#Scratch their backs and they go harder guaranteed

[pxison]

Because of their modified skin being tougher than normal, it is harder to leave scratches on any of the siblings backs (let alone anywhere) during sex but if it does happen they'd be impressed and more than a little turned on.

[just-jordie-things]

Hi

If you take that type of requests, what jjk men turns them on to their s/o if you feel comfortable ofc

Also have a nice day <3

a/n: hehe the brainrot is ROTTING today folks <3 enjoy some semi-casual turn-ons ___

gojo satoru

obvi this man gets horny over nothing so he'll get turned on by anything you do, really.

but he especially likes when you come onto him first. just bc it's usually him trying to ~seduce~ you. so he finds it very cute when you make your attempts at initiating sexy time- whether you're good at it or not lmfao

he also likes when you tease him. call him the strongest or the honored one in that cute little mocking voice you do and he's folding he's on his knees and under your skirt.

fushiguro megumi

gets turned on by simple domestic acts.

you need your dress zipped up? you need him to open a jar for you? you need him to get something off the top shelf for you?

something about how casually you need him just gets him going.

and eventually you know it too, so after some time you find yourself asking him to help you with tasks you're fully capable of completing on your own, just to see how riled up you can get him over something as simple as cooking dinner together.

(you never did get to eat that meal lmfao)

you ended up at a mcdonalds drive through with very obviously ruined clothes and messed up hair. the cashier snickered at your matching lovebites while he'd been paying.

okkotsu yuuta

gets turned on anytime you say his name.

no matter the context. no matter the volume or tone. he's swooning if you say his name.

hollering from the next room over? lovesick.

first thing in the morning when you wake up and your voice is raspy as you ask how he slept? morning sex guaranteed.

even during an argument, if you make the mistake of calling him by his name, expect to make up very quickly. kinda hard to stay mad when he's in your guts <3

i imagine it eventually gets so bad that even when you're texting, if you call him yuuta or yuu, he's making the chat horny.

inumaki toge

touch his hair and he's mush in your hands.

as soon as your fingers card through the silk blonde locks, his eyes are falling shut and he's leaning into the touch so hard, like a little cat dying for more affection.

you swear you hear a little purr from him sometimes if you scratch at his scalp just right

it will go from comforting and sweet to the horniest makeout session in a matter of seconds tho. it doesn't take long for little purrs to turn into strangled growls and whimpers as he longs for you to tug a little harder.

if you even try to take your hands out of his hair he stops you.

100% will grab your wrist and shove your hand to the back of his head.

prolly cuz he likes having a partner that's a bit possessive <3

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

By Kelly Betts

People can’t see my disability from the outside. I worry that in this current political climate and with the new law, it may not end at the comments and harassment I already face.

On Thursday, officials in Nassau County, New York, where I live, signed a mask ban into law, one of the first of its kind in the country. And while to most healthy adults it doesn’t mean much, to those with serious health conditions, like me, it makes getting out into the world a lot harder.

The ban was touted by lawmakers as a public safety measure after reported antisemitic incidents and protests at various New York universities, many involving people wearing masks. Those who violate the new law face a misdemeanor charge punishable by up to a year in jail and a $1,000 fine. And while there are exemptions for people with religious and medical reasons, it’s not dealing with the law that I’m afraid of. It’s dealing with the “citizen cops” of the world who will be using their discretion to enforce it.

I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia in February 2023. It’s a fast-growing type of blood cancer. I underwent more than five rounds of chemotherapy, and the following July, thanks to an amazingly generous donor, I had a stem cell transplant, something I knew nothing about until I got sick. I was given some of the most powerful chemotherapies to kill my old immune system and any remaining cancer cells. Then I was given my donor’s stem cells to help build a brand-new immune system.

There are a lot of risks that come along with the transplant, especially in the early stages as the stem cells are engrafting and you have no immune system. The first 100 days are the riskiest, and you must watch everything from what you eat to how it’s prepared, and most of all the people around you. Your body is starting from scratch, so you have almost no immunities. Any vaccinations you’ve had over your lifetime have been wiped out. For the last year since my transplant, my immune system has slowly been getting stronger. But building a new immune system takes years, and I have a long way to go. So, wearing my face mask whenever I go out is essential.

That brings me back to the new law. I wear a medic alert bracelet and would hope that showing it to the police, should it ever become an issue, would be enough. But that’s not guaranteed, because anyone can just order one. Would I be forced to show up in court to prove my medical condition to a judge? And what cost and time could that take, all to protect my health? And what about my family or people who act as caregivers, who don’t technically have medical conditions of their own, but still wear masks to protect me? Would there be an exemption for them?

Most of all, I worry about those who have strong feelings against masks. As we know, many people read headlines and not always the full story. And just reading most of the headlines, all someone will know is that there’s a mask ban in Nassau County. Even at the height of my illness, with no hair and really looking like I had cancer, I still got comments like “Covid is over” or “that’s not protecting you.” And while the few comments hurt, especially while I was battling for my life, I could shake them off. I had a bigger fight ahead of me.

Now, healthier with hair again and 43 years old, the comments continue. But I worry that in this current political climate and with the new law, it may not end at that. People can’t see my disability from the outside. It’s been hard to get back out in the world, as many can relate to after going through a global pandemic. Even being as careful as I am and just starting to let my guard down a little in outdoor settings, I caught Covid. And it took my body and immune system down hard. Luckily, I’m recovering and back to wearing my mask diligently, even outdoors.

I want to be able to return to my normal life. And go out with friends, see a Broadway show, and one day get back to my office in the city. But now with New York City considering passing its own mask ban, I don’t know when I would feel safe enough to do that. Is this law really protecting the masses?

[minniethemoocherda]

Can I Lay By Your Side?

Summary: In the aftermath of Sinister's attack, Morph struggles to get to sleep, so Logan keeps them company by watching a movie.

A/N: This fic can be read as a sequel to my other Morpherine fic "Loving You is a Losing game" but also works as a stand alone. Also cannot believe I have written two Morpherine fics in two days??? I am going insane right now!! Can't promise that any more fics about these two will be as consistent! Xxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

Morph sat glued to the living room sofa, unable to make themselves move, terrified to go to bed to face the onslaught of nightmares waiting for them.

Mr Sinister's attack had been an ordeal for all the X-men, especially for the two Jeans and Scott who now had to grieve the loss of their son to the future. Morph's problems felt ridiculous in comparison. Sinister hadn't even controlled them again, not if you counted making Jean do it for him. There wasn't really anything for them to be upset about.

Yet every time they closed their eyes, they could feel the tendrils of Sinister's claws inside them. Morph scratched their arms, skin turning to gloop under their fingernails, digging for the mind control chips they swore they could still feel buried there.

"Pick one."

Logan slammed a box down on the coffee table in front of them, startling their edges back to a solid form.

"Huh?" Morph stammered, having not even heard their friend come in.

"We're watching a movie." Logan stated, pointing at the box.

Morph peeked over the edge to see a pile of rom-coms, their favourite genre.

"Unless you'd rather... talk... about it." Logan said, in a gruff imitation of Morph's offer back in the club. And on any other day, Morph probably would've excepted his offer, if it hadn't been Logan himself that had appeared in their nightmare. And there was no way in hell they were going to be talking to Logan about that.

"And miss the chance to finally make you watch Pretty Woman?" Morph replied, knowing that their attempt at a smile did not reach their eyes.

Thankfully Logan didn't comment on it and instead grabbed the VHS, wound it back with the tip of his claw and placed it in the player below the TV.

Morph was expecting Logan to sit in his usual spot at the other end of the sofa, so was therefore caught off guard when the Canadian sat right next to them.

They deliberately tried not to think about that fact as the opening credits started to roll. As it continued they found themselves becoming more engrossed in the film, admiring all of Julia Robert's iconic outfits, that red dress in particular giving them inspiration for whatever gala the x-men were next invited too. They allowed themselves get lost in the romance of a rags to riches tale as like all rom-coms the main character converged ever closer to a happy ending. The guaranteed happy ending, being the reason why the genre was their favourite in the first place.

The film even managed to get a chuckle out of Logan, which Morph counted as a win as they knew that with the revelation of an additional Jean, he had to be going through his own shit.

And when Morph's attention wavered and the edges of their skin started to droop, Logan placed his arm along the back of the sofa, his hand resting on their shoulder, effectively grounding them back to this reality.

Even if it did made it harder for Morph to as much attention to the movie afterwards.

Too soon the film finished and whilst Morph was feeling more solid, they still weren't ready for the concept of going to sleep yet.

Without even having to ask, Logan picked up the remote and rewound the tape back to the beginning, even though Morph knew that Logan wasn't a fan of films, rom-coms especially so. But he made no complaints as Richard Gere once again fell head over heals for the beautiful Julia Roberts.

Once again, the big ballgown scene played out and it was becoming a battle for Morph to keep their eyes open. Too exhausted to talk themselves out of it, hoping to conserve some of their energy into staying awake, Morph rested their head against Logan's shoulder. Expecting Logan to brush them off or turn it into another joke, they were surprised when he actually pulled them closer, his hand now properly gripping their shoulder as though they could physically shield them from their own nightmares.

And it must have worked as the next time Morph opened their eyes, daylight was flickering in through the living room windows. The first thing they noticed as they slowly came to their senses, was the low volume of the TV as it played the movie for what must've have been the tenth time. The next was that their whole body was pressed against Logan's side and that The Wolverine's hand had moved from their shoulder to their waist, hugging them even tighter.

"Sleep alright?" Logan asked, concern etched in the creases of his face.

Morph nodded, not trusting the words I love you to not tumble out of their mouth.

"Good," Logan said, those creases turning into a smile. "'Cus I can smell Jubilee making pancakes."

Of course that was when Morph finally woke up enough to realise that they were cuddling The Fucking Wolverine.

They practically ejected themselves from the sofa, putting as much distance between them and Logan as physically possible.

"Did you say pancakes?" Morph cried, acting as though their internal mental breakdown was actually just an over enthusiasm for food. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?"

Not waiting to see Logan's reaction, they sprinted down the corridor to the kitchen, not realising until they were long gone that Logan must have stayed awake to protect them all night.

[bygiornogiovanna]

Idk if you’re accepting requests but if you are I have something I’ve been think about for a bit now,,,

How about HCs for the bucciarati gang where the gang is teasing the member about reader but he denies it to get them to stop their constant teases (even though it’s obvious their in love with them) and reader hears it (because they walked into the room or something) and become sad/sulky and ignores them as a result like basically how each member would react to that!

If you can that would be awesome! I’ve become so obsessed with your writing so please continue writing for as long as it makes you happy cause I guarantee it brightens other people’s days as well! 💖

Facade (Bucci gang x gn! reader hcs)

in which they are being teased about liking you...

bruno bucciarati, giorno giovanna, leone abbacchio // i currently have no idea what to write for mista, fugo nor narancia, please, give me ideas in the comments.

"Come on, man, just admit you like them!" Trish laughed and a sigh escaped past his lips. The man felt like one of the veins in his neck was about to pop. He despised being teased about his feelings towards you. He thought he was doing a good job at hiding them, but apparently, the whole gang knew except, well...you.

"No! I don't like them at all, shut up! We were, we are and we will always be only friends!" He yelled and, when he turned around to leave, he felt like his world was going to crumble. You were standing right there and the look on your face said everything: What you just heard completely broke your heart.

Without saying a word, you turned and left, and, from then on, everything went down the hill. You either ignored him for weeks or when you spoke to him, only a blunt coldness was showed in your voice.

☆Bruno Bucciarati☆

Bruno felt his heart break every time you looked at him with such hatred...Well, at least on the times you looked at him. Because yes, there went weeks without you sparing him a glance;

And all of that because his friends just couldn't keep their mouths shut. That, and because he was too much of a coward to admit the fact that he did like you;

Bruno went from looking like the most put-together man to looking like one of those homeless people. Big, dark circles could be seen around his eyes from all the sleepless nights he had been thinking about how can he fix this. His hair was a mess. Wait, scratch that...He was a mess;

He decided he couldn't keep going with this facade and that you two needed to discuss it. You were adults now. You had to communicate;

Even if it wasn't at easy to do as it was to say, he abused the fact that he was the boss of the team you were in and called you into his office because of a "mission" he had to assign you;

"Are you going to tell me the mission, or do I have to sit here forever?" you spat five minutes after stepping into his office. "Take a seat, please," he said calmly;

"Tell me the mission." you insisted, and he sighed. "Sit down first." Bruno countered, and you rolled your eyes. The faster you did what he said, the quicker you would leave. The more you sat and looked at him, the harder it was for you to not let your tears flow, his words clear as fresh water in your head;

"There is no mission. We need to talk." The moment you heard that, you wanted to get up. "At listen to me, please." His voice sounded so...pained. You sighed and sat back down, a quiet way of telling him you were going to listen to him;

"Look, I know that the situation I put you in a few weeks ago was a painful one, hearing your friend say they don't like you at all...It is a pretty difficult thing to manage. I wish to say...It was all a big misunderstanding. I-" You raised a brow at that, your soft voice interrupting him;

"You mean that saying you indirectly hate me is all a misunderstanding?";

"Yes! I wasn't saying that I hate you...I was saying that I don't like you in...that way." You opened your mouth to talk back again, and he raised his hand to stop you. "Before you comment, let me finish. I was lying when I said I don't like you. I love you, Y/N. I was just scared of you not...feeling the same. And I know my friends, they can't keep quiet when they know something.";

You stared at him wide-eyed. No words were coming out of your mouth and only now you noticed the absolutely horrible state he was in. You don't think you've ever seen Bruno this stressed;

"I really...don't know what to say, Bruno. I'm sorry for reacting how I did, I just...I thought you hated me. And it broke my heart knowing the one I'm in love with hates me." You admitted and he gave you the same stare you just gave him;

"You mean you like me back?!"

☆Giorno Giovanna☆

Giorno had no idea what to do for you to forgive him;

He was never good with expressing his love and gratitude for others, and he was especially worse at it when it came to you;

The day he met you was the day his world was turned upside down. He was ready to do anything it took for you to love him back, but it seemed that all his effort was crushed after his little outburst;

Everytime he tried pulling you away from the rest to talk to you, to explain you why he said that, to apologize, you gave him the cold shoulder. And, with every cold, unamused gaze you gave him, his heart shattered;

Unlike Bruno, he couldn't just make you come to him. The only thing he could do was sit and watch you from afar. Sit and watch how pretty you looked when you laughed during those weeks, but it was never with him;

"Please, just look at me" was his thought every time you avoided his begging eyes. Quietly, Giorno begged you to look at him. To forgive him. And he never begged;

His only option was writing you letter. He wrote, and he wrote. The blonde poured his feelings and his explanations that you refused to listen to into words on a paper and slipped them into your purse, disguised as a ladybug;

He only knew that you read them when you showed up at his door at one in the morning, messy hair and teary-eyed. No words were spoken between the two of you, but you both understood what each other meant;

You crashed your body into his and he was there to catch you. He was there. And he will always be there for you, to soothe your pain, even if he was the cause;

As you sobbed into his arms, emotions overwhelming you, he rubbed your back and planted a kiss on your head. There were no words needed anymore, the two souls of yours were connected into one as both of you acknowledged and realized your feelings for each other;

"Now you finally know I love you more than anything in this world, tesoro."

☆Leone Abbacchio☆

Abbacchio hated you. He really did;

He hated the way you made him feel love for the first time in years. He hated the way he loved your smile. The way he cherished every moment spent with you. He hated how he was always there, watching your every move, but not daring to step in. He hated the way you never backed away from him, the way you always searched for him and considered his opinions. And he absolutely loathed the way he was craving your presence;

Ever since that little...incident, should we call it, happened, it was like he was invisible again. You didn't even look at him, let alone talk or be near him the way you were before;

He wanted to curse at you, at his so-said friends who brought this upon him. It was only their fault, if they only knew when was time to shut the fuck up, he wouldn't be in this shitty situation. But, most of all, he wanted to curse at himself. For being such a coward and never admitting his feelings for you to himselft, let alone others;

And right now, for the second time in his life, Leone was desperate;

The only solution he had was drowning himself in alcohol. The substance he was so used to was his only solution to end his despair. He thought that, if he couldn't think, you would leave his mind;

But oh, how wrong he was. He found himself thinking even more about you. It's like you were stuck in his head, exactly like the roots of his hair were;

That's exactly why he was there, in front if your house, desperately knocking at three o'clock in the morning, desperately seeking you;

Annoyed by the never-ending sound of knocking on your door, you opened the door to your house, wondering who could it be at this hour. However, you certainly didn't expect seeing your usually stoic teammate, drunk and with such a look on his face;

"A-Abbacchio?! What are you doing here?" you asked and were met with silence. Pure, cold silence;

Without saying a word, he pulled you into his body, and this was the first time ever since you met him that he hugged you. Even if he didn't say anything, you somehow understood everything;

The silence was now comforting and, even if you had no clear explanation, you didn't exactly care at that moment. You could speak tomorrow, now, you just enjoyed his warmth;

"I love you, Y/N."

the queen of angst lmao

hope you liked it anon <3

[calxprince]

❀ LOVE, OR THE LACK THEREOF ( 1 )

. . . a kabru x gender neutral reader story

# Chapter 1 ; 5 Years is Barely Enough Time for Someone to Move On, Right?

# genre : multiple parts. breakup angst. reader can't move on for the life of them.

# warnings : hurt no comfort in the first chapter

# spoiler warnings : none

# notes : purely an intro to the story. reader yammering about their life after the breakup. author is tired of the lack of kabru fanfiction and is tired of depending on cai

click here for the masterlist

1080 words

. . . in which relationships are prohibited within the party.

What a stupid rule. Or at least, you used to think it was. Until you fell in love, then fell out of it after.

Okay, you didn't actually fall out of it. But you did end up breaking up.

But hey, 5 years isn't that long right? It's not too late to start moving on?

Fuck. You really wished you followed that rule. All you can do now is regret all of your actions 5 years ago, when you were dating him.

RELATIONSHIPS WITHIN PARTIES WERE STRICTLY PROHIBITED.

You only started to understand why it was a rule, a golden standard across all parties.

It is fairly understandable that to have good chemistry with your party, you need to have close bonds with each of your members. You need to establish a strong relationship with your peers, to use all of your different abilities in perfect harmony.

However, indulging yourself in the greed of breaking through the barrier or being— just friends is a high risk. It could either make or break your party's chemistry. With intertwined heartstrings, that push and pull is always guaranteed to break those ties.

You groan at your stupidity, as you struggle to keep yourself afloat as a solo adventurer. Gold became scarce as you could barely afford your necessities, while the dungeon became harder and harder to explore— making treasures difficult to score. Lower levels were always a no-go, as you risk dying and being victim to a resurrection scam— draining you of all of your (miniscule) savings.

You used to be a party leader, determined to lead your beloved team to victory. However, strangers turn into friends— friends into close friends, and suddenly... Lovers. Life back then was simple, laughing at the stupidity of the rule ' no dating within the party! '. I mean, what's so wrong about being happy?

Your power, and his expertise with the blade— back to back, you two were unstoppable.

But could it have lasted forever? You ask yourself over and over— to the point of days becoming weeks, becoming months.

It's all become a blur.

Wake up. Enter the Dungeon. Explore the Dungeon. Go Home. Sleep. Repeat.

It's been 5 years since you broke up with Kabru. Actually— 5 years since you've seen his face. However, it doesn't change a thing. You have had his face memorized in the back of your mind since the day you both met; each angle and curvature of his jaw, the exact hue and saturation of his eyes, each curl in the sea of his dark hair.

You could never forget the way his eyes would soften as he looked at you, his lips curling into a gentle smile. He made you feel warm, like— a bowl of hot soup that your mom made you on a rainy day kind of warm. The way he never fails to be impressed by you, no matter how many times he'd seen your magic.

Sometimes, he'd try to get a little scratch during battle just so he could get healed by you again.

So what if the other members were fatally bleeding and were on the verge of death? He has a 'potentially life-threatening paper cut' and is in need of assistance.

Does it hurt more to remember, than to forget?

... You're not sure.

Remembering only brings fear—the fear of being forever perceived as the person you used to be, and will never be remembered as the person you are now. Change is inevitable, but you never really know if it it changes for the better or the worse.

You've been avoiding ever exploring more than half of the village ever since that day.

He's made his imprint in your mind, where that one bakeshop was not just any normal bakeshop— it was the one he'd eagerly line up at each morning, just so he could bring you your favorite treat.

God, you can't even stand the smell of it in the air anymore.

You couldn't get yourself to go to that one tavern, since it wasn't just any normal tavern anymore— it was his favorite tavern. The one tavern that he introduced you to, where they sold the best quality of your favorite drink.

He had hunted down every saloon and tavern in the village, just to pin one down because he knew you would love it.

And he loved it because you loved it.

It was also the place where you got absolutely wasted. Where you accidentally gave him the sloppiest, most passionate liquor-flavored kiss ever.

Where you couldn't stop the drunken slur of words that poured out of your mouth like a waterfall of alcohol, accidentally telling him you loved him.

It's a never-ending spiral of having to give up your favorite things, mostly because the reason why they were your favorite— was because of him. Because he had taken the time to get to know you, and noted down every single thing about you in every nook and cranny of his mind— your favorite scent, the shampoo you use, the distinct hop in your step.

That man knew you inside and out as if he had just completely dissected you in his mind. His beautiful mind. The mind that knew the second your mood shifted, the one that always takes note of your subtle hints.

And without him, everything seemed tasteless. Like your favorite freshly baked bread in the morning— it suddenly felt like eating clay that you had just dug up from the side of a creek. Like a bland porridge that was bordering a lukewarm temperature.

You sit there, pondering what could've been.

What would life be like if he never left?

Would he still be lying beneath your covers, his face buried in the crook of your neck while whispering promises?

Would he be sitting on your couch, folding your shared laundry— while you cook yourselves a shared dinner?

Would he be begging you to use your magic on him again? Would you be there healing his wounds after a long day, while he begs for another kiss?

Would he be there to kiss your lips again— holding you like a glass rose that could shatter beneath his fingertips?

...

You still love him.

You can't deny it.

However, 5 years is enough for him to hire a new mage.

5 years would've been enough for him to move on to bigger things— bigger ambitions.

bigger dreams than the ones he had with you.

You needed longer than 5 years. Maybe one day you'd be able to meet him eye to eye, without the dread and the fear.

But today was not that day.

But today was the day god decided to test you. (as if he hasn't put you through enough, dragging you from hell and back.)

He decided to test your patience, your resilience, and all of the above.

I mean, who else wouldn't freak out after seeing your ex and your ex-party members lying dead on the ground?

... Especially when they're all weirdly lined up on the concrete floor of the dungeon.

[chiffaust]

Hi! Can I request a dabble or a oneshot (whatever you're more comfortable with) with a reader playing with Natsume's hair while pampering him? Like braiding his hair while kissing his hair and being all sweet disgusting /affectionate

Have a great day!

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗜𝗧'𝗦 𝗠𝗔𝗚𝗡𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗖 !

𝘀. 𝗻𝗮𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗲 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ... pampering him with affection.

×××. fluff , gender neutral / no pronouns used except for 'you' , pathetic loser natsume , written in bulleted list , mentions of him getting jealous nd then he gets mad at tsumugi

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲. i aem actually a firm believer that natsume is a loser towards his s/o when they show him affection. my requests are open too but i wont guarantee i will write all of the requests i get but i'll try my best :3

Disgustingly one of the whiniest guy ever when it comes to your affection /affectionately

While he still tries to play his part as a charming and considerate boyfriend for you, he's too emotionally immature to handle the fact that sometimes your attention isn't going to be solely directed towards him at all times.

You would absolutely know though when he's mad about it because both Sora and Tsumugi would snitch on him to you but for completely different reasons; Sora is worried about Natsume and his emotional state but Tsumugi is telling you because he's being bullied by him harder than usually and wants you to stop him since you're the only one who can!

But, by that time he's already too grumpy to talk to you. He is like a cat who would scratch and hiss at you whenever you try and pet him but never would he try to move further away from you. Just because he's mad that doesn't mean he doesn't love you anymore; he wants you to see that he's still mad while also being close to you.

It's all an act though — he's all bark, but no bite because when you start spoiling him with your affection, he would instantly melt into it without any complaints. It's almost pathetic how quickly he can change from being mad and distant to being clingy and demanding of your affection.

He really likes it when you'll let him rest his head on your shoulder while your arms are wrapped around his own with your fingers running through his hair. Or when you braid his hair and talk about your day. Even if he's supposed to be grumpy and pretend he doesn't care; he cares. He's deeply interested in everything you do, from the normal eccentricity or from the kindest of your heart — he adores them all.

During moments like this was when he can really let his guard down and just rest. Meaning that if you put any silly hair clips on him or braid his hair in a funny way he usually doesn't approve, he wouldn't stop you. He's too busy whining while clinging onto you to care about how silly he looks.

But, he's still mad! Pouting, Natsume would glare at you and give you a gentle flick on the forehead for making him these things, so you should at least take some responsibility for being the cause of his emotions!

He still looks a bit funny when mad though, with the hair clips pushing up his bangs and his hair braided in a funny way it would remind you of how he looks as a child. If you laugh, he would only get grumpier.

Nothing a kiss on the lips can't solve, though. He's so embarrassingly soft and in love with you — even when you pull a stunt like this, he can't help but kiss you back and bask in your affection while it lasts because who knows — this might be the last time in a while before he's able to act like actual lovers with you due to his busy schedule.

If you ask him, he might apologize to Tsumugi for letting his anger out on the poor guy. Begrudgingly might I add and even so; it might only happen if you're there to supervise him.

[heygerald]

Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 4

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When he starts being less of an asshole, and more of a person, Parker finds that he isn't so bad. Not that she would tell him that, though.

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Parker doesn't get much sleep. Not necessarily because she's so busy that she doesn't have time, and not definitively because of the sleep disorder she has self-diagnosed off of a sketchy website she found while browsing her symptoms one day.

In truth it's because she thinks too much.

She overthinks what her to-do list for the following week should be; overthinks the plot of her favorite tv series and whether or not they are going to kill off her favorite character in the mid-season finale; overthinks whether she should spend more one-on-one time with her brother while they're both in the same city, able bodied (with his career, there was no guarantee), and with the time to waste on stupid memories. On the really bad nights, Parker overthinks whether or not she made a mistake in purchasing an old, dilapidated bookstore that has drained her bank account over the last couple of years. She worries that her life is going nowhere, that she'll soon have failed at her dream venture, and that when she dies, she'll have no accomplishments to her name.

On those nights, she ends up washing down a handful of melatonin gummies with two boiling cups of sleepy time tea.

It helps, but it also leaves her floating in a state between unconsciousness and squirrely dreams that is hard to shake off in the morning.

Harder still to shake off when her phone lights up the room in the middle of the night, the shrill song of her ringtone bleating through the pitch black of her bedroom shocking her awake in delirious fright.

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get home before the...

Parker swings her hand towards the nightstand in such a rush that she ends up knocking her cellphone onto the ground. It bounces on the hardwood floor—she doesn't even care if it breaks, the damn thing—before skidding underneath her bed. The light from it casts shadows in all directions.

What if I'm late? Gotta big date, gotta get home...

It takes her half crawling out of bed, sheets tangled around her bare legs, elbow braced on the cold floor as she blindly grapples for the device to find it. Colt always made fun of her ringtone—if you're going to pick a song, at least pick a good one, he would taunt while listening to Taylor Swift on replay—and while Parker had adamantly told him where to stick his opinion, at the moment, the song blaring in the middle of the night has her half-prepared to scratch out of her own eardrums in frustration.

The stanza continues: before the morning comes...

She grabs the phone and wrenches it—and herself—back onto the bed. The number isn't saved in her phone, and panic wells in her chest. She's gasping as blood rushes back down to her toes. "Hello?"

"Jesus, finally. I thought you weren't going to fucking answer."

Whether it's the tea, the overdose of melatonin, or the fact that she had just been woken up in the middle of the night, Parker can't seem to make sense of much. The only thing she can think about is how she has a brother who does stupid stuff for money, and has called her from the back of ambulance three times and counting.

Once on her birthday.

"Oh my god," she mutters, a hand already clutching to her chest as she can feel the cavity caving in. Clarity has no place in her spiraling panic. "Oh my god, he's finally dead, isn't he? Oh my god, Colt is dead!"

"What the fuck are you on about?" the voice interrupts her panic with a modicum of disbelief. It sounds familiar, but Parker is far more focused on regulating her breathing before she throws up than placing a voice through her half-broken speaker. The room, pitch black and without anything to see, is spinning. "I'm not even with Colt."

"Fuck," she curses, before recklessly scrabbling with her nightstand. It's a total fucking mess, and in her haste, she knocks a lamp and stack of books onto the ground. The least of her problems if her idiot of a brother is already fucking dead. "Fuck! Where are you? I didn't even know he was on a job right now. Um, what hospital is he at? Wait—shit—I need to find a pen and paper..."

"Parker, Jesus, Colt's fine. Stop spinning out for two seconds. Are you on drugs?"

She blinks, unsure if she just heard what she heard, and slowly withdrawals her hand as she tries to compute what is being said.

"He's... not dead?" she croaks hesitantly.

"He's fine. I mean, well, as far as I know," the voice drones on; it's clearly annoyed now. A scoff. "Why in the hell would you assume that he's dead?"

"Because—it's—" she wipes a hand over her face tiredly, sweeping tufts of hair off her forehead to peer at the clock in the corner. Large, red numbers blink at her showing that she had only been asleep for two and a half hours. Worse still when she makes sense of what she's seeing. "It's two thirty in the morning! Why the fuck would an unknown number be calling me in the middle of the night if it wasn't for Colt?"

"Are you—wait—are seriously his emergency contact?" the voice goads, teasing and judging all in one tone. She hates it. "That's a little pathetic, honestly."

Her left eye twitches. "Who the fuck is this?"

"It's Tom."

Parker doesn't know a Tom, she's never known a Tom in the entirety of her life, and as she struggles to clear her thoughts, the idea that some asshole with a stupid name like Tom would call her out of the blue at this time of night starts to really piss her off.

"Tom who? I don't know a fucking Tom!" she shouts into the receiver.

There's a thump against the wall, a muffled call of "shut the fuck up!" rings out from her roommate's room. Too many things are happening though, and Parker clutches her head between her hands while trying to stay on topic.

"Fucking Tom Ryder, smartass," the voice chides. "Who else?"

And—

Fuck.

Yeah, alright, maybe she did know a Tom, and, yeah, now that she thought about it, he was a raging, grade-A asshole that would call someone up in the middle of the night for no reason other than to ruin the first good sleep she had in a week. All while getting upset at her for her negative response to the impromptu gab-sesh.

You know, in the way that all assholes did.

"Why—?" she starts, before realizing that she is shouting. Parker clears her throat with a glance towards the wall and tries a second time in an angry hiss. "Why the fuck are you calling me at two in the morning, Ryder?"

"I finished the book and I want to talk about it."

The words don't compute for half a second, but when they do, Parker can feel a migraine spiraling behind her eyes. She sort of feels like she's having a seizure before realizing that it's just pure anger spiking in the bottom of her chest.

She's pretty sure this is how someone feels right before committing a violent crime.

"Are you—? I was fucking sleeping!" she hisses. "Good—fucking—bye!"

Hanging up the phone certainly isn't as satisfying as it used to be when flip phones were in fashion, and you could slam the top down to end a conversation. But pressing the big red END button on Tom Ryder does grant her a small moment of satisfaction. Even more so when she imagines the shocked furrow of his eyebrows or the crease of his mouth as he frowns.

Good, she thinks sourly while flopping back onto her pillows with a sharp huff, maybe Tom Ryder could use a few wrinkles in his life.

Her peace lasts all of twenty seconds.

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get home before the morning...

Parker grabs a pillow and smushes it against her face hoping that it will drown out the noise. When it doesn't, she hopes that maybe suffocation will knock her out for a couple hours of sleep. But then there's another thump against the wall and she realizes that if she dies right here and now, the last person she would have ever talked to would be Tom fucking Ryder, and she's not so sure she's okay with that.

So, she removes the pillow to take a deep breath. Then she answers the phone.

"Did you just hang up on me?" he asks incredulously.

"It is two-thirty in the morning, and you want to talk about a book?"

A huff. "Yes. Why else would I ever call you?"

If she was more awake, Parker might have taken offense at the insult. She's much too groggy to do that, though. Besides, almost everything out of his mouth was some sort of judgement. At this point, she didn't think he would be able to speak without being rude.

"Couldn't you have called me during a normal hour?"

"My audition is on Friday," he said, as if that was any sort of excuse for his behavior. "I still have to read the other two books by then."

"Wait, I'm sorry," Parker interjects with a mean laugh, pausing to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Have you been up all-night reading?"

"You could sound a little less judgmental about it," he snarks. "I do read, you know. Bad scripts and the like."

She huffs. Not quite a laugh, but not just an expression either. It's a little hard to take anything serious when she's sleep-deprived and delirious. And, certainly, he can't be serious. That's her justification for giving up, anyway. "Okay, alright, fine. Which book did you finish?"

"Contact."

"That's a good one to start with," Parker murmurs, shifting on her mattress so she can cradle her PillowPet.

It has lost of all of its stuffing, an eye, and any joy it once had, but the penguin was a gift from Colt that she can't convince herself to trash. It mirrors her frown.

"No, not a good one. I didn't understand it at all."

"What didn't you understand?"

"Any of it, all of it. Why the hell did you tell me that Dune was too complicated and then hand me this shit?" he complains. There's something odd in his tone though. Something she can hear creeping through the syllables somewhere between annoyed and confused that reminds her of their conversation weeks prior at Gail's—you don't even sound like yourself, she had said. It's only now that she realizes he hadn't sounded like himself because he was doubting himself, which was the most un-like Tom Ryder thing anyone could ever do. She frowns at the thought as he continues. "It's all about math and pi and something called a transcendental number. I should have just watched Altered Carbon."

Parker sighs. "You're getting yourself all worked up over things that don't matter."

"Don't matter? It's all the book fucking talks about!"

"That's sci-fi," she says. And while it's a piss poor excuse, it's the truth. A moment later and Parker realizes that if he really had never read anything sci-fi before, he likely wouldn't realize the rules of reading it. Sighing, she takes some pity on him to explain, "okay, look. You know when you watch an action film and there's some ridiculous sequence that makes no sense; like when the ground is crumbling beneath their feet and the character jumps at the last second and is totally okay?"

"Like in the Fast and the Furious."

"Literally every single scene in those movies."

"Okay...?"

"Right, well, you watch those scenes and tell yourself not to take them seriously. They exist because it's an action movie, right? It doesn't have to be realistic."

"Sure," he agreed, but she could tell he still wasn't getting the point.

"It's the same thing when you're reading sci-fi. Okay? All the math and theoretical physics and calculations they do—whatever it is—they throw that stuff in there to build up a universe that feels real. The audience doesn't have to understand quantum mechanics to know that Chris Pine can fly a really big spaceship in Star Trek."

"You really have a hard-on for Chris Pine, huh?"

Parker ignored his comment entirely, barreling on. "The point of the book is not that the audience is stupid and needs to take some math classes even if that's how it feels sometimes. The point is that Ellie is a genius that no one else understands or believes in. When she talks about transcendental numbers and you have no idea what she means, that's exactly how the other characters in the book feel. They don't believe her because they don't understand her."

"So, it's... like an attempt to make the audience sympathize with her but also so the author can explain how everything happens."

Parker smiles. "Right."

"That's stupid," he says, and her smile immediately disappears behind a groan. "I just don' think the author needed to spend so much time trying to sound smart."

"It's a book about interstellar travel and the existence of intelligent life," she deadpans. "It's supposed to sound smart."

Tom mulls that over, and while he does so, Parker shifts once more in bed. The red numbers blink at her are only going up, but now that her heart rate has returned to a normal level, she finds it's far from the worst conversation she's had with Tom. Especially since she gets to talk about one of her favorite books.

Even if he is an ass.

"This would have been better as a movie," he finally settles on. It's not a sophisticated opinion by any means, but it certainly is him.

"Actually, it was originally written to be a screenplay. The movie got cancelled, and Sagan adapted it into a book."

"Seriously?"

"Sure," she shrugs. She spares a glance towards her nightstand where a copy of the book lays in tatters from how often she has read it. "Ironic considering the book became so popular that it got a second movie deal a few years later."

"...you're telling me that I could have watched this instead of reading it after all?" he barks. But, well, his tone isn't so annoyed as it sounds impressed. Parker hears the taping of buttons on a remote, before he's yelling. "Jodie Foster! Seriously?"

She can't help it. Parker laughs. "It's not a bad movie, but the book is way better."

"I have to watch this now."

"I have a copy you can borrow if you don't want to rent it."

"It's three dollars. How poor are you, exactly?"

She scoffs, an eye roll that has become habit when talking to the prick even though he can't see it. Snootily, she tells him, "I just rolled my eyes at you, asshole. In case you were wondering."

A harrumph. "I do think I caught something from your bookstore. I've been sick all day. It's disgusting—it's making my mouth all dry and it practically ruined my breakfast. I couldn't even eat my avocado."

"First the cappuccino, and now the avocado. Is there anything you don't blame me for?"

The teasing got the exact reaction she wanted, and as Tom starts complaining on the other end of the line, Parker smothers a laugh into her penguin. "It was a flat white! And—"

"I'm going to hang up on you now," she sing-songed. "And fair warning: if you call me again before eight am, I'm going to post your phone number on Reddit. Gail can eat shit with her lawsuit."

"Don't you fucking—"

Parker finds a lot more satisfaction in hanging up on Tom Ryder the second time, and when the phone screen stays dark, she plops it down onto her nightstand with an amused hum. It's past three am now, something she will be regretting come morning.

Then again, it seemed that Tom Ryder was all about regrets.

Right?

----

"Do you think I'm cool?" Parker ponders two days later, a glance tossed to her brother as she idly tries on a pair of sunglasses that are in the shape of trout. They're overpriced, but she's also incredibly bored, and about five minutes away from throwing a toddler-style meltdown in the middle of the bait and tackle shop.

"Of course you're cool," he says as he models a rash guard that he's been trying on for the last half hour. He twists in the mirror, left and right, before giving himself two thumbs up. There's something dangerous about the way he grins at her. "You have me for a brother, after all. Coolest kid on the block. Always have been, always will be."

"Right. Didn't they call you Shitpants in high school?"

A passing employee coughs into their hand to hide their laugh, and Colt turns a bright red.

"She's totally joking. They didn't call me that, my nickname was something totally different," he calls after the retreating sales associate, always attempting to save face but never quite succeeding. A moment later and he's glaring at his sister. "That was one time, and it was an accident. The potato salad was—"

"Bad," Parker finishes for him with an eyeroll. "Yeah, I know. I've heard the story."

"Then why do you insist on bringing it back up all the time?" he hissed.

There isn't much activity in the oceanfront store beside the pair wandering from aisle to aisle. It's a small shack that they've frequented for years. Colt pretends to be good friends with the owner, and Parker never minds because there's a great lemonade stand right down the block. It's usually the first stop of the day when they decide to hang out on the beach. Just a place to buy ice and snacks before moving on to better things.

Which is good considering there being little to no airflow when sitting inside, and the radio seems to be on a constant loop of Justin Bieber in his pre-puberty phase. It's not so good, however, when they spend more than five minutes inside.

Today, it seems to be the first and final stop given how long they've been there. She feels her bones getting weary from all the pandering her brother has done, and she's starting to suspect that his reasons for picking her up that morning weren't as innocent as he initially claimed.

Deprived of breathable air and sleep, Parker isn't all too enthused when she props the kiosk sunglasses onto her head with a pleading look towards her brother. "Because I'm bored!" she whined, in a way that was far too little-sisterly like for someone her age. Decidedly though she doesn't care when he makes no move to leave. "I thought we were just going to buy some sunscreen before heading towards the point. That's what you said, anyway."

"We are!" he says, arms thrown wide in exasperation. Parker doesn't buy that for a second, however, and her brother folds under her stare. "Just... in a minute. I need a new rash guard. Maybe some new board shorts."

"You don't even surf."

"I... do," he argues, his head bobbing up and down as if trying to convince himself of such a bold statement. "It's just been a couple of—"

"Decades?"

"Years," he corrects her with a glare. "It's like riding a bike. You know. Probably."

"Just with water and waves and the possibility of drowning or death by shark."

"You're not helping."

She shrugs. "I never said I was here to help."

Colt's response is a melodramatic pout, pausing in his nervous shifting to wave a hand in her general direction. "Well, this would be a lot quicker if you just helped."

He punctuates the statement by performing a full spin for her, hands stuck out before realizing that's awkward. To fix that, he props them even more awkwardly on his hips, but it only makes him look like he's a Ken doll pretending to be a real person.

Parker elects to keep that to herself sensing his anxiety was getting dangerously close to his own toddler-style meltdown.

"What do you think of this? Cool? Not cool?" he continues on muttering, head bobbing in every direction as he smooths the material down over his puffed-up chest. It deflates just as quickly as he turns back to her to ask, "pink's cool, right? I'm going for a laidback look, you know. But not too laidback. Somewhere right in the middle."

Parker returns the sunglasses to the rotating stand before plopping onto a stack of buckets. He seems awfully concerned with this particular task all of the sudden, despite spending the last three years avoiding the idea altogether. Every time he was offered a chance to get back out on the water by one of his stunt buddies, he miraculously came up with an excuse not to.

It all feels weird. And when her brother got weird, there was usually a girl involved.

Ah.

"You told Jody you still surf, huh?" she puts two and two together.

His peacocking in the mirror stopped entirely. A wince. Then a smile. Then a wince again in a ball of pent-up nerves. "That's... maybe one of the—she doesn't—you don't have to hang around here while I try these on. Don't you have something better to be doing?"

"If I had literally anything better to be doing, I would be doing it."

"Okay, ouch."

Parker rolled her eyes at her brother's whining. But really, she didn't have anything better to be doing at the moment than hanging around while her brother tried to impress a girl.

Not to mention she liked this girl.

Sighing, she decided to throw him a bone. Because, what else would she be doing? Parker peered at the rack behind him for a moment before pointing to the top. "Try the blue one instead."

Colt glanced down at his chest with a frown. "But... Jody likes pink."

"Yes, but blue will match your eyes better. Make you look tanner."

"And make me harder to see if I start drowning," he huffed. But, after a moment of consideration, stripped off the pink rash guard to pull on the blue one. Always a fucking argument with him, she thought with a bemused eyeroll. Especially when a moment later, "oh, this one does look better..."

She laughed as he spun in the mirror, attempting to get a three-sixty perspective of the potential garment. Only for the moment to be interrupted by a buzzing in her back pocket.

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get gone before...

Her phone's ringtone broke through her relative boredom, and as Colt ran a hand through his hair and squared his shoulders in the mirror, she plucked the device out of her back pocket.

"You really got to change that ringtone," he said half-heartedly.

Parker stuck her tongue out at him and swiveled on her bucket, so she now had a view of the empty beach outside. It wasn't even that early—nine in the morning—but this particular spot was far enough removed from LA that people didn't tend to populate it unless it was a holiday weekend.

Phone pressed to her ear, she answered with a casual, "hello?"

"Was it not possible for you to give me a book from this century to read?"

A smile teased her face, and Parker returned her attention to the sunglass rack at her side just for something to do. Testing on an oversized pair of cat-eye sunglasses, she asked, "who is this?"

"Jesus, just save my fucking contact in your phone, already."

"Why would I do that when you could just stop calling me to talk about books?" she mused, stifling a laugh when there was a load of huffing and cursing from the other end of the line. He deserved it, though. Especially after ruining her sleep the other night and practically giving her a heart attack. "There are reddit forums for that exact purpose, you know. Maybe you could ask the nerds what they think. Go right to the source."

"You're such an asshole."

"Mhm. Takes one to know one, right?"

"Earthlight isn't a movie, is it?" he barreled on. She could tell from his tone that he was annoyed, and selfishly, Parker hoped that she was ruining his morning coffee and avocado toast. "It'd be a short movie."

"No, not a movie. Could be, I guess. You feel like self-funding?"

"You're hilarious," he deadpanned, and through the phone line she could hear the distant whir of a coffee grinder working. Knowing Tom, the thing probably cost more than her car. "Maybe you should quit your little bookstore and go into stand-up comedy. Probably make more money doing that. Granted, you'd have to sacrifice your dignity, but you don't have much to start with, do you?"

Parker tutted, but the overwhelming failure of her bookstore came back to mind full force at the comment, and so rather than keep up the joke, she moved the conversation on. "So, you liked it?"

"Well don't go sounding too smug about it," he chastised. "I liked it better, but still not much. They're both so outdated."

"Too much science for you?"

"This author really fucking loves the technical bullshit just as much as the last one. Pricks, all of them."

"Arthur C. Clarke is a prick?" she snorted. That was definitely a viewpoint she had never heard before. Leave it to Tom to dislike one of the best sci-fi writes in history because he spent too much time writing, well, sci-fi. "That's a hot take. He cowrote 2001 you know."

"A Space Odyssey?" She hummed. There was rattling and banging noises—the image of a hungover Tom stumbling around his kitchen came to mind—before the sound of a milk frother cut across the line. She jerked her phone away from her ear with a wince. Muffled, his voice returned. "Alright, that's not a bad movie. I'll give him that."

"It's only one of the highest-rated films of the genre," she retorted dryly.

More banging continued on the phone and as Parker tried not to let him blow out her eardrum, a hissing sound of its own came from her end of the line. She glanced up at the airshaft above her warily, but, if the sweat pooling on her back was anything to go by, it wasn't working. She glanced around in search of the noise before a rubber pool toy bounced off of the back of her head.

"Hey," the hiss returned. Pool toy in hand, she turned to find her brother waving a hand at her. The blue rash guard had been replaced with a yellow one. Worse still, he was now wearing a matching bucket hat. He gestured to himself as if he hadn't just assaulted her with a whale shaped toy. "What about this?"

She covered the phone speaker with her hand. "What happened to the blue?"

"This one is on sale!"

"Jesus, Colt. No girl has ever been impressed by that logic."

"I—" he started, then paused, and frowned at his sister like she had just burst his bubble. She might have felt bad if she hadn't been brushing off his puppy-dog eyes for the entirety of her life. The lip wobble was a new touch, though. "...is that a no to the bucket hat too?"

Parker responded by chucking the toy back at him. It bounced off his chest with a squeak.

"Yeah, alright..." he muttered, shoulders drooping, as he snatched the hat off of his head. It left his hair sticking up in tufts.

She kept that to herself.

"—are you even listening to me right now?" Tom's voice crackled back to life. If the incredulous lilt of his voice was anything to go by, he was not used to being sidelined for other people nor did he like it. "Who the hell are you talking to?"

"There was a bucket hat situation I had to deal with."

"...are you with Colt right now?"

She laughed. First, at the fact that Tom Ryder equated a bucket hat with her brother. Second because he sounded so disgusted by the fact that she would willingly spend her Sunday morning's helping her brother shop for bucket hats.

"You mean my brother?" she corrected.

"Did you tell him that I'm auditioning for a sci-fi roll? What does he think about it?"

"Why the hell would I tell him I'm talking to you?" she asked, echoing his sentiments from their last phone call. Parker was only teasing though, while she was pretty sure Tom had meant to be mean. Regardless, she moved on as she stood from the bucket to stretch out the kinks in her legs. "A bucket hat is a bad idea, right?"

"Is this seriously more important than what I want to talk about?"

"This may come as a surprise to you, but my world doesn't revolve around things that you want to talk about," she explained exasperatedly. Not necessarily because of what he said, but because she was fairly confident that he actually believed those sentiments. Worse still, she bet no one had ever told him that before. "Particularly not at two in the morning—thanks for that by the way. My roommate is pissed at me for waking her up."

A pause. Then, "you still have a roommate? How old are you?"

"I was serious about posting your phone number online you know," she threatened idly.

Colt disappeared into the changing booth, and Parker slowly started perusing the now abandoned hat rack. Despite her disapproval, she was bored. Plus, it actually had a fairly impressive selection.

Plopping an oversized sunhat atop her head, she ignored his insult to press on more important matters. "But seriously. Bucket hats. They're out of style, right?"

"Bucket hats have never been in style."

"Fashion is all made up anyway."

"That's just what poor people say who can't afford actual fashion."

She tutted, scrunching her nose up. Derisively, she asked, "did Gail tell you that?"

"Alright, that's it. I'm hanging up."

"It was a joke—!"

Joke or not, the dial tone was the only response that she got from Tom. She stared at the phone in her hand for a moment before huffing.

So that's what that feels like, she thought.

Something bright and ugly popped into her line of vision, and Parker glanced in the mirror to find her brother sporting a cheetah print body suit paired with a trucker hat that said Wine Made Me Do It in big, cursive lettering.

"Now, not to step on any middle-aged ladies' toes, but this is fashion," he clapped his hands with a goofy grin on his face. He gestured to the hat with a crooked thumb. "Get it? Two dollars!"

Parker laughed; couldn't not even if she wanted to.

Her brother was so innocent and idiotic and awful that while she once used to be embarrassed in public by him, now she just appreciated the fact that he was, always, unashamedly himself.

"Here, wait," she poked her tongue out of the side of her mouth while angling her camera at him. "Say cheese."

"Asiago," he cooed, making a Blue Steel type face that looked ridiculous when paired with his clothes.

The picture was even better, and Parker felt tears gathering in her eyes as they giggled. The employee from earlier shot them an annoyed look, but he was promptly ignored. If she didn't care about Tom Ryder's opinion, she certainly didn't care about his.

"That was good, right?"

"Oh, definitely. Jody won't know what hit her," she teased. Colt nodded, looking all too smug with himself, despite the fact that she was joking.

This smug version of himself reminded her of someone else that he looked a whole lot like.

An idea struck Parker, and as Colt started putting back the clothes where he found them, she quickly saved Tom's number in her phone before attaching the picture to the contact. Parker hesitated when she saw his name typed out.

Asshole, she typed in big letters. It was funny for half a second, though, before she realized it didn't quite feel right.

She deleted his name. Thought about it. Then replaced it with nothing more than a simple puking face emoji.

"Are you getting that?" Colt asked, drawing her from her reverie, and when she glanced up, she remembered that she was still wearing the ridiculous sunhat. "Because, you know... I'm not so sure that's something a cool person would wear."

Parker shoved her brother towards the cash register with a laugh.

They left the store with a blue rash guard, a pair of sunglasses, and matching bucket hats.

Twenty minutes later they realized they had forgotten to get sunscreen.

---

Paker had heard a lot of stupid and surprising things in her life; things that were so shockingly idiotic that she often wondered if they had been spoken as a joke. Most of the things on that list were quoted from her brother; a man she loved, but that didn't entirely think before he spoke.

When they were kids, he had argued that fish didn't need oxygen to survive. That's why they live under water, dummy, he had said with far too much confidence that she, younger and far less educated, could only blink at him. Then there was the time in his twenties that Colt had brought up the topic of furries at the dinner table in front of their grandparents. They're not, like, really having sex... are they? he had asked while trying to figure out what costume part would go where if they did do the dirty. And of course, there was the infamous baking soda as a cure all for wounds debate, but she tried to block out the sound of his skin literally sizzling as he screamed.

Tom, in the short time that she had known him, had also said some pretty shocking things that wound up on the list. He was, after all, an unapologetic asshole/idiot that didn't care if the world was flat or round so long as it revolved around him.

But out of shocking thing she had ever heard, it was fifteen-year-old California born and bred girl that topped the list.

"I want a job," Melissa proclaimed.

Parker's pen scratched an ugly line across her poor excuse of an accounting notebook as she glanced up wildly, big eyes blinking slow and dumb, as static hummed in between her ears.

"...what?"

"I want to apply for a job," she reiterated.

The bookstore was empty save for a pair of retirees that were slowly perusing her small selection of bird watching books. An oversized fly buzzed overhead, whizzing an uneven path between the two, as an irritable car stuck in traffic laid on the horn outside.

"Like—like here?" Parker asked. There was nothing fun or young or hip about her store. Just dusty bookshelves, a musty smell she could not get rid of no matter how many Bath and Body Works' scent infusers she plugged into the corner, and a ratty reading chair that had a Melissa-sized depression in the middle. She arched a brow. "You want to work... here. In my bookstore."

Melissa rolled her eyes, shrugging. Duh, the gesture said.

"Yeah, sure, obviously," Parker hummed, despite the fact that there was nothing yeah, sure, or obvious about the current conversation. Specifically given that Melissa, on more than occasion, had complained that her store was boring. "Just... why?"

"I need money."

"Suuuuure," she drew out the syllable, wooden stool creaking as she shifted in her seat behind the register. "But wouldn't you prefer to work somewhere a little more, er, fun?"

"This place is plenty fun."

The fly from earlier buzzed between them before smacking into the windowpane. It spiraled to the floor with a depressing zzzz.

Parker raised a second brow.

Melissa, in response, threw her hands up with a huff. "Okay, so, maybe I've been rejected from Jamba Juice and Target already. Which is so, totally crazy."

"That is crazy because I thought Jamba Juice went out of business—"

"And I can get my driver's permit in three months, and I want to get my license as soon as possible. But there's no way that I'm going to have Mom drive me everywhere, so I need to get a car. And to get a car I need to be able to afford a car—which, like, the economy is awful right now if you didn't know—so I need a job. Mom and Dad said they'll match whatever money I can put towards it. And as of today, that is a fat zero."

Woes of teenage girls, Parker thought.

"That's nice of them," she said instead. Not that she envied a teenager in the twenty-first century, but for her sixteenth birthday she had been given a bike. Not even a new one. It had been Colt's old one that he outgrew, and it still had flame stickers and duck tape wrapped all around it. "But, seriously, there has to be at least one other place a kid your age would want to work."

Melissa, having been slowly circling around the center of the room, paused in her ambling to cast Parker a suspicious look. "Do you not want me to work here or something?"

"No, of course I would want you to work here—"

"Great!"

"—but I have no money. Why do you think I'm the only employee here?"

Melissa considered that. "I just always assumed you were a little uptight and didn't like other people messing with your shelves."

"Uptight?" she cried. "Why does everyone keep calling me that?"

But Melissa didn't seem to notice that she had just quoted her celebrity crush, and so she instead turned her attention to the bookstore. She cast a critical eye over everything; though there was no smoke, Parker could smell the wheels turning between her ears, and slumped further onto the counter in preparation for what was to come.

"Don't get me wrong, Park, I love your store," she started. "But it could definitely use some updating."

"Updating?" she deadpanned.

"Some new paint for starters. I think it would be so cute if you painted it, um, maybe a soft blue. Then you could paint the bookshelves in different colors—pastels, definitely—and even some flowers here and there wouldn't hurt."

Parker made a face. Pastels weren't really her thing. "You want to paint the shelves?"

"It's just so brown."

"The natural color of wood, yes."

Melissa rolled her eyes, and with a waft of Vanilla perfume, trotted behind the front desk to examine the string of posters tacked onto the wall. Most of them were salvages from the dollar store, and while Parker thought they gave the store some character, Melissa clearly didn't agree. "These totally need to go too."

"Excuse me—"

"You could still keep them," she huffed half-heartedly. Clearly, she wasn't sold on the idea, but Parker would be damned if she pitched her Jane Austen posters based on the opinion of a teenager. "Just cut them down to a smaller size, put them in some picture frames—you can get them super cheap at the thrift store—and they'll make it look less packrat-like and more eclectic."

Parker glared, an argument on the tip of her tongue.

But, well, when she thought about it, it wasn't such a bad idea. And, well, maybe giving the store a new coat of paint wasn't either. It still looked like it had when she bought it from Larry. She had spent so much money on the loan payment, that she never considered really updating the place—mostly because, duh, she had no money—but paint and some dollar store frames weren't so expensive.

"How do you know all of this?" she asked with a quizzical look.

Melissa smiled, phone waved in hand as she tossed a plait of perfectly curled hair over her shoulder. "I spend a lot of time on Pinterest. What this place needs is a total cottage-core makeover."

"That sounds so made-up."

The girl frowned. "Well, duh. Everything is made up."

Parker opened her mouth, thought it through, and then promptly snapped her mouth shut. When did kids become so philosophical?

"So," said kid leaned onto the front counter with a conniving smile. She was a pretty girl with a clear complexion, bright white teeth beneath blue braces, and a deep closest of cute, but age-appropriate clothing. When she wiggled her eyebrows, Parker couldn't help but notice how well shaped they were. "Can I have a job?"

It was a tempting offer...

She glanced at the balancing worksheet she was doing, scores of numbers and ugly handwriting sprawled across her notebook, before taking a proper look at her empty storefront.

"I'll... have to think about it," she finally hedged.

Melissa's shoulders sank in disappointment.

"I don't have a ton of money right now," she explained, not at all liking how sad she looked. Colt's puppy dog expression had done nothing to prepare her for Melissa Abernathy's professional one. "So, I'll need to look things over first."

"But...?"

A sigh. "Are you free on Sundays?"

"I thought you were closed on Sundays?"

"I am," Parker nodded. "Which means it's about the only day of the week that I could try to paint this place. If you're serious about wanting a job and wanting to help, I'll consider bringing you in on the weekends to start helping me renovate."

A grin broke out on the girl's face, and she started bouncing on her toes. "Really?"

"Just temporarily," Parker threatened with her index finger. She wasn't sure how much was being heard and how much was going over the girl's head, however, and suddenly this was all feeling like a bad idea. "You can help me paint and decorate, and then I'll look at my finances."

"And you'll hire me?"

"If I can afford it, then... yes, we could work something out."

"Yes!"

"Just a few shifts a week!"

"That's perfect."

"And I'm not paying more than minimum wage."

"Totally fair. This rocks!"

"I said if—"

Melissa was already on her phone, texting and typing away as she bounced around. Parker felt a migraine start whirring between her temples, but—well—the kid was so excited that she couldn't feel too miserable about her decision. Tourist traffic was dying down as the season's changed, and she really needed to do something if she still wanted to be in business come the new year.

There was the sound of a camera clicking, and Melissa grinned from her corner of the room. "Oh my god, Park, you're so not going to regret this. We could totally do a beachy palette—blues and greens and, oh, orange—throw some rugs down, add some little details to the bottom of the shelves that you have to look for to see. Like easter egg, stuff. Oh, this is so exciting! I'm going to get Miranda and Abby to come, they have a great eye for detail."

She watched Melissa disappear down the MYSTERY aisle, all the while chatting to whoever she had already gotten on the phone.

Parker steepled her head between her hands with a sigh.

But, well, the enthusiasm was contagious, and after a moment she was laughing to herself. Maybe a fresh coat of paint would cheer her up.

Speaking of, how much did paint cost?

She was in the middle of a google search when her phone started to ring. The caller ID only showed an emoji and a picture of her brother modeling a ridiculous outfit, and she let out a childish snort in response.

A small smile in place, she answered. "Three books in a week. I have to say that I am a little impressed."

"Hm. I'm impressed you finally saved my contact. I was starting to think that basic technology was beyond your skill set."

"Hardy, har, har," she deadpanned, rolling her eyes. Melissa was somewhere in the back of store now, likely scaring off her only customers, and she decided to give up on her accounting for the day. Twisting in her seat so she was watching the street outside, she propped her elbow on her knee. "What did you think of Nemesis?"

He seemed hesitant to answer. "I... liked it."

Parker grinned. "Oh, you did, did you?"

A sound halfway between a groan and a whine. "You're fucking infuriating, you know that?"

"For recommending you good books?"

"You don't have to be so smug about it."

"I'm not smug," she said smugly.

He scoffed, and Parker couldn't help but grin even further. The idea that Tom Ryder, pain in her ass, was admitting that he liked her recommendation was the metaphorical cherry on the top of her cake. Even better, she got to be smug to him about something.

Parker continued on to say, "I guess I'm just happy that I recommended something you like. Especially since I didn't think you liked anything other than looking in a mirror, hair gel, and hot lattes."

"For fuck's sake, it was a flat white, and it was one time."

"Was it?" she teased, enjoying the conversation far more than she should be. This was the asshole that drove her brother insane every day at work, after all. But then again, what Colt didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. "You're just so memorable, I guess. Can't stop thinking about it."

"I would hope I'm memorable," he shot back, a whole lot of huffing and puffing from his side of the line that didn't fit the whole "perfect human being" sort of vibe he tried so desperately hard to give off. A dog barked in the distance. A second, more put-off and annoyed huff argued back. "Putain, calme-toi, Jean Claude."

Parker curled an eyebrow, impressed. "Was that French?"

"Impressed?" he said, taking a page out of her book to sound unnecessarily smug.

Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the window—a stupid smile in place, lip pulled between two teeth, eyes twinkling in a way that didn't suit the sleep-deprived bags beneath them—Parker straightened in her seat. "Hardly. It's an ugly language," she said, overcorrecting just a little by insulting what some considered to be the language of love. Not her best move. "Moreso wondering why you're imposing a foreign language on your dog. Seems cruel."

"He's French," Tom said, certainly rolling his eyes.

"Ooh, a French bulldog? I love those."

Something about the insinuation that Tom Ryder would own a bulldog managed to insult him, and she heard the scorn in his voice when he responded with a scathing, "I would never own a fucking bulldog. They can't breathe and can't run thanks to decades of improper inbreeding. What use are they?"

"...they're cute?"

She heard him mutter something in French, before another bark—as if his dog, the French bastard, was agreeing with whatever complaint he made against her—and Parker was so elegantly reminded of what a pain in the ass he could be.

Chin in hand, she rolled her eyes. "You want to tell me about the book or not?"

There was noise from his side of the line; music in the background kicked up, the sound of dog food being slung into a metal bowl, a faucet running, before things quieted down a bit. "I thought the idea of moon colonization is a little overplayed, plus there's the whole bit about the telepathic organism that is so fucking stupid," he said.

Despite his tone though, somehow Parker just knew that he was only complaining so he had something to complain about. She didn't wonder how she knew that.

"The book is from the eighties. I don't think moon colonization was overplayed when he wrote it," she protested anyway, sipping on her watered-down cold brew as she did so. "And the bit about the organism is fascinating to me. Everyone always writes about ET-style aliens, but I thought it was brilliant of Asimov to create something new."

"Brilliant is what I do. Not writing a short story about a family being separated in space," he grumbled. A moment later, "you're awfully hot on these writers. You've never called me brilliant before." Sore about it, obviously.

"That's not true. I think you're brilliantly self-centered and egotistical."

"Elle pense qu’elle est une comédienne, celle-ci," he muttered, much to her English-speaking chagrin. He switched back to say, "I'm the reason your brother has a career, you know. You could give me a little credit."

"Are you?" she mused, knowing it was a load of horseshit. Self-centered and egotistical horseshit that only further proved her point. "Interesting. I thought he introduced you to Gail."

A moment of silence. "He told you that?"

"We tell each other everything," she said. Though, that wasn't exactly true, was it? "Well, mostly everything, anyway."

"Hm. I could argue that's breaking our nondisclosure agreement. I could probably fire him for it, you know," he threatened, idly, though, and without any real heat to his words. There was the sound of water running in the background, and Parker really hoped that he was spontaneously washing some dishes and not talking to her while in the shower.

"Please. We both know that Colt is the best stunt-man out there. And you only work with the best, right?"

His lack of response proved that she was right; Colt was the best at his job, and he just so happened to look a whole lot like Tom Ryder. Not to mention that Tom's entire career was built around bragging how good he was, how talented the people he worked with were, how he didn't settle for anything but excellence. In fact, Parker was half-sure she could break Ryder's nose and the only backlash Colt would get would be a whole lot of bitching.

Granted, she might get arrested, but at least her brother would be relatively fine.

"When's the audition, anyway?" she asked just to be nosy.

"Tomorrow morning."

Parker raised a brow, idly watching as some idiot failed to parallel park out front. "Cutting it a little close, huh?"

"I'm Tom Ryder," he said, in his typical sense of self-importance that she loathed. Though, this time, Parker didn't loathe it as much as she found it amusing. "I know what I'm doing and don't need your fucking opinion about it."

"Do you have that written on a motivational poster somewhere?"

"No," he said immediately. A little too quickly, in her opinion, and Parker narrowed her eyes with a sneaking suspicion that his house was just plastered with photos of himself. "Whatever. I have to go. Unlike you I don't just have all day to talk."

She scoffed incredulously, reminding him that, "you called me!"

Unsurprisingly, however, he didn't care. "I need to practice some more before the audition. Unless you want me to fail."

"I didn't think Tom Ryder could fail."

"Yeah, well," he hesitated for a moment, all that bravado he'd been displaying moments earlier gone in a flash. Parker wondered if he ever talked to anyone without it, and if he didn't, then what sort of friends he had in his life. He cleared his throat. "It's a big deal. Not just for me, but Colt too. This would be our biggest movie yet. Some extra practice doesn't hurt anyone."

Pride swelled in her chest; her brother had always impressed her with how he built his own career, moving to LA without knowing anyone and not leaving until he accomplished what he wanted. And while she was his biggest fan—number one, as she liked to joke—his success was his alone, not Tom's.

Still, without Tom it may have been less consistent, and without Colt, Tom may have been stuck doing rom coms. Parker kept that to herself.

Instead, she said, almost sensing that he needed to hear it, "yeah, well, I know you don't need it or anything, but—you know—good luck on the audition. I think you'd be really good in a sci-fi film. Despite what Gail seems to think, I might actually want to, er, see that movie. Pirated, of course. I don't go to the theaters for just any asshole."

The sound of water cut off, and for a long moment it was silent. Then, a scoff. "You're right," he said. "I don't need it."

Parker hummed, rolling her eyes, and biting back a smile at his blatant audacity. Gail was right about one thing; there was no one in this world quite like him. Maybe that was a good thing, too.

"Sure. You being Tom Ryder, and all. Guess you're a shoo-in, huh?"

"Well," he cleared his throat, "I do have the blonde hair and blue eyes."

A laugh bubbled up her throat, and she only managed to keep it to herself when the door jingled with the sound of new customers. A pair of teen girls strode inside with sweet, but nonplussed looks on their faces, and mindlessly Parker waved them towards the back where Melissa had disappeared to.

Watching them amble with her phone tucked against her shoulder, she asked, "did you just make a joke? Forget sci-fi, someone should call SNL right now and get you an audition with them."

"You're just as bad as Colt. You know that?"

"And now you're just handing out compliments," she teased. He laughed in response, wasn't quite quick enough to disguise it as a huff or a cough, and Parker bit her lip to keep from smugly grinning like a total idiot. "Just don't forget to send me that agent's fee when you get the part. I accept checks and DutchBros gift cards."

"Jesus Christ, you're pathetic."

"Am I? Because I just so happen to be popular enough to have the one and only Tom Ryder calling me three times in one week."

"Good-fucking-bye, smartass."

The sound of a dial tone came a second later, and when Parker glanced at her screen she was greeted with her own reflection. She didn't mind that he hung up on her. If anything, she almost wished that he had more time to talk. If only because he seemed to be in a rare, friendly mood.

Not because she almost actually liked talking to him. Asshole-ish tendencies notwithstanding.

"What are you smiling about?"

Parker turned to find Melissa and her two friends staring warily at her across the counter. Clearing her throat, she set her phone aside with pink cheeks.

"Er, nothing."

She harrumphed. Teenagers had never seemed so intimidating before, and with a self-conscious smile, Parker smoothed her hair down as subtly as she could.

"Need something?"

"Do you have any John Green books?" one of the girls asked.

Parker nodded, shaking off the conversation to switch into work mode, and smiled a little more genuinely at them all as she stood. "Sure, loads. Come on, I'll show you," she waved them after her, and as they browsed, they filled her in on what paint colors they thought would look best.

Melissa, she mused two hours later with disheveled hair, sweat-tacked curls on her neck, a stack of notes in one hand, and a long email chain of Pinterest posts on her phone, could rule the world one day.

She just needed a car first.

[junglemax]

am I writing all this shit out of order? yes. do i care? not one bit

jungle boy doesn’t listen very well.

[drabble]

There’s a knock at Darby’s hotel door, and when he opens it he’s only half surprised at who’s on the other side.

Luchasaurus stands, arms crossed. He huffs dangerously. (If he were a dragon, Darby knows he’d see smoke blow out of his nose.) “We need to talk.”

Darby sighs with relief. “What can I do for you, Mr. Saurus?” He has a feeling he knows what this is about, and he’s grateful.

“I don’t know what the hell you did, but stay the hell away from Jungle Boy. He reeks of rot because of you, and I can’t stand it anymore.”

Darby raises his hands in surrender. “Heard loud and clear. I’ve been trying to stop him-“

“Try harder,” Lucha growls. “If I see or smell anything, I’m going to put you back under for good. Understand?”

Darby just nods.

Lucha huffs again and stomps off. Darby hopes that means this is it, that Lucha will put his foot down on his side and he doesn’t have to worry about Jungle Boy anymore.

~

Darby wakes up in the middle of the night to a loud clamoring noise outside. He jolts up, looking around wildly. It takes his eyes a bit to readjust, and finally he knows what he’s looking at.

Outside, on the balcony of his hotel room, is Jungle Boy, half draped over a knocked over chair.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Darby whispers to himself. He gets up and opens the door. “What the hell are you doing here?“

Jungle Boy looks up at him, a deer caught in headlights. He smiles sheepishly then, pulling at his hand that’s between one of the slits on the back of the chair. “Stuck.”

Darby sighs and bends down, getting his hand unstuck. “There. Now go back to your hotel room.”

Jungle Boy crawls around Darby and goes right inside of his room.

“What is your problem?” Darby follows him in.

Jungle Boy tilts his head. He motions towards the bed. “Sleep.”

“I’m not sleeping when you’re in here. What do you want?”

Jungle Boy hops onto the bed, picking up the pillow and smelling it. He makes a face and drops it. “Do you stop when you sleep?”

“Do I stop what?”

“Breathing.”

Darby pauses. He doesn’t actually know. “Why?”

“I want to watch.”

“Me sleep? Absolutely not. Go away.”

Jungle Boy chews on his lip. Then, he buries himself in the sheets, flipping over and rubbing his whole body in them like a dog trying to scratch an itch.

“What are you doing?”

“Smelling like you.” Jungle Boy sits up with a sneaky grin. “Lucha’s gonna be maaaaaad,” he says in a sing-song voice.

Darby stares in bewilderment. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“Let me watch,” Jungle Boy whispers, “and I’ll make the smell go away.”

Darby shouldn’t. There’s no guarantee Lucha won’t find out, and then both of them are gonna be dead. (Darby’s not sure if he can die again, but he believes he’ll be put back in the coffin, and that takes time to get out of, depending on how it’s done.) But Jungle Boy’s looking at him with a pleading pout, his bottom lip almost quivering. “Fine,” Darby spits. “But don’t fucking touch me, don’t touch any of my stuff- just sit there.”

Jungle Boy nods, looking focused as can be. He sits on the edge of the bed, cross-legged, eyes never leaving Darby.

Darby crawls back into the bed slowly, watching Jungle Boy back. He’s not sure if he will sleep knowing eyes are on him, but he’s got to try. Finally, he closes his eyes and turns away from Jungle Boy, hoping he can get some sleep and have this whole thing resolved soon.

[black-is-iconic]

Sweet Sweet Apathy

"Are you going to save my brother?" Those words gave you pause and made your stomach twist uncomfortably. "Um" you muttered scratching your cheek as you gaze down at the boys heterochromia eyes, "I'll certainly try" the words felt….wrong on your tongue.

You always tried to stray away from saying something along the lines of, yeah I'll save them guaranteed don't worry because that's not always the case.

There's been at least five people, so lost and twisted in their own minds that your words weren't able to pierce the protective barrier they built up, and as a result….they died….and the families were left grieving and heartbroken.

But the media never put a spotlight on that, no doctor miracle or whatever they call you's fuck ups are always carefully hidden under wraps and swept under the rug.

"You seem tense" Ms. Rei Himura spoke softly brown eyes gazing at you so gently yet her smile was strained with worry.

"I know I should be used to it, but the weight of someone's life in my hands always just" the words die on your tongue as a cold chill slips down your spine and you gaze off into nothingness with a pensive stare. "…makes things harder"

Ms. Himura says softly her voice full of sympathy, "but you will bring him back to us, right? You're Doctor Divine saving people on death row is like your whole stick" one of her children…Fuyumi asked hands balled into tightly clenched fist.

"I know he was a criminal" she spoke rubbing her arm anxiously, "a-a pretty bad one….but he just got mixed in with the wrong crowd…..that's all…..somewhere under all that loathing and hurt….is Toya" her voice cracked under the weight of her tears as she gently clung to the coat of your jacket

. "S-So please save him" she asked staring up at you expectantly. The tears spilling down her precious pale cheeks plucked at the strings of your heart, your anxiety sky rocketed and your hands trembled in your pockets.

They all looked at you with hopeful gazes, and it hurt that you couldn't give them a clear concrete answer, "you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink, I can only fix what he allows me to" you whispered grimly but truthfully.

Eyes downcast so you wouldn't have to see their faces, "but I'll certainly try" said hopefully with a little more conviction.

"I will try my hardest to bring your brother back, but nothings guaranteed" the Todorki family looked a bit glum but Rei smiled exhaling deeply "yeah that's fair".

With the more pressing matters out of the way you let out a deep breath of relief as Enji Todorki drove you to where you'd be living for the next two years where you would try and fix the damage he caused, the drive was silent.

Not a word spoken, only thick silence filled the air, and the only thing filling your ears was the heavy hum of the car engine, the screech of wheels against the pavement, and the sound of your own breathing. As the car slowed, stopping in front of a lavish condo complex you swallowed nervously again.

Somehow word got out about that the famous Doctor Divine would be making an appearance, and so the side walk was flooded with people clamoring against each other to get a glance at you or maybe even a chance to speak with you, flashes from cameras overwhelmed you and you slunk deeper into your seat.

As the door was opened by an attendant the light came poor in and the sound of a thousand voices morphed into one loud cacophony. It was impossible to tell who the voice belonged to, and it made it hard to focus with so much noise competing for your attention.

Your eyes stayed glue to the floor as you walked towards the condo, trying to tune out all the citizens calling for you, as you reached the condo you breathe a sigh of relief as the noise became muffled behind closed doors.

Resting your hand on your chest, you took in your surroundings. The lobby was lavish, a modern sleek look with rich black carpet, and large mahogany desk set, white walls, and glass windows that overlooked Musutafu.

A gentle touch to your shoulder spooked you from your thoughts, your hands instantly latching onto the wrist person who startled you and glared at the perpetrator. "Sorry Doc" a charming voice chimed in and your eyes squinted, a handsome young man stood before you grinning widely.

"I suggest you keep your hands to yourself" you murmur before letting his wrist go, "sorry sorry I just wanted to introduce myself, you can call me Hawks"

His eyes like golden embers stared deep into your irises and you averted your gaze "and why are you here hawks" you asked skeptically readjusting your coat the man smirked down at you "well I'm going to be your body guard for the next two years - starting now" he said with a cheerful smile.

You sighed heavily at the thought of being tailed for two years but you simply nodded "okay" you said smacking your lips and turning to reach for your things, "oh no let me" Hawks said snatching all of your bags and walking towards the front door.

"Where are you going?" You asked confused throwing a thumb at the clearly empty and available elevator Hawks simply smiled and shrugged "oh you're staying in the pent house, and the elevators slow give me a sec and I'll be back for you gorgeous",

He clucked his tongue and winked at you before flying off you huffed already exasperated.

Deciding to take the elevator, you walked inside through the glass doors and pressed the p button as the elevator slowly ascended you pulled out your phone scrolling through text tomorrowwould be a day

[formulalfc]

Here for you, forever.

Mick Schumacher x reader

tw-swearing, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), swearing, lmk if there's anymore

You had been working for Mick as his PR manager ever since he came into Formula one and you had loved every minute of it.  He was such an easy person to talk to, always so kind and considerate in everything he did and you considered him one of your really close friends.

It was the last race of the 2022 season and you knew Mick was going to be upset when he came back to the garage, especially after that radio after he started doing doughnuts at the end.

You felt so bad for Mick, you couldn’t understand why the Haas team were being so harsh towards him, nobody as sweet as Mick deserved to be treated like that.

So when Mick got back to the garage you silently followed him to his drivers room, he pushed open the door, holding it so you could get in, his silent acceptance of your presence that warmed your heart.

He sat on the small sofa, his head in his hands and you quickly perched yourself next to him and ran your palm up and down his back, scratching at the base of his neck when you reached his neck.

His body leaned towards yours and soon enough he was sobbing into the crook of your neck, his arms tightly wrapped around your waist as you held each other close. 

The sound of his sobs made your heart clench, your own tears appearing at his utter heartbreak.

After a while, his tears subsided but you both remained snuggled together. You wiped some tears from his face as he moved from your neck.

You whispered to him as you got rid of the salty tears that lingered, “I know it hurts right now micky, but trust me this is going to lead to better things. You and I both know that you are an amazing driver, but you’re an even better person Mick and that is going to take you far. I am so proud of you, everyone that loves you is so proud of you and I guarantee your dad is to.”

His eyes held unshed tears but that didn’t stop him from bringing your face into him as he brought your lips together, kissing you like you were his everything.

You pushed him back before lifting a leg over him to rest on his lap, your hands coming up to stroke his cheeks as you made eye contact with him.

One of his hands was wrapped around your waist, the other grasped the back of your neck, pulling you back into him.

Your mouths met in a soft, slow kiss, the fact that you were both smiling into it making it harder to flow smoothly, but neither of you cared, you were just happy to be near each other.

Things quickly got heated between you two as you grinded down into him, his hands grabbing the flesh of your ass to push you over his dick that was becoming harder by the second.

Whimpers escaped both of you, the fact that you were making him feel good only making you work harder.

Your hands grasped at Mick’s top, pulling it up and over his head, mouths disconnecting for a millisecond before coming together again to continue their exploration of each other.

You unbuttoned the front of your work top, revealing the lacy red bra you had underneath, and throwing the shirt on the floor when you were done.

Mick broke away from you to glance down at your chest, a whine leaving his throat at the sight of you, he brought his face to your chest, mouthing at the top of your boobs that wasn’t covered by your bra, then unclipping it and throwing it across the room.

You grinded yourself over his hard length again, needing to relieve some of the pent-up frustration.

“So needy for me baby, don’t worry love I’ve got you” Mick muttered against you as he continued trailing hickeys across your chest, letting everyone know just who you belonged to.

He pushed you down onto your back, one hand cradling your head gently while the other moved to the zip of your jeans, successfully ridding you of them and your panties at the same time.

He looked at you led there, bare just for him, like he was looking at the Mona Lisa itself, like you were a piece of artwork that deserved to be hung up with the most prestigious of them all.

He lowered himself so he hovered over your pussy, his breath making you shiver in anticipation whining at him to do something, “Im gunna take care of you don’t worry baby” whispered against you before he licked a line up your folds, giving your clit a flick at the end.

He ate you out like he thought it was the last time he would ever see you, your back arching as he used his tongue to circle your hole before pushing two of his fingers in.

As he used his fingers to stretch you out, he was licking and sucking at your clit, whines and moans coming out of you at the pleasure he was bringing to you.

You could feel yourself getting close to finishing and Mick could feel it to, pulling away when he felt you clenching around his fingers.

You whined at him, trying to push his head back down towards your centre but he just chuckled at you before shutting you up by slapping your clit with his dick before sliding it into your hole.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as you were stretched out by his huge cock. Yours hands digging into his shoulders as he hit your spot repeatedly, trailing kissing on your neck and marking his territory.

You got close to your peak relatively quickly as his dick hit your spot over and over again, you could tell he was close as he started thrusting into you faster and faster.

With his hand that wasn’t holding you up he circled your clit, your hips parting from the bed as your mouth opened in a silent scream as you came. He finished inside you moments later and he thrusted into you a few more times to push his cum into you.

When he pulled out a few moments later you winced at the feel of it, he pressed a kiss to your forehead before he got up, pulling his boxers on and then walking across the room to grab a cloth, wiping you down gently when he got back to you.

He grabbed one of his t-shirts from the side and pulled it over your head before pulling your legs over his lap and you snuggled into his side.

One of his hands gently patted your hair while the other drew shapes on your leg, you rested your chin on his shoulder, admiring him as he looked down at you.

And while you were worried for Mick and what the next chapter in his life would hold, you knew that no matter what you would always be there for him and you would always love him.

[ladykailitha]

If I Rescue You, Will You Rescue Me, Too? Part 7

Hello, hello! The pieces are being slotted together and Eddie gets informed.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3  Part 4 Part 5  Part 6

*

Not only were Eddie’s friends instrumental in getting the things Steve needed for Eddie, they were also accommodating in helping Steve find something to wear so that he didn’t stick out like a sore thumb at the concert.

It was still in Steve’s style, but it wouldn’t look out of place. He ended up buying them lunch as a thank you.

As they were leaving after dropping Steve back off at the video store and his car, Jeff stopped him.

“We know about Eddie,” he said softly.

Steve tilted his head and frowned for a moment before he realized what the other boy was talking about. “Oh. Um, yeah.” He scratched his cheek. “I’ve recently discovered I’m bisexual, so yeah.”

Jeff nodded. “Noted. Just be careful. Indy is more tolerant in some places and less tolerant in others. Just...be careful okay?”

Steve nodded. “Believe me, I have no desire to turn a fun night into a hate crime because I can’t keep my hands to myself. Can’t make any guarantees Eddie will do the same, though.”

Jeff laughed. ���Yeah, yeah. Take care, man.”

*

Steve went over to Dustin’s, vest in hand. He bashfully held it out to Claudia.

“Do you really think you can get the stains out?” he asked, ducking his head to hide his blush.

She took it gently from him. “Dustin said you were hurt really bad when you were wearing this?”

Steve gulped, but nodded. “Road rash combined with a vicious animal bite.”

“Let’s see what we can do, shall we?” She led the way to the laundry room, Dustin and Steve following behind like ducklings.

Claudia laid it gently on the top of the dryer and spread it out. She ran her fingers over the dirt and grime embedded into the denim and rubbed the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. “The dirt will be easy enough to get out,” she said, mostly to herself.

She opened the sides to reveal the underside of the vest. The shoulders of the back were stained as was the front left near the pocket. “This will take some work, but thankfully the front isn’t near the patches and the back is completely covered.” She picked up the vest and held up. “That way if we aren’t as successful at least as far the back is concerned it can still be worn, because no will see it. The front will be harder because we don’t have that luxury. But we’ll see.”

Steve and Dustin nodded.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Steve asked.

“Oh several hours at least, dearie,” Claudia murmured. “If you have other things to do, I’d recommend you do them and come back tomorrow. I’ll have a better idea of how salvageable this is going to be.”

Steve sighed, half relief and half frustration. Relief because it seemed like the stains were going to come out just fine without doing damage to the vest. Frustration because it was going to take time. Time he knew he had but it was still grating.

“Thank you, Mrs Henderson,” he said instead of...all that. “I appreciate you doing this for me.”

Claudia smiled. “Of course, dear. You’ve been so good to Dusty and that other boy, too. It’s the least I could for all of you.”

Steve did his goofy handshake with Dustin and bid him goodbye. After all, he had another vest to work on.

*

Steve got out all the things Jeff and them had helped him get. The first was a denim jacket. Brian had lent him some special scissors that wouldn’t shred the fabric and told him under pain of death to not let them near anything other than fabric.

Steve had gave him a jaunty salute and promised on his life not to ruin these special scissors.

He carefully cut off the sleeves and tossed them aside. Steve wasn’t good at sewing, but Gareth insisted he didn’t have to be, he just had to make sure that enough the badge was affixed to the vest so it didn’t fall off. The pins were easier.

Black Sabbath, Mercyful Fate, Iron Maiden, Metallica, Dio, and a bunch of others that Steve could only vaguely recognize. But Jeff had assured him that these were Eddie’s favorites and that there weren’t any on here that he didn’t like.

Steve was grateful for the reassurance that they weren’t going to sabotage him in this. He carefully laid out the t-shirt he was going to cut up for the back and marked it off with the white tailors’ chalk he found in the top drawer of his dad’s dresser.

He painstakingly cut the shirt and stitched it onto the back. Once he was satisfied he placed it in the box he had prepared just for this purpose. He wrapped in a single black ribbon.

He stretched and looked over at the clock. Shit!

It was already after visiting hours at the hospital. And he hadn’t eaten since lunch several hours ago. He sighed.

Steve made himself a sandwich and glumly munched away at it. He hadn’t meant to not to visit Eddie today. In fact the plan was to at least spend an hour or so with him. But he had gotten so excited about the vest he was making he had completely forgotten about the person he was making it for.

He ate about half of his sandwich before tossing away the rest. His stomach turned, an uneasy queasy feeling. He wished he could blame on the guilt. That would be easier and far less painful than the truth.

A migraine was coming on.

Steve turned off the lights and turned down the heater so the house was a cool sixty degrees. He got into comfy clothes and took the strongest painkillers he had available. He laid down on his bed and buried deep under the covers.

Shit.

Migraines.

He closed his eyes against the throbbing pain in his head. He was going to have to make sure he brought sunglasses and painkillers with him to this concert. The last thing he wanted to do is ruin this for Eddie because his head decided a metal concert was the place to implode.

*

Steve picked up the vest from Dustin’s. It was very clean and a little worn, but it was perfect.

He gave her a hug.

“Hey, you want to come with me to see Eddie?” Steve asked Dustin.

Dustin shook his head. “I promised Will I’d hang out with him today. Plus I saw Eddie yesterday.

Steve smiled. “Say hi to Will for me.”

“Always,” Dustin replied.

Steve bid them both goodbye and dashed off to his car, trying not to jump for joy. Everything was going to plan.

Now all he had to do is let the person all this was for know this was happening.

He dashed into Eddie’s hospital room and skidded to a stop. There was a girl talking to him.

“Steve!” Eddie said, peering around her.

“Oh, hi,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know you had company. I can come back later.”

The girl turned around and it was Vickie. “Hi, Steve. I was just dropping something off for Robin. She forgot to bring the cookies she made him when she was here yesterday.”

Steve smiled. “She told me. I offered to bring them but she said she had covered. I guess she meant you.”

Vickie grinned. “Yup!” She waved bye to them both and skipped out.

“What amazing and wonderful thing have you brought me today, Stevie?”

Steve stepped further into the room. “You aren’t mad I didn’t come yesterday?”

Eddie shook his head. “I knew you were working and volunteering so I figured you just didn’t have the time.”

“I got a migraine,” Steve murmured. “Otherwise I would have been here.”

Eddie blinked up at him and mouthed ‘Oh.’

“But I did have a surprise for you,” Steve continued.

Eddie looked around him but didn’t see any bags or anything with him. “Like what?”

“I spoke to Dr Hathaway and Eric your physical therapist and they have given me permission to take you out this weekend provided I bring you back on Monday to make sure everything still looks good.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. “All weekend?”

Steve rocked back on his heels with a big grin on his face. “Yup. We’ll be leaving on Saturday and coming back Monday morning.”

“And where pray tell are you taking me?” Eddie asked, a small, shy smile on his face.

“Indy.”

Eddie’s eyes widen so much, Steve was afraid they were going to fall out. “And why is it going to be all weekend?”

“There are some things we need to pick up for the main event on Sunday and thought it would be great to just see the city, get the hell out of Hawkins for a bit.”

Eddie opened his mouth but Steve held up his hand. “I’m not going to tell you what the main event is. That’s the surprise. But I have it on very good authority that you are going to love it.”

Eddie eyed him suspiciously. “Whose?”

Steve started counting off on his fingers. “Wayne, and Jeff, and Gareth, and I would say Brian, too, but right now I don’t think he’d even give me the time of day if I asked.”

Eddie chuckled. “He’ll come around.”

“So how about it, Eds?” Steve asked. “You want to come with me to Indy for the weekend?”

Eddie tapped his lips thoughtfully. “Well, I mean since you put so much effort into this it would be a waste if I said no...so...”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “I could take Dustin instead, you know.”

Eddie waved his arms around. “No, no. I’ll go. I’ll be good I promise.”

Steve laughed. “Nah, I wouldn’t have taken Dustin. This is too good for even him.”

“But not too good for me?” Eddie asked.

Steve leaned over the guardrail and grinned. “Oh I think it’s just perfect for you.”

Eddie blushed. “So what are we going to do about lodgings? You Harringtons got some fancy hotel we’re going to be staying in or something?”

Steve laughed. “No. But I’ve spent very little of my own money on this weekend. So don’t you worry about that, either.”

Eddie frowned. “You are being really, really cryptic about all this, you know?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Steve said all faux innocence.

“The hell you don’t, Stevie,” Eddie said.

Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12 Part 13 Part 14  Part 15 Part 16 Part 17  Part 18  Part 19  Part 20

Tag List: @anaibis @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369  @obliosworld @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666  @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @whalesharksart @nburkhardt @snapshotmaestro @shrimply-a-menace @theotalksalot @child-of-cthulhu @bookbinderbitch @cr0w-culture @punctualhowell @eddiemunsonswife

[risingsoleil]

Thank you for all these NSFW posts, you’re feeding the fandom mwah!

Saw your other post where Linzin in the canon verse about Tenzin griping Lin’s throat. Maybe this could be a new chapter in Lay All Your love on me ;)

Or a short post too! Hahaha

To add to all the asks:

Linzin favorite position?

Newly wed Linzin (modern or canon universe) being unable to keep their hands to themselves (especially Tenzin)

Tenzin and Lin finding out new kinks

Thank you, I'm doing my best ~~ I'm on my lunch break at work trying to keep up with all this spicy Linzin demand 🤭😈

Oh, that will def make an appearance at some point in the Lay All Your Love on Me collection 😉

Linzin's favorite position

Lin - 1) Cowgirl, she loves the ability to control her movements and it's easier for Tenzin to suck on the titties compared to missionary.

2) Missionary - can scratch his back, lock her legs around him when he's about to cum. She loves his weight pushing her into the bed or the floor while he fucks her hard or slowly

3) Sideways spooning - Tenzin somehow hits all the right angles every time in this position and it's lovingly intimate. He can still massage her boobs and kiss her neck while having his leg between hers to fuck her. This position became one of her favorites after having kids.

Tenzin - 1) missionary - He can look at Lin 😍😍😍

2) Doggy - Smack dat ass, grab dat ass, stare at dat ass. Also pull Lin's hair. He feels like he goes deeper in this angle and Lin acts like she doesn't love this position. Apparently, she can never say his name properly when he fucks her from behind and smacks her ass. ("Shut up, Airhead.")

3) Lin is on top - Boobs in his face. Boobs in his hands. Watching Lin move and grind her hips on him gets him harder inside her. The way she slides up and down on his dick, knowing that she's taking him all the way inside is indescribable to Tenzin. Lin thinks she knows what he means, but she doesn't (Lin throws a book at him).

Newlywed AU Linzin

Guaranteed way to make Tenzin hard? Lin wears acolyte robes.

They're at one of the air temples for more privacy from RC, and there's already a room prepared for them. The head abbott greets them politely along with several other acolytes, and they are shocked at how Tenzin openly puts his hand on Lin's waist in front of them.

The abbott is struggling to get his words out, and Tenzin's fingers play along Lin's waist. Lin can sense the awkwardness for the abbott and tries to take a step away from Tenzin. But he only pulls her closer so she's pressed against his side.

"Thank you Abbott for greeting us. Lin and I are tired from the journey and we'd like to go to our room."

"O-of course."

As soon as the abbott and the acolytes turn around, Tenzin's hand slides down to squeeze Lin's ass. Lin smirks at him and smacks his butt. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard as soon as we get inside. Be prepared to be pampered for the entire week because I'm going to make sure you won't be able to walk properly."

He massages her butt and smacks it again.

A low squeak comes from near Oogi, and Linzin notice another young acolyte.

Oops, did that innocent acolyte accidentally see Tenzin smacking her?

"If you won't let me walk, then I won't let you walk either. I'll be riding you morning and night until you've emptied everything inside me."

Now the abbott and acolytes glanced at them with red faces.

Oops. Did Lin talk too loud?

AU Linzin finding out new kinks

Roleplay - begins when teen Lin starts calling Tenzin, "Master" Now they've expanded into other scenarios as they get older

Sensory deprivation - inspired by Toph's "blindness" not seeing with their eyes and feeling the smallest sensation on their bodies is so hot. The first time they do this is in their early to mid-20s

Sensory play - Begins in their early-mid 20s as they travel more often and use their environment to turn the other on

Dom and sub - Kicks in when they start working. They hate the politics and social games they sometimes need to play in the careers they want, so they channel their frustration through some dom and sub. Usually, it's Tenzin initiating this and Lin doesn't mind because she loves that rough side that comes out. It gives her a break to get hot, subtly disrespectful sex that she would only let Tenzin do to her

[cats-closet]

So once again random poly erasermic headcanon for cat quirk darling. This is inspired by my own cat when I trimmed her nail it made me wonder how that would translate to a person with a cat quirk. I had written out a whole explanation of how I thought the claws would translate to a human hand but let's be honest no one wants to hear that so I'll jump to what we're all here for.

I imagine at least Aizawa had considered that they might have to forcibly trim your nails after 'rehoming' you but the need didn't arise until you actually scratched one of them.

Maybe it was intentional maybe not but either way I imagine within a few hours after the incident you're approached by both of them and they announce what's going to happen. Your nails are getting trimmed one way or another and it'll either be an easy or forceful process.

I guess depending on your choice it'll go one of two ways. You could comply and one of them would grab your hands and (kinda humiliatingly) gently squeeze your fingies to expand the claws and carefully clip them. It would proooobably be Aizawa trimming your nails (claws?) while Hizashi coos at you for being so good :((( if you let him he'd probably pat your head too and once Aizawa finishes he also plants a couple solid pats on top of your head:(((( your ears probably react so cutely too just by the nature of being cat ears.

Oh my god and if Aizawa somehow manages to fuck up and cut too far and ends up catching the quick they'd feel sooooooo bad:'(((((( obviously, that would hurt very bad and start rapidly bleeding, instinctively you retract your hand and hold it to yourself wincing:((((((( Hizashi jumps to comfort you wrapping his arm around your back while trying to gently coax you to give them your hand so they can perform first aid, even if your hesitant they wouldn't be mad cause they know this probably hurts a lot (it does) and it's harder to be rational in situations like this:'''(((((

Depending on your pain tolerance there's a very good chance you're crying and whimpering and they feel SOOOO BAD (as they should tbh). I think Hizashi applies a little styptic powder (it's for stuff like this to stop bleeding) and wraps a little bandage around the finger (giving a soft kiss to the finger if you let him). During this Aizawa has a hand on either your shoulder or head and gently apologizes for his mistake, you're probably not paying the most attention to the things being said to you but you do hear it lmao.

They definitely make it up to you somehow probably in a manner specific to you. Something like your favorite meal you haven't had in a while or some new stuff (within reason) you've expressed interest in. They both probably say sorry a couple more times since you were so obedient and they still hurt you.

If you're,,, not obedient however,,,,

Depending on your history Aizawa probs expected you to put up a fight. Having someone else force trim your nails is embarrassing enough but these clowns???? No way you were not gonna let them. Hizashi is disappointed but it's not a very long struggle to get you under control. It's two grown pro hero men what did you expect.

You might have gotten some good scratches or even bites in but eventually, Aizawa is able to get behind and grab both your wrists, holding them out in front of you for Hizashi to handle trimming. This is far from an ideal situation since even though you're tired, you can still do many things to struggle. Simply curling your hands into fists, trying to turn and bite Aizawa, and just struggling as an action will make it much harder for Hizashi to be careful when trimming your nails to not actually cut any flesh.

In this scenario where you're fighting tooth and nail, you're almost guaranteed to get hurt. When he inevitably cuts your finger or the quick of your nail and you cry out trying to pull back on yourself, they feel much less bad. As expected they definitely blame you for this, if you hadn't struggled you wouldn't have gotten hurt but they still feel sympathetic.

They probably have to force the first-aid again but aren't as understanding of any resistance, by this point they're also getting tired and annoyed with your behavior. Once Hizashi is able to wrestle the injured hand from you and apply treatment they probably punish you still for being so insubordinate.

It's probably nothing serious, just locking you in your room without entertainment though you probably still get dinner brought to you.

Overall,,,,,,,, they're kinda annoying tbh

For such a silly concept this post was wayyy longer than expected, I'm kinda just spitting out my thots all the time so it's never given any quality control

[underthefingers]

True tickle story time #2

I have a friend who I tickle quite often. She's pretty damn ticklish and has an AMAZING laugh, so I of course try to hear it whenever I can. We watch stupid shit on YouTube and eventually made a "try not to laugh" playlist with some of our favorite videos.

We were hyping up the challenge because we are two giggly bitches who would likely fail instantly. We were talking MAD shit and decided to turn this into a bet.

She offered up the idea, "I bet I can stay stoic longer than you, you chuckle fuck."

"OH yeah???? What do you bet?"

"If I win, you let me text anyone from your phone."

"Well if I last longer than you brute... I get to tickle your worst spots!"

The bet was set. The terms agreed upon. We had three lives and 100+ videos. First to lose all of their lives suffers.

She first laughed at this.

This was around video 10. I hadn't lost any lives yet and I knew my victory was assured.

"Where are you most ticklish again?" I asked fully knowing the answers. Even so, the brat tried to mislead me.

"Definitely my sides. Can't stand that."

The liar was gonna get it.

This next video was a guaranteed laugh for her. I knew it as soon as I put it in the playlist.

I was right and her confidence began to wane. I continued shit talking despite laughing once myself until we came upon her last laugh.

I won, and I was excited to keep her laughing. We went upstairs to my room and she took a seat on my bed. I asked, "Are you ready and still okay with this?" And she nodded. She began to grin.

She flopped into a tight fetal position while saying "I lost, but I'm not going to make this easy for you."

That was my cue. I went for her so-called "weak spot" first and quickly pinched her sides with both of my hands. I gripped all the way around her sensitive sides and used my thumbs to scrub around the curve of her waist. This didn't quite break her defensive position, but I switched to pressing down on her lower stomach, right bellow the navel, with both of my pointer and index fingers, wiggling my hands as my fingers indented her ticklish skin. She literally gasped. Her fetal position quickly crumbled as I pinned her arms over her head. She was CACKLING already, but I decided to make things worse.

I knew her sides were bad, but they were probably like her third worst spot, so I decided to go for good ol' number one" her armpits.

My friends pretty skinny and has some DEEP armpit hollows. It was summer so she wore a tank top and she had NO defense against my fingers. I'm glad my roommates weren't home because she was about to SCREAM!

Over my many years of tickling her, I discovered that light touches can spark her downfall. With the very tip of my pointer finger, I slowly began drawing pictures in her right underarm hollow. She exploded as I tried my best to draw on my struggling canvas. I was writing the alphabet as slowly as possible and I could barely make it to "S" before she begged me to stop. I obliged and switched hands. Her left armpit hasn't even been touched yet!

I switched strategies to keep her guessing and used some more intense techniques. I placed my thumb on her armpit and lightly scratched all over the center of her hollow. I slowly began to press harder and harder and I could tell it began to tickle more and more. She was getting tired and I had an idea.

I sat on her legs and went after both of her armpits. Spider tickling her hollows had her silently laughing, choking out an occasional "please" with her exhales.

I unpinned her arms and she sat up as she catched her breath. "That's it right? You got my actual worst spots." I quietly shook my head and pointed to her feet. Well, more specifically, her foot. She was injured in the past and essentially no longer feels ticklish on her left leg downward. BUT for some reason, it's as if all of the sensitivity that was once in her left foot into her right one.

"Fine. But just for a minute." I started my timer and had my gun. I pulled her toes back with my hand and scribbled right underneath them with my nails. I clawed at her sole. I dug my fingers into the tops of her foot. She loses it. We didn't even make it to a minute before she safeworded. And that was that. She caught her breath before letting out a weak "that was fun." We ended up going back to watch the rest of our stupid playlist, adding more laughter to the already jubilant evening.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

waiting for sylvie >:))

SYLVIEEEE!!!! was gonna write angst, but the lure of sylvieken was too strong

ONE WORD PROMPTS

-> waiting

The clink of glasses tugged Sylvie from her thoughts, reawakening her to her surroundings, the officers' club filled to the brim in what she was beginning to learn was its typical fashion. Thea and Nora reached across her from either side, toasting to something she hadn't quite been paying enough attention to. "Well, I'd better find a wedding invite in the mail once this is all over," Nora joked, raising her cup to her lips, scarlet lipstick staining the rim.

Ah, yes. Of course. They were talking about Thea’s fiancé. She realised she should have expected this - they rarely talked of much else, not the day after their mail arrived. A letter from the man was always guaranteed, and with it came endless happy conversation - Roy? Ray? Sylvie truly did try to remember his name. In fact, she really rather enjoyed talking about him - living vicariously through Thea’s tales of rekindled romance and future wedding plans.

Except today, it seemed to hit a nerve.

It was all well and good, hearing about childhood sweethearts and high school love affairs, but such stories always left Sylvie feeling markedly... left out.

There had been no teenage romance for Sylvie Gao - no prom date, no first kisses, no climbing out of bedroom windows in the middle of the night. School had been a lonely affair, receiving nothing more than mere scraps of attention, and only when other children wished to mock her amalgamated accent or the Chinese features she'd inherited from her father.

Everyone always talked about the promise of young love. It was hard not to feel like she was waiting for something to happen - for someone to see something beautiful in her.

"I'm gonna go get another lemonade, back in a sec," She announced, chair scraping against the floor as she rose to her feet, clutching the glass in both hands. The bar was crowded, and she found herself shuffling along to the end just to find a space, squeezing her way in between a few pilots, too engrossed in conversation to even notice her. As was the way.

Perhaps if she had been prettier like Nora or louder like Kit, someone might have noticed her.

But she wasn't. So they didn't.

Sylvie gnawed at her cheek, tapping her fingers impatiently against the glass as she waited to be served, pushing herself up and down on the balls of her feet. Something brushed against her leg, catching her so off guard that she let out a faint squeak, eyes widening as she peered downwards to find a dog staring back up at her, tongue lolling to the side, tail wagging.

"Oh my god," She uttered, drink immediately forgotten as she crouched before the husky, reaching out with both hands to scratch behind his ears, delighting the creature so much that his tail wagged even harder, hitting against the side of the bar with a repetitive thump, thump, thump.

"This is the best," Sylvie murmured to no one but herself, leading the dog around to the very end of the bar, where there was enough space for her to sit down on the floor without fear of being trampled. The dog seemed wholly content, panting happily as she scratched at his belly, lowering himself to lie across her thighs. The merriment going on around her seemed to slip away, attention captivated by the beast rolling around on her lap, all thoughts of Thea’s fiancé dissipated. It was a worthy distraction indeed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Ken's glass was empty. The chance to spend an evening in the officers' club didn't come often for the mechanics, and it was an opportunity he had no intention of wasting, so the moment the last drop of drink rolled down his throat he was on his feet again, crossing the room towards the bar in search of another. Spying a gap in the crowd, he made a start in its direction, faltering in his tracks as his gaze wandered to the floor.

She had her back propped up against the bar, legs stretched out in front of her, feet knocking together as they rocked side to side. Identical braids fell over each shoulder, a halo of frizz rising around her head from the heat inside the club, and a wonderful giggle escaped her throat as Meatball reached up to lick her across the cheek. "Uh. Ma'am?" He spoke cautiously.

Sylvie looked up, pausing a moment as she realised he was actually talking to her. "Oh, shoot," She muttered, shooing the dog from her lap as she tucked a foot beneath herself, ready to stand. "Am I in your way? I can go - I'll go."

"No, no! You're okay," Ken assured her hurriedly, holding up a hand as if to stall her movement. Her voice came across as charmingly odd - despite all her years living in America, she'd never wholly adopted the accent, a distinct English lilt tainting her vowels. "I was just, uh... Why're you on the floor?"

She frowned slightly, a crease appearing in the middle of her brow. "Dog," Sylvie answered simply, pointing to Meatball as if to illustrate the point.

The bluntness of her response caught him slightly off guard, a bark of laughter escaping him before he could suppress it, cheeks creasing in a grin as he nodded in agreement.

Sylvie felt her face heat up, an unfamiliar flutter in her stomach.

Shit.

"That's fair enough," Ken nodded decisively, bending down to take a seat on the polished floor beside her, reaching across to scratch behind Meatball's ears. She watched on, failing to fight the involuntary smile that curled her lip, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, suddenly feeling the prick of nerves.

"You're one of the Angels, right?" He asked after a moment, the question's phrasing making her blush slightly.

"Yeah, that's right," Sylvie nodded. "Navigator."

"Nice," He smiled, a flash of teeth visible through parted lips. Suddenly jerking, as if caught by surprise, he held his hand out to her. "I'm sorry, I forgot my manners - I'm Ken. Kenny, if you want."

She shook his hand somewhat gingerly. "Sylvie."

From the moment he had sat down, it was as if the ease had been sucked from her, every word taking twice the effort just to force out. But she found it wasn't an unpleasant sensation - quite the opposite. She liked to be noticed by him - liked the feeling his attention gave her. "Are you-... You're a mechanic?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do my best." Ken smiled

"Oh, god, don't call me ma'am like I'm old," Sylvie cringed, the pair beginning to chuckle simultaneously.

"Force of habit," He shook his head slightly, holding up a hand in surrender.

"Well, it's sweet, but-" She shrugged, squinting in deliberation as she smiled "-makes the whole thing feel a little weird. Formal."

Ken liked it when Sylvie smiled.

He looked down at the empty glass in his hand, suddenly remembering what he had come over to do in the first place. "Oh," He gasped slightly. "I gotta get another drink. You want one?"

He had begun to rise to his feet, and she did the same, palms pressed against the floor as she pushed herself upwards. "Yeah, that was what I was here for in the first place, and then-"

"Then the dog," Ken grinned.

"Yeah, right, exactly," Sylvie laughed, brushing off her skirt. "... Whose dog even is that?"

"Meatball? Benny's I think," He shrugged, shouldering his way towards the bar, carving a path for her through the crowd. His familiarity with the other crews was almost intimidating, their names still foreign to her after only one mission. As they reached the bar, Ken held out an arm, hovering around her shoulders without touching her in a makeshift shield, the crowds of slightly drunken patrons at risk of pressing in. The action was simple, instinctive, yet she felt her cheeks heat up once more.

"Whatcha drinking?" He asked. Sylvie stared over at the glass she'd left on the bar when she'd first arrived, envisioning the sticky, lemon scent of her drink.

She wasn't interested in more of the same.

"I'll have a beer," She stated, twiddling her fingers as Ken called out to the bartender, voice raised over the din of the club as he placed their order. After a brief, silent wait, two glasses were slid across the counter towards them.

"I'll pay you back tomorrow," Sylvie promised, raising the drink to her lips, the somewhat unfamiliar taste sliding its way down her throat.

Ken's eyes widened slightly, as if embarrassed. "No, no! On me - I insist."

She gnawed at the inside of her lip, sucking in a deep breath as she prepared to speak.

"Alright, but think about it this way, Kenny - if you let me pay you back tomorrow, we got an excuse to hang out again."

A look of realisation made its way across his expression, cheeks creasing in a grin.

"You're on, Sylvie."