actively trying to work on it to be better with not lashing out?

Companions React: Sole working on their anger issues!

Cait:

She doesn't even bat an eye

I imagine anger is a very common defense mechanism in the wasteland, even more so with raiders that already have the "angry brutes" persona expected of them

Doesn't mean she's not the slightest bit disappointed, though

Not quite uncomfortable (or at least, not in a way she'd admit), but after being forced to both be full of rage and surrounded by unapologetically angry assholes for most of her life, she doesn't have a positive opinion of it.

So she'll actually be quite pleasently surprised if she sees Sole even express slight remorse. Actually making an effort to change? She's impressed

She knows how hard it is to control that anger. She sees, possibly better than anyone, how strong Sole is when they reign themselves in.

Curie:

As a Ms. Nanny I think she wouldn't appreciate anger from anyone. Not only does she think it's unecessary, but she can't really empathize - anger doesn't come often, if at all for her.

She gains a new perspective with her synth body, though.

Emotions aren't just mild and appropriate anymore, they're intense. Everything she feels becomes full-body sensations that throws her off her tracks.

(She might even burst into tears of Sole directs their anger to her)

I feel like she's very empathetic too. It won't take long for her to go from being annoyed by Sole to completely understanding them or even getting angry alongside them.

Sole working on their anger issues might become a team effort with Curie around, but she's more than happy to be along for the ride and keep them both accountable.

Codsworth:

Codsworth, forever loyal, will do everything in his power to support Sole

Breathing techniques, collecting broken bottles and dishes for Sole to smash, finds those little tabletop punching bags or stress balls for Sole. Just anything that comes to mind.

Knows when it's time to just give Sole their space, thankfully. If they want to go off and break a room in rage he'll patiently wait outside until they're done and offer to help clean up

Dare I say he might be a bit too hesitant to call Sole out on their behavior - he'll point out general snark when he sees it, but explosive, rightous, or grieving anger? He'll give them as much leeway as he can

He's very happy to see Sole work on themselves and will make sure to remind them he's proud when he notices them improve!

Danse:

Danse has seen this time and time again, so he's not at all phased by it

The second he clocks Sole's anger issues he's leading them towards exercising as an outlet. It works for him and for most soldiers he's trained.

I wouldn't be surprised of anger is the emotion he's most comfortable with dealing with. He's awkward as hell around someone crying, celebrating, feeling sick... but anger has a clear source and response. He can work with that.

That doesn't mean he'll put up with any sort of insubordination, however. Sole will still be getting strict punishments for acting out against a superior.

He will be proud of them for working on their anger issues, and will be more than happy to aid them in any way he can. He thinks very highly of people who can recognize disruptive behavior put in the effort to work on themselves.

Deacon:

He's been there, but that doesn't mean he's too thrilled with it.

Making a scene is the last thing a spy should be doing, and even if Sole can manage their anger while on the job, it still makes him uneasy when he does see them lash out.

But I feel like Deacon's too willing to bite his tongue to keep from rocking the boat. It'll probably take a lot for him to bring up Sole's anger issues, especially if it's clear they're actually working on it.

He'll take a more distanced approach overall. Maybe leading them away from triggering situations before they happen and whatnot

Won't indulge if Sole tries to turn their anger onto him. Like if they're the type of person to try and bait an argument to let off steam he can see right through it, and he really doesn't appreciate it. Might direct them towards a healthier outlet if he's feeling nice.

Gage:

Oh, Gage likes it. Of course he does. Half of being a raider is just one big dick measuring contest.

Sole working on their anger issues would be a double-edged sword to him. He wants Sole to be strategic about their anger, not get rid of it entirely. Only snap at people who deserve it, right?

(And a lot of people deserve it)

He'll always expect a certain amount of hostility from Sole, and may even prefer there to be a bit too much than a bit too little. Other than that, he's not too fussed about Sole's emotions.

At worst might tease them a bit, but he's smart enough to back off if he can tell they really don't appreciate it

Hancock:

I feel like Hancock's conquered anger as an emotion. He's got it under control, whether that be through mindfulness or copious amounts of drugs and alcohol.

So I think he'll actually be good at helping Sole get better if they ask for his help.

Won't put up with Sole snapping at him though. You can't deny being mayor has gotten to his head a bit, and being accused or questioned makes him feel like his position is being threatened.

Sole will have to go out of their way to apologize to him if they get in an argument, especially if they started it

Otherwise he doesn't take any of their issues to heart for the most part. It's like water off a ducks back, as long as they're not causing issues for Goodneighbor citizens, of course.

Maccready:

He begrudgingly puts up with them at first - he's dealt with a lot worse in the past and he needs the money

Once he sees how much Sole is putting in the effort to change, he really starts to appreciate them more

It's a breath of fresh air to see someone actually working on themselves instead of taking the easy road and embracing being an asshole

I don't think he'll comment on it too much unless it interferes with whatever work they're doing, he likes to stay in his own lane and let others work through their own problems

Nick:

He sees Sole's anger and is curious about the root cause. Is it grief? Were they wronged in some way? Are they trying to protect themself?

I imagine Nick's good at conflict resolution in general. If Sole snaps at him he'll almost always walk away and let them take a breather before revisiting the conversation. He doesn't take what they say to heart and he's willing to be as patient as it takes as long as they're making an effort to be better.

Nick definitely gets snappy if Sole lets out their anger on others, though. He won't hesitate to call out if they're overreacting on someone who doesn't deserve it.

He's good at reading the situation, at least. You know you've fucked up when Sole snaps at you and Nick just shrugs and lets it happen.

Piper:

I feel like Piper's a pretty passionate person, which can pead to her and Sole hyping each other up when something pisses them off

Like Sole would get in an argument with someone else and hours later Piper will be like "... I can't believe he said that to you!" and they'll start ranting all over again

Immediately loses her energy if Sole directs it at her though

She's used to being yelled at so it doesn't affect her much, but she doesn't like seeing Sole upset and will turn her attention to trying to help them feel better

In general more worried for Sole than annoyed by their behavior. She obviously doesn't approve of snapping at people who don't deserve it but she knows Sole already knows and doesn't need to be badgered about it.

Preston:

Preston's not exactly a stranger to anger. Irritability is a symptom of depression. The rage he feels towards what happened at Quincy almost scares him at times.

But I also feel like he's done a lot of unhealthy repression that makes him just a bit uncomfortable with seeing Sole's outbursts

Both because hey, that's not how the general should act, and because he knows how much he wants to do the same.

So he gets it, he's just not comfortable with it. He'll help Sole with whatever they need but he'll probably want them to tell him that, since his best advice would be like, alcoholism and crying yourself to sleep.

(And he doesn't want to admit he's been doing that for a while now)

Honestly probably annoying to get into an argument with him. He'll just blank stare 😐 at Sole and wait until they're done. Bro's not engaging until you use your inside voice.

Strong:

Yes!! YES!! FEEL YOUR RAGE!! KILL DESTORY MAIM!!

He's like a dog hearing the word "walk". He gets hyped.

The only time he won't be hyped is if Sole's more of a "four hour long screaming match" type of person. He doesn't care too much for talking.

Sole has Strong as the devil on their soulder telling them to smash peoples skulls in on a daily basis.

X6-88:

X6 isn't impressed.

Maybe it's all the trauma of being raised as a robot and having any undesirable emotion beat out of him, but he views anger as a weakness overall.

Loud, uncontrollable, and rude is the exact opposite of what the director of the Institute should be. He probably even goes as far as to think that they should keep their cool even during combat. No need to complicate things.

Honestly he probably has some deep set issues regarding emotions in general. Anything more than mild and situationally appropriate is annoying to him.

He'll put up with Sole as they get better, though. He knows better than to complain while Sole's actively taking steps to improve themself. Don't punish behavior you want to see and all.

#fallout 4 #companions react #fallout 4 companions #cait #curie #codsworth #paladin danse #deacon #porter gage #john hancock #maccready #nick valentine #piper wright #preston garvey #strong #x6 88 #i have a. complicated. relationship with anger so i hope this isnt too inaccurate or generally off!#i do love emotion-based react prompts though. emotional hurt/comfort is my bread and butter <3 #and thank you for the kind words too!! its crazy to imagine people actually perceive me and my posts sometimes

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stoat-party · 2 years ago

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More Obscure Facts About Fallout 4 Companions*

*Now with slightly more unverified psychoanalysis!

X6 gets anxious at the thought of large crowds.

Codsworth likes to imagine being a father to a little robot son. Hang on, buddy, I’m getting my six hundred pounds of scrap metal out of storage.

MacCready seems to have lived in Bigtown for some period of time, or at least visited enough to have memories there. Also, the Lone Wanderer (or one of their companions/Sidney) told him about their encounter with Button Gwinnett.

Despite having little empathy for the people of the Commonwealth, Cait often becomes distressed imagining the victims of the bombs, especially when children are involved.

Danse believes that pre-war healthcare and scientific research should have been publicly owned. He hates corporations in general, especially Vault-Tec.

Nick not only loves poetry, but he’s also able to recite several famous poems such as Ozymandias and The Raven. He’s very sad to see destroyed books at the library.

It’s been confirmed by a non-Deacon source that he spent a month as a ghoul. (Somehow.) NPC dialogue implies that he was telling the truth about disguising himself as a woman for awhile, too.

Apparently Piper was a complete nightmare as a child. She would steal her dad’s pistol, shoot the combat inhibitors off robots, and let them run through town.

There’s some sort of debate in the fandom about whether Curie was originally a Miss Nanny or a Mister Handy, but she confirms in dialogue that she was a Miss Nanny.

Nick can feel pain! :(!

Deacon likes molerats, hates killing them, and wishes he could domesticate them. He should visit Sloan.

A probably incomplete list of things Danse wishes he could do: Fishing, watching a movie, playing/watching baseball, seeing a show at an amphitheater, bowling, shopping

TBH I was wrong on the last post. Preston doesn’t like swimming, his dialogue is tagged as sarcastic there. In my defense, he’s got depression and tends to speak flatly. That means that not one single companion likes to swim, except Strong who doesn’t care.

Despite maintaining there’s a difference between robots and synths, Nick believes in robot rights and often encourages robots not to think of themselves as slaves.

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peachhcs · 7 months ago

Note

will and Mack at Samy’s playoff game

winning the title

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

samy’s team gains their first national title after a heartbreaking loss last season!

wc: 2.2k

i rewrote this 3 different times bc i hated it and i hate the ending (and still coming out of my slump) but hopefully u guys don’t! i realized i’ve never mentioned marcie after the wonder years so i put her in here so we know i didn’t forget about her lol

au masterlist

in a close match, the michigan wolverines were tied with four minutes left in the final half. the entire crowd in the sportsmed complex were on their feet in anticipation as the wolverines and deacons battled it out for the national cup. they were going sudden death, so whoever scored the next point would win the entire thing. samy was on the field yelling incoherences to the stands, but clear instruction to her teammates who followed the brunette around the field.

"come on, samy. get us one more point," ethan muttered under his breath. after a long two hours, the stands were reduced to nothing but silence. the rowdiness became too much and after pretty cruel profanities fell from some fan's lips about the ref's calls, everyone was asked to stay silent in the last ten minutes.

the entire scene felt like an erie horror movie while up to 2,000 people watched the game unfold in front of them but no sounds left anyone's lips besides the players. will clutched macklin and gabe's arms who stood on either side of him waiting in anticipation for someone to score. they've been tied since the first half and after a tough show throughout the second, no one managed to score.

samy searched for an opening when she got her feet on the ball. the girls surrounded her, but the brunette was faster. she pushed her way out of the crowd and broke free towards the goal. will's grip tightened, his breath catching the closer his girlfriend got to the net.

the excitement didn't last long. one of wake's defense came running up in full force. the two girls collided in a loud smack that sent both of them to the ground and echoed across the stadium. will cringed, instinctively trying to rush to her when samy coiled into herself, but macklin and gabe held him back. ethan couldn't stop the words slipping from his lips this time, "what the fuck! that was a foul!"

his eruption caused the rest of the stands to burst out like they were waiting for someone to speak out first. things went crazy as the refs blew their whistles to try and shush everyone and samy's teammates crowded around her.

"alright, alright, quiet in the stands please. they're taking a look at the girls now," the commentators chirped up, trying to hush the now mad fans murmuring things to one another.

"that was a hit! she deserves a red card!" ethan didn't stop and now mark and luke were trying to shush him before someone kicked him out for being loud.

will craned his neck, trying to see over the other players who still hovered over the brunette. the fact that she wasn't up yet worried him. mack and gabe kept holding him back so he wouldn't run onto the field. "just wait. she'll get up," gabe said.

at the same time he said that, samy's teammates parted and she was on her feet. her coach was there and they were talking. will couldn't really make out what was being said but he could tell samy was trying to say she was fine to keep playing the last 3 minutes.

"looks like #6 is on her feet and is going to continue playing," the announcers officially said. the michigan crowd couldn't help their cheers of relief for their star player.

"thank god," will muttered and eased off.

he found samy's brief glance to the stands, speaking with his eyes to make sure she really was okay. she nodded before getting herself back into position, but the relief didn't last long when the refs came back onto the field with only a yellow card.

"WHAT THE FUCK! that hit was intentional! throw her out! fucking idiots!" ethan was up in riots now with nothing luke or mark could do to calm him down anymore.

"hey, you! out!" the security guard was quick to grab ethan's attention.

"out?! what do you mean out! she intentionally hit her!" the boy tried arguing.

"that kind of language is not tolerated here. out," the guy wasn't playing around.

"he won't do it again, i promise. there's only 3 minutes left of the game," jack spoke up in hopes that the guy would ease off.

"we don't tolerate that language to the players or the refs. he needs to leave," the guy shook his head, standing firm on his word. a frustrated sigh left the older boy's lips as he took his defeat and stood up.

the security escorted ethan out. mark and luke shook their heads, "i told him to shut his mouth," mark muttered.

the game restarted with a corner kick from michigan. samy took the lead, waiting for the ref to give her the go ahead. knowing her aim, there was a really good chance she'd make it in or at least assist. everyone held their breaths again when the whistle blew and samy went to take the kick.

the ball curved through the air. the wake forest girls got themselves ready, the goalie jumping up to try and stop it from going in. she was an inch short though. the ball sailed past her fingertips straight into the back of the net and for a second, everything was still. the players stared at the goal for a good ten seconds before commotion broke from the crowd.

"she did it! holy shit, she did it!"mark exclaimed, jumping onto luke's back. will did the same to macklin and gabe while ryan joined into the excitement.

"and that's game, folks! the michigan wolverines have won the game 3-2 making themselves the ncaa champions!" michigan fans screamed out in excitment as the team stormed the field to celebrate the victory.

samy's entire section were on their feet cheering her name and waving around the posters they made for her. the girl was lifted into the air by her teammates as someone handed her the trophy to hold up.

will and the guys pushed themselves to the railing. as soon as samy was back on the ground, she ran towards them, her whole face glowing with happiness. will caught her figure as she climbed the rail, engulfing her into a bone crushing hug despite the metal bar separating them. the two shared a passionate kiss, ignoring the hollers of everyone else and the sudden cameras trying to capture the moment. "i'm so fucking proud of you," will said once they pulled a part and the girl smiled wide.

"i gotta go, but i'll catch all of you after!" samy called to everyone else before jumping off the railing and running back to her teammates.

her family watched with pride as got her hat and huddled up with her teammates for the photo with their banner and trophy. the confetti popped a moment later earning more glowing smiles from all the girls and cheers from the families. ellen hurried to grab some photos on her phone before the girls broke a part to jump around some more in the confetti. will's heart swelling seeing samy down there with her teammates with nothing but pure joy on her features.

after such a long season and getting injured, she made it happen. their redemption finally came after last year. the brunette flopped down onto the ground, the confetti circling around her and she started doing snow angels.

after awhile, the families were invited onto the field. luke, jack, and quinn took the lead to greet their little sister. jack scooped her up and the four shared a loving hug as they congratulated her.

"congrats squirt! you played like a beast," jack exclaimed, roughing up her hair and stealing her hat to replace his own.

"thanks for coming, it means a lot," samy grinned before jumping into her parent's arms. will and the others hung back to let the family have their moment before they tackled the girl in hugs from themselves.

samy's gaze swept across the group, landing on will again. her smile grew and she was out of her mom's arms and into his a moment later. will spun her around and gave her a proper hug now that there wasn't a metal bar between them.

"i'm so glad you came," she mumbled into his neck.

"i wouldn't miss this for the world," will kissed her cheek before letting her go knowing the others were waiting for their turn.

as soon as the brunette's gaze landed on her roommate, the two girls shrieked in excitement. they embraced in a similar loving hug as hannah gushed how excited and proud she was. everyone watched as the youngest hughes went around greeting everyone who came. she hugged mark, ryan, and gabe just as tightly. will watched their exchanges with a love-filled gaze. this year has really dawned on him just how many people loved the girl he did and showed up to support her no matter what, especially mark and ethan who dropped everything to be here since friday.

the last guest was one the group had been hiding all day. she flew in last night wanting to surprise samy, so when ryan and gabe stepped to the side to reveal her, the brunette's expression turned into shock.

"congratulations, hughes!" marcie exclaimed before samy ran into her arms. everyone watched the sweet exchange with smiles on their lips.

"what the hell are you doing here?!" the soccer player exclaimed.

"i wanted to surprise you. i flew in last night," marcie grinned to which samy just hugged her again. "you really think i'd miss watching you win your first national title?" the girls shared a laugh.

"wow, this is..wow. i'm so glad you guys are all here," samy swept her gaze over everyone again.

"eddy's out waiting in the parking lot. he did get kicked out with three minutes left for swearing at the refs," luke explained making everyone laugh.

"of course he did. typical," the younger girl laughed again.

"well, let's go get him and go celebrate!" ellen cheered.

the coaches also booked out one of the hotel's conference rooms they were staying at to invite the players and their families to celebrate with them. it was lively in the large room as players greeted their friends, had food, and their new trophy sat proud in the center of the room to look at and take pictures with.

will caught his girlfriend when she was grabbing some drinks. she quickly smiled when he came into her peripheral. "hi, sorry, i lost you a bit. it's so busy in here," she giggled, handing him a can.

"glad i found you again. how are you?" will wondered, his one hand circling around her waist.

"i'm good. really good. feels unreal still," she smiled at his affection, reaching her hand up to tuck some of his loose curls away. the boy grinned.

"i bet. you were great out there," he hummed.

samy blushed, "i know i already said it, but i'm glad you made it out. it meant a lot knowing you were here."

"i could never miss this. i told you i had my tickets bought since the beginning of the season," that made the girl laugh.

"well, i'm glad at least one of us had hope from the beginning," she cupped his cheek to bring his lips back to hers. they melted into one another, will's grip tightening on the girl's waist.

the noise of the room faded away as they continued kissing. all either of them could think about was their lips attaching to each other's and how the blonde's grip got tighter like samy would disappear if he loosened it.

their bliss didn't last for long though and like the best friends they were, ryan and gabe appeared. "hey! save that for the bedroom!" ryan clapped his hands on each of their shoulders which broke the couple apart.

"nice to see you too, lean," the girl giggled.

"just wanted to come over and congratulate you for the hundredth time. you've made us proud miss hughes," the taller brunette said with a smile.

"i was just telling will that i'm really glad you guys could make it and were willing to skip practice for me. it means a lot," samy squeezed both of their cheeks.

"we've sat in the cold for you how many times? wasn't gonna miss this for the world," gabe chuckled.

"i guess that means i'll see you guys in canada in a few weeks."

"we'll make sure to save you a seat three rows up behind the glass," ryan said perfectly because after years of being at the games they always knew where she'd be.

"hey, since you guys are all together, i want a picture!" ellen appeared almost out of no where with her phone like usual. the four chuckled, but quickly obliged as they squeezed themselves together for a photo. it reminded samy of the photo the four of them took back in august knowing how much has changed since then.

"say cheese!" ellen exclaimed.

"cheese!"

when the older woman was done the four quickly intermingled themselves back into the party. samy gladly introduced her teammates to the boys she called family and they followed her around happily greeting everyone.

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