#so most likely gonna cut the cord

[lazy-ahh]

You said I could send u a request! so I am taking u up on ur offer 🤓👆🏽if u write for them…Mohawk mark varient x male reader? I’ve been craving something hurt/comforty?as comforty u can get with those dorks ANYWAY thank yewwww i really do love your writing it’s SO GOOOODD AISBWOSBSUDBDUVE

ME? CARE? LOL. LMAO.

pairing mohawk! mark grayson x male reader

imagine the most unhinged version of mark grayson—now give him a mohawk, piercings, and exactly zero self-preservation instincts. this is that fic. (also maybe some feelings. but we don’t talk about those.)

the warehouse is dark, smells like motor oil and regret, and you’re really wishing you hadn’t gotten captured today. like, seriously? it was your day off. you could be bed-rotting right now. scrolling through dumb videos. eating cereal straight from the box like a feral raccoon. anything but this.

but no. instead, you’re tied to a chair in some crusty villain lair, your favorite hoodie probably getting dust stains, and your only entertainment is the fact that this dumbass in front of you actually thinks he can use you as leverage.

"you really think this’ll work?" you mutter, testing the ropes around your wrists. they don’t budge—not that you’re trying too hard. you could get out if you wanted. but where’s the fun in that?

the villain—some guy with a fancy energy glove that probably cost way too much for how ugly it is—grins at you like he’s just won the lottery. "oh, it’ll work. invincible cares about you. he’ll negotiate."

you blink. then you laugh—a sharp, disbelieving sound that echoes off the warehouse walls. "invincible? negotiate? dude, he’s gonna rip your spine out through your nose."

glove-guy’s smile flickers. "shut up."

"no, no, i gotta know," you continue, leaning forward as much as the ropes allow. "who even told you this was a good idea? like, did you see him at all before you decided ‘yeah, kidnapping his whatever-i-am is a solid plan’? because—and i cannot stress this enough—that guy is fucking feral."

glove-guy’s eye twitches. "he won’t risk your life."

"oh my god," you groan, tipping your head back. you don't deny it, though. "you actually don’t get it. he’s not gonna risk my life because he’s gonna erase yours before you even blink."

"enough!" he snaps, raising his stupid glove like it’s intimidating.

you roll your eyes. "bro, i’ve literally seen that guy bite someone’s ear off for looking at him wrong. you’re toast."

before you could get another taunt in, he decides to punch you on your side. hard. you cough, eyes wide, before you glare at the motherfucker. you ignore the way your side actually stung. oh, he's about to get put on a t-shirt once you're out of this chair. glove-guy opens his mouth to retort—

—and then the wall explodes.

concrete shrapnel flies, dust clouds billowing up in slow-motion like the universe itself is screaming oh shit. and then—there he is.

mark.

silhouetted against the moonlight like some kind of feral, bloodthirsty angel, floating in the wreckage of the wall he just obliterated because subtlety was never in his vocabulary.

not that you’re looking or anything.

okay, fine, you’re looking. who wouldn’t? mark’s all lean muscle and barely-contained violence, his stupid skintight suit doing nothing to hide the way his body moves—like every inch of him is built for destruction and looks good doing it. his shoulders are broad enough to throw a car (and have, multiple times), tapering down to a waist that’s stupidly narrow for someone who eats entire pizzas in one sitting. his arms are corded with muscle, veins standing out along his forearms as he cracks his knuckles, and his thighs—god, his thighs—could probably crush a watermelon. or a skull. whichever’s more convenient.

his mohawk’s sticking up in every direction like he just stuck his finger in an outlet (again), the shaved sides of his head only emphasizing the sharp cut of his jaw. his grin’s all teeth—sharp and way too pleased with himself, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you and is loving every second of it.

and god, his eyes—locked onto glove-guy with the kind of unholy glee usually reserved for kids in a candy store. or maybe a cat who just knocked a glass off the table. same energy, really.

oh, and the piercings.

because of course mark’s the type to have them—two little silver studs on each side of his eyebrows, catching the light when he tilts his head like he’s considering the best way to ruin someone’s day. two more at the corners of his mouth, glinting when he smirks (which is always), drawing attention to the way his lips curl when he’s about to say something especially shitty. and if you happen to notice the flash of metal on his tongue when he licks his lips—well. that’s your business.

not that you care.

"ohhh," mark croons, voice dripping with the kind of mock sympathy that absolutely means someone’s about to lose several internal organs—messily. he tilts his head, the movement sharp enough to make the silver studs in his eyebrows glint under the flickering warehouse lights.

"you thought taking him would work?" he asks, sweet as poisoned honey. he takes a single step forward, the crunch of broken glass under his boot sounding suspiciously like bones snapping. his shoulders roll, the fabric of his suit straining over the muscle as he cracks his knuckles—one by one, slow, like he’s counting down to disaster.

"that’s adorable," he taunts.

you snort. "told you."

glove-guy’s face does this fantastic little journey from confident to oh no to full-blown panic in about half a second flat. "i—i have your partner!" he yelps, shoving the glowing end of his stupid glove against your temple like it’ll help. "i’ll kill him!"

you sigh, long-suffering. you don't even bother to try and deny that you aren't his partner (yet). "mark, please don’t monologue."

"you don’t monologue," mark shoots back, pointing an accusing finger at you like you’re the problem here.

"my bad," you deadpan, "you just looked like you were about to start your boring ted talk again. this is a very uncomfortable chair, you know. if this was any other time, i wouldn’t have minded falling asleep."

mark’s eye twitches. "falling asl— you’re literally at gunpoint."

"eh." you shrug. "technically it’s a glove-point. and honestly? after the week i’ve had? this is almost relaxing."

"relaxing," mark repeats, flat.

"y’know, aside from the whole potential death thing. but hey, at least the company’s entertaining." you grin up at him. "speaking of—you gonna do something, or are you just here to hover dramatically?"

mark’s grin goes sharp. "oh, i’m doing something."

then he moves.

one second, he’s floating there like an overgrown, pissed-off bumblebee. the next—

crunch.

glove-guy doesn't even get a scream out before mark's got him by the wrist, squeezing until the metal creaks like a soda can under a hydraulic press. the guy makes this hilarious squeaking noise, halfway between a deflating balloon and a stepped-on mouse, and you would feel bad for him—

—if mark wasn't currently laughing, wild and unhinged, the sound bouncing off warehouse walls as he yanks the guy forward by his own stupid glove hard enough to hear something pop. "hey. hey." his voice drops to a purr, all rough edges and promised violence, while his free hand comes up to pat the guy's cheek—harder than necessary, his eyebrow piercings catching the dim light as he tilts his head. "you took my favorite nuisance. you really thought that'd end well?"

you gasp, jerking forward so dramatically the chair legs screech against concrete. "favorite? mark, i'm blushing." you try to press a hand to your chest before remembering your arms are still tied behind you, so you just flop your whole upper body forward instead, nearly toppling the chair. "wait till i tell everyone you finally admitted it—"

"shut up," mark hisses, but his ears are pink under the shaved sides of his mohawk, the flush creeping down his neck. he definitely squeezes glove-guy's wrist harder just to distract from it. "you're barely above tolerable on your best day."

"aw, you do pay attention to my good days!" you beam, kicking your feet again for emphasis. "that's practically a love confession in mark-speak. should we get matching bracelets? couple's tattoos? maybe—"

"i will throw you into the sun," mark growls, but there's no heat behind it—not when he's still got that stupid pink tinge to his ears, not when his grip on glove-guy has loosened just enough to show he's distracted.

glove-guy whimpers. "can i—"

"no," you and mark say in unison. you grin; mark scowls. it's beautiful.

glove-guy whimpers. "p-please—"

mark pats his cheek once more. "aw. no."

then he punches him so hard the guy spins mid-air before hitting the ground like a sack of wet flour.

silence.

you blink. "…that was almost cool."

mark immediately flips you off. "you’re welcome."

"i could've handled it myself," you say, just to watch him scowl, your voice dripping with that special mix of smugness only someone who regularly bench-presses sedans can pull off.

"oh, really," mark deadpans, crossing his arms so hard his biceps strain against his sleeves. "really. you, tied to a chair by fucking dollar store rope, were totally about to—"

you wiggle your fingers just enough - a quick twist of your wrists, that specific angle you've practiced a thousand times - and snap, the ropes explode into fibers like someone set off a party popper full of disappointment. the frayed ends flutter to the ground in slow motion, one sad strand landing directly on mark's boot.

"ta-da," you deadpan, shaking out your hands like you've just performed some grand illusion instead of literally just flexing. "any requests? maybe saw a lady in half? make your boring personality disappear?"

mark blinks. once. twice. his nose scrunches up like he's smelled something rotten. "...you sat there the whole time."

"magic tricks," you sing-song, shaking out your wrists with exaggerated flair. "who knew?"

"i hate you," mark announces, so vehemently it makes the unconscious bad guys twitch.

"you love me," you correct, standing up and brushing nonexistent dust off your pants just to annoy him further. "admit it. you think my 'sit still and look pretty' strategy is inspired."

mark growls, grabs you by the back of your hoodie, and takes off into the night before you can even yelp.

"rude!" you shout over the wind, flailing dramatically as the city blurs into streaks of neon and shadow beneath you. your hoodie flaps like a demented cape, nearly smacking you in the face.

"you’re welcome!" mark shouts back, grinning like the little shit he is—all sharp teeth and way too pleased with himself.

you groan, twisting just enough to yank his hand off your hoodie (gently, because you like this hoodie, and mark has the grip strength of a hydraulic press). with a quick burst of energy, you steady yourself mid-air, falling into pace beside him.

the city sprawls below, a mess of glittering lights and jagged rooftops. for once, it’s quiet—or as quiet as it gets when you’re floating a few thousand feet up with wind screaming past your ears. when the two of you are in a room together, silence is rare. usually, it’s all snark and shoving and mark actively trying to set things on fire. but this? this is… nice.

you glance over at him.

moonlight cuts across his face like liquid silver, softening the usual manic edge in his expression - the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the permanent crease between his brows when he's plotting murder. he looks calm. almost peaceful, if you could ever associate that word with a guy who once bit a drone out of the sky for fun and then spat out the shrapnel like sunflower seeds.

his mohawk’s a disaster in the best way, strands defying gravity like they’ve personally rejected the concept of physics, each one a tiny rebellion against order. it shouldn’t suit him—but it does, the same way a lit fuse suits a stick of dynamite. beautiful in that dangerous, unpredictable way that makes your throat tight.

and his mouth - god, his mouth. chapped from the wind, always twisted into some variation of a smirk or a snarl, but right now just... still. the moonlight catches on his teeth when he exhales, turning them into tiny blades of ivory. not that you're thinking about how they'd feel against your skin. definitely not.

(you're absolutely thinking about that.)

you look away, throat weirdly tight. "...thanks."

mark immediately side-eyes you like you just confessed to secretly being a llama. "what."

"you heard me," you mutter, suddenly very interested in a random skyscraper.

"no, no, hang on—" he flips mid-air to face you, hovering like an overexcited hornet. "did you just—thank me?"

"oh my god, forget it—"

"no, no, this is historic," mark cackles, zooming in closer like this is the best thing he’s heard all week. "was that gratitude? from you? do i need to check for a concussion? did glove-guy poison you?"

you shove at his face. "shut up. i take it back. i regret everything."

mark dodges, still grinning. "too late. i’m framing this moment. putting it in a museum."

"i hate you," you announce, flipping him off for good measure.

"you love me," he shoots back, smug as hell.

"i tolerate you."

"bullshit," mark says, but his voice is weirdly soft. then, like he can’t help himself, he adds, "...you’re welcome, though."

there’s a beat.

then—

"awww, was that sentiment? from you?" you gasp, clutching your chest. you try to ignore the way your cheeks feel warmer. you blame it on the cold wind. "do you have a concussion? should i check for—"

"i’m going to punch you."

"liar."

mark growls, but he doesn’t deny it.

(and if he flies a little closer the rest of the way home, well. that’s nobody’s business.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the two of you touch down on a rooftop, still bickering, when your foot catches on the ledge. you stumble—hard—and suddenly, your vision whites out in a burst of pain.

"ow, what the—?" you glance down.

oh.

oh.

there’s a gash in your side, deep enough that your hoodie’s soaked through with blood. huh. that… probably should’ve hurt more earlier. maybe the adrenaline wore off. maybe you’re just that good at ignoring pain. or maybe—

"what the fuck."

mark’s voice is wrong. too quiet. too flat.

you look up, grinning weakly. "hey, so, fun story—turns out glove-guy’s stupid glove was kinda sharp—"

mark moves faster than you can blink. one second, he’s across the roof. the next, his hands are on your shoulders, shoving you down onto a ventilation unit. his fingers are trembling.

"why didn’t you say anything?!" he snarls, but it’s not anger in his eyes—it’s panic, raw and unfiltered.

you blink. "uh. forgot?"

mark chokes on a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sob. "forgot. you forgot you were stabbed."

"to be fair," you wheeze, "you were really distracting. all the—hnng—exploding walls and… and the smug face—"

"shut up. shut up." mark’s hands hover over your wound like he’s scared to touch it. his usual swagger’s gone, replaced by something terrifyingly fragile. "you’re bleeding out and you’re joking?"

you open your mouth. close it.

…oh.

oh.

he’s actually scared.

the realization hits you like a punch to the gut. mark—your mark, the guy who laughs while flipping cars, who grins when he’s covered in someone else’s blood—is terrified.

your throat tightens. "hey. hey. look at me." you grab his wrist, squeezing. "i’m not dying over some glove-related incident, okay? that’s embarrassing."

mark shudders, his free hand clenching into a fist so tight you hear his knuckles pop. the veins in his forearm stand out like live wires, that stupid black sleeve of his straining over muscle. "not funny."

"kinda funny," you wheeze, even though your vision's going spotty at the edges. the blood soaking your side is definitely not ideal, but hey—if you pass out now, you'll miss mark's mental breakdown. worth it.

"not. funny." his voice cracks on the last word, raw in a way you've never heard before. not after fights, not after nightmares—never. his other hand's still pressed to your wound, warm and sticky with your blood, trembling like he's the one going into shock.

silence.

then, so quiet you almost miss it: "i can’t lose you too."

your chest aches worse than the gash in your side.

you reach up—ignoring how your arm shakes—and poke the spot between his furrowed brows. "too? wow. you do have friends." you swipe your thumb over the silver eyebrow piercing he definitely doesn't let anyone else touch. "should i be jealous?"

mark huffs, but he doesn’t pull away or swat your hand off like usual. his breath hitches when your fingers trail down to brush his cheek. "asshole."

"yeah," you agree softly, your palm lingering against his jaw. "your asshole."

mark freezes. for one terrifying second, you think you've broken him. then, with a groan that sounds suspiciously wet, he drops his forehead against your shoulder, his mohawk tickling your neck. "i hate you so much." his arms slide around your waist, careful but desperate, like he's trying to put you back together through sheer willpower.

(he holds you the whole way to the medbay.

and when the medics try to pry him off you, he growls like a feral dog.

you don't let go either.)

2.9k words of mohawk mark chaos for you! thanks for the request—i had way too much fun writing this unhinged gremlin. not entirely sure if i did him justice or did this right, but hey, at least he’s here and causing problems. hope you enjoyed the mess!

[thebearme]

…petey headcanons? *holds plate out like a starving Victorian child*

Don't worry victorian child, you will be fed.

Petey is ace, particularly greysexual.

Petey has that scary cute cat yawn where they just unhinge their jaw then belp :P

He has shrimp posture sitting and standing, his back is wack.

Not so fun fact, his back is messed up because of his tail being chopped. The tail is connected to the spinal cord after all.

He was a BIG gifted child when he was little, he always wanted praise for his accomplishments. Which made alot of the kids around him hate him, and lead to the whole critter scouts thing.

And after awhile he became the exact opposite, he acted up in school for justified reasons but because his teachers wouldn't care to understand and just punished him. They saw him as a trouble child and the kids thought he was a bad kid, so with the change in perspective Petey started to believe it.

Luckily he had Big Jim growing up, he may have been mean to him at the time but nowadays Petey truly appreciates him and wants to apologize for behavior towards him.

Petey HATES getting sick for many reasons but the main one is that it makes him feel weak. So if Dogman or Lil Petey got sick he'll probably be in a hazmat suit before giving them a box of tissues.

Petey believe it or not, has a fixation on robots. AND I MEAN ALL ROBOTS, he would watch robot movies, have robot pjs, robot posters, robots toys on his shelf, robots anything and everything. I was able to show abit of it in my human Petey design with two of his tattoos (one of them being the robot from the day the earth stood still) and him in a transformer shirt. Why else would he make the most mundane things into robots? Cuz they're COOL!

Speaking of which, Petey fucking cried when he heard Opportunity's last words.

Petey gave up on getting an outside job and went freelance, It's not like the job market was that great anyway.

I imagine Petey, to the surprise to everyone but Dogman, is pretty strong. He may look twiggy, but he is an engineer! You NEED upper body strength to do work. Heres a post I made about it

Petey has a depression shaped pit in is bed. He didn't buy that pit, it's something he earned with hard work and so can you. Lil Petey likes loafing in it.

Petey can easily keep working in his workshop for the whole day without eating or using the bathroom if you don't make him take a break. When he's in the zone he forgets he got a body that has needs and can drop dead if he doesn't fulfill those needs.

Petey knew how to cook from his mom but didn't really start cooking till he got Lil Petey. He just ate takeout EVERYDAY cause he was too busy and depressed to cook, and his butler didn't give af to cook for him if he's just gonna to complain. But of course after getting Lil Petey he wasn't going to fed him takeout! So it went from frozen chicken nuggets and apple sauce to homemade pork stirfry and curry rice.

That care in cooking for others also goes to Dogman as well, neither of them had healthy eating habits so they made a deal to help each other in their journey. Dogman would eventually get told by the doctor that he needs to cut the dogfood cause his human body can digest all of that, so Petey is now cook pack lunches for him as well. And personally meals that taste good for his dog tongue, and Dogman gives him the biggest kisses for that.

I'm currently working on a comic for this next one but Petey feels like has no friends. He never just hanged out with any of the gang just to hangout by themselves. He feels like everyone is close friends with each other but not him, they all hang out around him because they're friends with Dogman. And the only reason they knows so much about him is because he trauma dumps on them. But he'll later learn that they do care about him outside of being close to Dogman and they'll hangout and get to know each other more.

Petey has sensitive beans, particularly to the cold. He's gonna be wearing socks and mittens if there's no heating which is funny cause cats usually hate them.

Petey is actually fluffy but just licks his fur down.

He's tail always is bent and not in a normal way but if you crushed paper and tried to lay it back, it still is bent and slowly goes back to that bent form. The only way to make Petey's tail go completely straight is if you surprise him or made him relax to the ninth degree.

Petey still has cat behavior just like how Dogman has dog behavior but unlike him, Petey controls his behavior. He basically masks everyday because of a whole social class stuff I can't explain rn. Cuz he wants to be taken seriously and not just seen as some house pet.

He once made a throne out of boxes and sat in it till Lil Petey or Dogman came back home. No reason for it, he just wanted to feel like a king.

Petey loves midday naps but the sun cuz he's a cat and old. It's true that you'll need more midday naps when you're older.

If I had to give a inuniverse reason for how he understands sign language it's because Petey learned from his mom. When Petey was younger and had a moment where he mad and overwhelmed he would have a hard time explaining his thoughts. Grace taught him sign language so he can explain his thoughts even if all he can verbally do is scream.

When Grace died, Petey was put into adoption and stayed there for a while because of his age and his behavioral problems. But he eventually got adopted by Dr Dilbert Dinkles, he was perfect for his needs, not a child so he won't cry, a cat can take care of themselves and behaving poorly is exactly what villains in training need to be bad. So Petey got adopted by the worst person possible and we know how the rest of the story goes.

Despite that fact that Dilbert is a doctor, Petey had the upper hand on him. He has street smarts, and when you know to build robots and know to use the robots to their full evil potential then you become a true villain to fear.

Petey and Flippy could very well be friends but Petey is literally just holding a grudge against him for some reason? Seriously idk why they're not friends, I think Flippy wants to be friends with him too but it just Petey that's in the way of that in canon. Like- please stop being an ahole for a second and just talk!

Petey also try his hand at gardening... Dogman keeps rolling on his flowers.

And that pretty much all the headcanons I can think of, I still do have my visual hc but yall always know it

heres a lil collage I made from my petey moodboard

And you already know the playlist

[alchemistc]

Tommy ignores the knock at his door. He's in day three pajamas and the only person who might make the effort to check in on him is his exes best friend. Which.

The knocking continues.

It's getting louder.

There's a Kings game on in the background and he's been elbow deep in the Jeep manual he'd finally cracked open in some sort of weird, fucked up pattern of mourning.

Tommy's never gonna buy a fucking Jeep. He hates them. You own one for more than five years and more than half the parts are replacement parts.

He's been staring at a diagram of the timing belt for half an hour, at least. The last thing he remembers about the game is Kuemper letting in three goals on five shots and somehow the Kings are up two, now, and there's still 25 minutes of game time left.

Tommy reaches for the remote. Turns the volume up.

The knocking returns less than a minute later.

---

There's a box of odds and ends tucked under the table in his entryway. He avoids looking at it. He knows there are a few things missing from it and he really doesn't want to examine what he'll have to do to avoid giving it to Eddie tonight. He cut the cords, he shouldn't be lingering watching the frayed edges sway in the wind, clutching his line like there's anything braced on the other side of it.

Evan's oldest, softest LAFD hoodie, the one that's technically too small for both of them but has stretched shockingly evenly and is definitely not sitting unwashed at the bottom of Tommy's laundry basket. The program from a recital of Denny's they'd stopped by to support him for, on their way out of town for a long weekend. Evan's stupid keto bread and the milk frother he'd left behind three months ago and never bothered to grab because he had more than one.

Whoever is at his door is still fucking knocking, and suddenly Tommy doesn't feel like being polite. He'll shove the box in Eddie's arms and tell him to fuck off and close the last few remaining open doors he has to this.

Only when he swings the door wide it's not Eddie on the other side, and the box nearly takes out whatever Evan - Buck, Jesus Christ - has in his own arms.

Not a Tommy box - too small for all the shit that he'd left behind. He misses the house slippers that had had a permanent spot tucked under the left side of the bed.

Tommy flinches, reels away, tries to shove the box away before Buck can see its contents.

"What are you doing here?" Even tone. No quiver in his voice. He's been called rude and dismissive for less.

Buck scowls. Hefts the rectangular dish in his hands and shoves past Tommy before Tommy can blink.

It's silly to say he chases after him, down the hallway towards the kitchen, but he's not exactly following along behind at a casual leisurely pace.

The glass pan slams down on his kitchen counter and Buck spends a minute staring at the calendar he was only getting two months out of because he couldn't look at the one with all Buck's notes penned in anymore.

"Wow," Buck says, and shifts his weight awkwardly.

"What are you -?"

"Jee and I made you birthday cupcakes," Buck says. His voice is hard. Angry. Hurt. "Happy birthday, asshole."

---

He cracks the lid and there are only three cupcakes inside. Tommy forgets himself. Raises a brow, amusement rolling over him pleasantly, prepared to tease him, but then he catches the set of Buck's legs and the curl of his mouth and the tight way his arm tucks itself back in against his belly, a protective gesture that reminds Tommy very effectively what this is.

"Why?" Tommy wonders aloud, and Evan's scowl deepens.

Buck's scowl.

God.

"We've been planning it for weeks." Something flashes across his eyes before he schools his features. "Jee made me promise to bring you some."

"She must not be a skilled baker," Tommy jokes. "If these are the only ones that made it."

Evan's expression twists. "I ate most of them."

The frosting looks fresh. No creases in the paper cup holding them together.

"I had to make a new batch of frosting because I used some of it for -." He cuts himself off. Looks like he'd like to throw it in Tommy's face but can't quite force himself to hurt Tommy.

It hurts as much as he'd expected, anyway.

The world is a small place. It's not the first time he's had to speak to an ex when he didn't want to. It's never pleasant.

This is worse. The cut and run is supposed to give him time.

Evan Buckley has been an ache behind his ribcage for months, now, long before he'd made that final decision. He'd known it was too little too late. Buck's gonna be the shadow other men see behind his eyes for years.

Buck's apparently found and slept with someone within the week and a half span from Tommy walking out to his sad shitty mopey birthday.

That he'd forgotten about.

Tommy leans in. Picks up a cupcake. Licks a stripe through the frosting and makes a face when he realizes it's buttercream.

"The ones you were supposed to get had the whipped cream one you like," Buck says, accusingly.

That somehow stings just a little bit extra.

Tommy pulls back the paper, takes a bite. There's raspberry filling inside, and Tommy can feel tears prickling at the edges of his eyes, because when he'd told Evan about how his grandma baked he'd been thinking of Evan being a grandparent, the kind of shit he'd forbidden himself from imagining with anyone he was dating years ago.

"Thank you," he manages, and Buck frowns.

"He thought the whipped cream was too sweet." And Tommy probably deserves this but he's not particularly in the mood.

"Cut it out, Buck."

Buck rolls his jaw. "I just figured you'd wanna know how it's going. Maybe I could tally up the hookups for you, count them all up by gender and stamina and opinions on how I should feel and act and fall for someone. Find out if I'm actually gay enough to be a man's last."

---

The rest of the cupcake kind of collapses and oozes as Tommy smacks it down on the counter. He takes thirty seconds to pull the other two cupcakes out before he's grabbing the too-large fake Pyrex and turning heel. The keto bread goes in the pan. Then the milk frother.

Tommy yanks the recital program off the fridge and tosses it in the trash.

Buck almost looks triumphant.

"The box under the side table has the rest. You can see yourself out."

He actually does exactly as he's told, and Tommy listens to his footsteps drift off, shoulders hunched in and the breath tight in his throat. He'd been cruel, it was only fair Buck got a few final kicks in.

Tommy sucks in a breath and blinks away the moisture at the edges of his vision.

The footsteps take a heel turn at the side table and turn right back around.

"This isn't everything."

Tommy half expects some panned comment about how Tommy's got his heart - the kind of silly shit he'd say to a dead outlaw.

"My sweatshirt," Buck says, and Tommy freezes.

He could lie. He could pretend he had no idea where it was. Claim he didn't remember it even being here, because that particular piece of clothing did have a tendency to travel.

He doesn't fucking want to hand that one over.

Buck smirks, like he's caught the crack, and is looking for ways to exploit it.

"I own my own house!" Tommy says, and it's a terrible launching point but Buck latches on.

"You just left, Tommy! I know I jumped the gun, Tommy, but you didn't even - you just left! I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry I didn't know I was into men until you. I'm sorry you had to be my first, I'm sure that must have been such a burden for you."

"That's not fair."

"You didn't even give me a chance. That was - I'm so angry with you, Tommy. I'm so fucking mad."

"I know."

"But that's what you planned for, right? That's - you ripped the bandaid, Tommy, except there's a whole fucking untreated stab wound right underneath and it's still bleeding, Tommy."

"Did you even make this round of cupcakes with your niece?" It's better to keep his family's names out of his mouth. Just keep those ties cut.

Buck looks livid. "No, you idiot, I whipped up a tiny batch of this recipe just for the excuse to see you and - and tell you what a stupid, awful coward you are."

"That's not f-." He isn't sure whether Buck is being facetious about the small batch thing or not. He doesn't have any time to think about it.

"My sister and Chim are having another baby. Bobby and Athena are probably gonna host Christmas this year. Eddie shaved off the mustache and he's, like, dancing now, I guess. Hen and Karen are good for the first time in -." He shakes his head. Stares at Tommy. Tommy can't quite hide from that gaze. "We were good, Tommy. We were - you loved me."

He'd never said the words. Neither had Evan, but they'd both known. Both felt it. Tommy let it go too far, did it scared for longer than he usually would.

"It's not like that just went away when I walked out, Evan," Tommy hisses, and then regrets it immediately.

Evan has spent most of this visit pushing, pressing, digging fingers into the wound to make it hurt.

Evan goes silent now, reeling back a little. He seems shocked that Tommy had admitted it.

"I want you to go," Tommy says. "I need you to go, Buck."

It was the right dagger the first time, but apparently it's only effective once.

"I love you too, you know." His voice is soft. Tommy can't meet his eye. "And I hate you. I hate you even though I know that's what you wanted but I love you too much to not hate you out of spite."

Tommy knows if he caves it's done. He's signing himself over to whatever fucked thing will end them a week, a month, five years, two decades from now.

"Go home, Buck. Hate me there."

---

He goes in for the kill.

"I called Abby, two nights ago."

Right for the jugular. No survivors.

"She laughed for like twenty minutes, and then she tried to get me to chat about our sex life for comparison, and then she was shocked silent for a full minute when I wouldn't." Because Evan had always been a little too open about those details. "She also told me she forgave you but she doesn't think you ever forgave yourself."

Tommy agrees. For all that they'd been terrible for each other, they'd known how the hell to take care of one another like no one's business.

"I want you to go," Tommy says, steady, quiet, nearly a snark for how deep his voice goes to hide the tremor in it.

Buck cocks a hip against the doorframe. "I want my sweatshirt."

The breath that escapes him is shaky, but her think he hides most of it behind the hand over his face, the finger pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"I can't do this."

"Exactly how many men and women do I have to fuck before you believe the future I'm looking at is with you?"

"All of them! None! It was a stupid thing to say and it's not what I meant and I can't do this."

Buck spins on his heel. Grabs the box he'd set aside and hefts it up into his arms. "I'm coming back for my sweatshirt," he says. "You let me know whether you want to talk about the data points of the sexuality spreadsheet or about us."

"There is no us, Buck." His voice sounds defeated even to himself.

"If that was true you'd just give me the stupid sweater and be done."

Tommy sits in silence. He does not get up to retrieve the hoodie. Buck is still angry, but his smile is wide and bashful.

Tommy listens to his footsteps trail down the hall, towards the door, out of it. He hears the Jeep's ignition catch, the wheels roll off the drive.

He realizes he'd left the goddamn Jeep manual open on the timing belt page, right there on his side table where he'd pointed out the things he wanted Evan to take to clear him from his life.

---

There is someone knocking at his door.

Tommy doesn't quite ignore it.

He hid the sweatshirt in one of his toolbox drawers when Evan texted him this morning to let him know he'd be over with a six pack and a pot of chili.

There's a zero percent chance Evan's getting that sweatshirt back, tonight.

[mysicklove]

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

DAY 8: TOYS

With: Giyuu Tomioka

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Sub! Giyuu, gn! reader, modern day au, vibrators, bullet vibrator, anal play, nipple clams, vibrating cock ring, reader lowkey sadistic, safeword mentioned, giyuu crying/sobbing,

A/N: i struggled writing this and i have no idea why. welp.

“There are so many…Where did you find them?” Giyuu mumbles into your neck, sitting behind you on your shared bed, completely bare. His face has turned a bright red, and hes getting extra clingy, meaning that he must be embarrassed. But he is embarrassed majority of the time you do anything remotely not vanilla, so you are used to it.

You sit with a grin, staring at the items layed in front of you. Most of them are a shade of pink, but some are purple, or dark blue. Toys. You have acquired a bunch of sex toys, and today you were going to try them out on your adorable, stone-faced, boyfriend. “Online. Do you want me to explain what they all are?” 

He nods into the back of your neck, peering over your shoulder, and wrapping his arms tighter around your waist.

His eyes scan the multitude of silicon, and the strangely shaped devices. He has never owned nor even talked about sex toys, and the fake pussy is staring right at him, and is making him squirm uncomfortably. You pick it up, laughing at the way he seems to cower at it. “This is a fleshlight. We also have another one over here,” This one was a green color, and just looked like a cylinder with texture on the inside. He liked this one immediately more. “You fuck it instead of your hand.” He blushes at the bluntness of your words but nods.

You set the two down, and Giyuu makes sure to turn away the lewder fleshlight so that it doesn’t face him. You giggle at him but don’t say anything and begin to search for your next item.Your hands trace to a white wand-shaped item, bigger than the rest of them. “Watch this,” You say, clicking on the button to see it jump to life. Giyuu’s eyes widen at the loudness of it, and how strong the vibrations are, and he unconsciously leans into you. “This is a vibrator.” You place it on his chest, and he jumps when they graze his sensitive nipples, shooting you a half-hearted glare. “We also have a bullet vibrator.” You grab the pink circular vibrator with the long attachment cord. “I have some fun ideas for this.” 

He covers his face and groans when you playfully slap his ass. “Alright, two more.”

Giyuus eyes wander to a mental chain with two clamps on both ends. Before you can continue, he cuts you off, pointing to it and mumbling out, “What is this?”

Your face lights up, and you place a hand on his thigh, leaning forward to whisper into his ear teasingly, “Nipple clamps.” You grab the chain from his hand, and pinch the two sides, staring at his chest in awe. “Bet they’ll make your cute nipples all red and swollen,” You sigh, mouth already watering at the idea. 

He flinches, pulling away. “Th-Thats gonna hurt,” The dark-haired man complains, trying to hide away from your sadistic gaze. He squirms when you laugh, and grabs a purple silicon circle, hoping to distract you. “And this?”

“Mhmm, may be my favorite. Cock ring. Prevents you from cumming, and look!” You press the button, sending the toy to life. “It also vibrates. Man, Giyuu, you are going to have so much fun tonight!”

His face pales slightly, and he drops the toy. “I don’t like that one,” He frowns, not liking the idea of not being able to cum at all. 

You peck his mouth, ignoring his complaint. “Hmm, most men don’t. But you’ll look so cute!”

He lets out a small whimper, hoping to coax some sympathy from you, but you just smile at him, petting his head. “It’s gonna be fun. And you will have your safeword. So if you don’t like anything too much, we can stop.”

He doesn’t say anything, instead moving closer to you. You feel something tap your thigh, and grin when you look down. “Well, arent you excited?”

He gulps, looks up at you one more time, and then buries his head into your neck with a whine, mentally preparing for what’s to come.

He was right to prepare, he was already trembling before you even turned anything on. He yelps when you clamp the second nipple on, and you wipe away a stray tear. “Hurts,” he whines, cringing when he glances down at his chest. 

“Sorry love, it’s over now. That was a little uncomfortable, huh Giyuu?” You murmur, cupping his face and kissing his cheek. The words make him feel like a child being comforted after getting wounded, but still, he melts at the tone, playing into it by sniffling and nodding. “Oh you’re so cute, just makes me wanna tease you.”

He whimpers, frowning at you and shaking his head. You pull away and run your fingers down his body, and then sit back on your knees before him. He lays on his back, hands on your knee, while blinking at you, waiting patiently for what’s next to cum.

He lays naked, and with one hand on your knee, seeking comfort. The thin chain connects his two nipples together, and lays lax against his pale chest. On his cock, is the cockring, that sits silently, waiting for you to turn it on. His dick fumes against his stomach, twitching in arousal. Next to him, lay the light green fleshlight (he convinced you to put away the pussy one), and the wand vibrator. And finally, the pink bullet vibrator is up his ass, and grazing his prostate. 

“Alright, let’s start this, yeah? How many times do you think you are gonna cum?” You tease, distracting him as you reach in between his thighs, and click on the vibrator. 

He jumps, sighing out when he feels the low vibrations inside him. “Don’t know,” He mumbles, “Maybe two times?”

You giggle, shaking your head. “Way too low of a guess, silly boy.” The sound of the cockring clicks to life, and Giyuus eyes visibly widen. It was at a higher intensity than the bullet vibrator, and it surprised him.

The two intense feelings send him shivering, and quietly moaning out. His hand grips onto your knee, and he buries his head into the pillow, panting into the soft fabric. You smile at him, and then grab the fleshlight, quickly pouring a copious amount of lube in.

You then steady his hips, huffing a laugh to see them already trembling. Then you force the fleshlight onto his cock, marveling at the lewd squelching noise. 

His reaction is immediate, bucking his hips into it, but then frantically pulling away, as if he was confused. “Wait. Wait. Wait. At the same time?” Giyuu uncharacteristically yelps, eyes wide and staring at you in panic.

You cock your head to the side. “Of course? What did you think we were doing?” He tries to respond, but it’s cut off by a moan when you slide the entire thing back on. It’s too big, considering the cockring covers too much space, so the tip ends about halfway into the toy. 

The vibrations travel to the silicon when the two toys touch, and it sends Giyuu crying out. “F-Fuckkkk. No no no. It’s too much!” 

His hips barely touch the ground anymore. Frantically moving from side to side, and then bucking upward into the toy without his consent. His frantic movements send heat to your groin, and you reach around in between his thighs to turn up the bullet vibrator to the highest level.

His thighs instictually close shut, and your hand almost got caught in his trap. You smack his upper thigh gently, in a tease, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His back is arching and he is gripping the sheets, letting out a silent scream. Giyuus face is buried into the pillow, but he’s whipping his head from side to side, overwhelmed with all the sensations. 

You pump his dick slowly, instead focusing your attention on your obviously overstimulated boyfriend. “I can’t–I can’t. Oh my god, it’s everywhere,” he cries, legs sporadically bending and then kicking out. 

His body forces himself to the side, moving your hand aside, as his hips come up. Then he turns himself completely over, onto his hands and knees as he screams into the pillow, while bucking his hips backward and forward into the two vibrations. He hiccups when he feels his nipples being tugged at by the force of gravity on the clamps. 

“There ya go. More comfortable on your hands and knees?” You don’t wait for him to respond, brushing his hair to the side. “Now, what’s everywhere, Giyuu?”

He sobs something into the pillow, but you can’t hear it, so you gently pinch his thigh. He gets the memo immediately, and pulls away, balancing on shaky hands, as drool coats his face. “T-The vibrations–Everywhere!” He hiccups, lifting his ass higher in the air as his eyes roll back.

A sadistic urge boils in your stomach as you glance at the white vibrator. He was wrong….They weren’t everywhere, and you wanted to change that. With one hand, you bring the fleshlight back to his cock, and then gulp, before picking up the wand, and switching it on. 

He doesn’t hear the new sound of the vibrator, focused completely on the feeling of the fleshlight again. His hips drill into it, and then occasionally arch as if to push himself deeper into the bullet vibrator.

You reach under him, and gently place the wand on the chain. It pulls it down, and also sends vibrations rippling through the chains. 

Giyuu’s eyes widen, and then immediately he sobs into the pillow, cringing as his fists jab into the bed sheets. His nipples are being pulled at, and are vibrating profusely. “Ow. Owwwww, stop stop! Its–I can’t–Oh help me!”

Before you get lost in the mouthwatering view, you are quick to ask if he is all alright. “Your color?”

“Green. Green,” He hiccups, “But you are so–so mean to me!” 

You kiss his upper thigh and continue to move your hands up and down his shaft. His whole body trembles, and the only thing louder than the multiple vibrations, was his constant moans and cries. “But you are gonna cum soon, right, Giyuu?” You coo, watching the way pre begins to dribble out, and helps lube the toy.

He nods into the pillow, body beginning to collapse on itself. You are quick to pull him upright, liking the view of his trembling ass, and shaking dick a little too much. “Bet it's going to be intense,” You mumble, “Bet it’s going to feel so good.”

Your words send his head spinning because you are right. He feels himself approach closer and closer to it, and its never been this intense before. Every sensitive part of his body is being stimulated, and it hasn’t even been five minutes.

You know the signs of your lover beginning to approach his orgasm, and you take the cockring off. One of these days youll use it to deny him his release, but not today, that would be too brutal with everything that is going on. He doesn’t notice, because it’s immediately replaced by the fleshlight fucking him up and down.

 “Please. Please. I–” He falters, forgetting how to speak when his orgasm hits him. His whole body shakes, and he sees white. Every inch of his body is screaming out, and he has got to be on cloud nine. 

He stays silent through it all though, eyes rolling back, and teeth biting into the pillow. Cum shoots out, onto his stomach and the sheets, and you smile through it all. 

His legs collapse moments later and his whole body falls limp against the sheets, jerking sporadically from the continuous vibrations on his prostate. Giyuu felt as if his brain melted, his every thought truly fucked out of him.

He feels his hips being lifted again, your arm supporting him, and he glances at you with hazy blue eyes. “Don’t pass out on me now,” You tease, strapping the cockring back into place. “We still got at least two more orgasms to pull from you.”

And the second the vibrations turn on, he seems to snap awake, but its too late. “W-Wait!” 

You just laugh, and bring the wand vibrator back to his now-redden nipples.

PREV POST | MASTERLIST | NEXT POST

[0coffeeplease0]

uhh forsaken killers and survivors w a shelly reader from Dw?Like the particular reason they got forsakened was because they kept on getting ignored?

Yessir as shelly main I will do it.

Anyways I was mostly inspired by that headlock meme ivyfideo made in tik tok.

Forsaken Survivors + Killers x Forsakend Shelly GN Reader

Note: this is gonna be a one-shot and headcanon.

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Death, gore, bad words :)

NOTICE ME NOW...

☆~~♡~~☆

You were fixing a machine, the round had started not long ago. You start hearing footsteps you look around to see Noob, you waved, and Noob looked like he hadn't noticed it. You should have expected that.

Everyone ignored you, forgot about you, you were and outcast, not even the most decent people like Dusekkar noticed you.

You start to remember how the others acted with you, Elliot would have given someone else a slice of pizza while they have more HP than you do, you had asked Elliot if you could have a slice but he always acted as if you're invisible...

The killers, they don't seem to notice you either, but if you get in their way they won't hesitate to kill you. You were tired of it, tired of being the one who is forgotten, you just want them to notice you and talk to you...and in this round that would be the final straw.

You were running away from the killer, you tried to find Shedletsky or Chance to help, of course, everyone was gathered around together. They seemed had to notice the killer, but not you, before the last second of the timer stopped everything...everything was pain.

You fell to the ground and looked down, you were cut in half by the last second, you try to get someone to help you but they walk past you...

You feel anger, a feeling you haven't felt before.

Fine.

If they aren't going to notice you while being friendly then they will notice you by murdering them.

You felt your body transforming, it was all painful.

With the survivors.

Noob was talking with elliot he seemed worried for you, he had spoken about it with Elliot but Elliot only told him, "Don't worry about them I'm sure they are ok."

He feels guilty for ignoring you most of the time, maybe he could try and make it to you...that is if he dosent forget you in the process. Noob kept walking right behind the others, but he stopped for a bit, he heart loud footsteps before he could react something had chomped down on his neck, he couldn't scream, Noob felt the teeth of whatever was biting on his neck, sink deeper. Then, crunch...

Everyone turned around, everyone was shocked, it was you...you were different, your torso, composed of an exposed rib cage which looks like a dinosaurs bone, with the tips of each rib sharpened. Your entire skeletal torso is covered in some black gooey substances.

Then you attack, clawing at Elliot in the chest, Elliot had little time to recover as you had stomped on his head, blood splattering. The others ran, a new timer has been set, you began you're chase.

You were after Dusekkar, you were after him, you were so fast, Dusekkar felt his stamina drain he was getting tired, but before he could worry any longer, Shedletsky had striked. He had stunned you...but it didn't last long as you came back to your senses quickly, and swung your tail, hitting Shedletsky, and he was sent flying until he hits a wall, before he could get up and make a run, your clawed hand had grabbed Shedletsky by the neck and 'snap'.

Dusekkar who had witnessed this, felt helpless, he wondered why you turned this way... but of course he knew why...everyone had forgotten about your existence, and they were to blame for it...and he felt guilty. But suddenly Dusekkar felt a pain, something was, no, something chomped down on his head, but then it all went black.

It wasn't long as you killed everyone 1 by 1, the satisfaction you had felt even if anger was still drowning you, you looked around to admire what you had done, blood surrounded the place scared across the walls, limbs, guts...

As you ripped Chance's vocal cords out with your clawed hands the timer ended.

After everyone had recovered from the events they looked at Builderman who was holding a chart, the new killer...was you...and they knew that you were a serious threat, but they all were guilty of the way you had become...

☆~~♡~~☆

☆Headcannons☆

Noob

•He felt very guilty.

•He blames himself for everything that had happend with you.

•He is afraid of you.

•He wants to apologize but he knows that if he does, his apologies will fall to deaf ears.

Elliot

•Elliot feels even more guilty, he has seen you almost die but he never gave you a slice.

•He thinks that if he had healed you sooner you would still be you.

•He regrets not helping you or even noticing you.

Chance

•He genuinely feels like cr4p, He knew you were real, that you actually had feelings but he never talked to you.

•He feels slightly guilty, but he's more worried on how to outlive you in the rounds.

Two Time

•Did the Spawn punish them?

•they think that it's your fault.

Guest 1337

•He is more worried on how everyone can survive you, bit you were to big to even do much, you had changed into something dangerous.

•He does feel guilty, he has noticed you, has walked by you, but never really said anything to you.

Shedletsky

•He feels like an a-hole, but he can't feel guilty at this time, he needs to find a strategy to make sure no one dies much whenever it's your turn in rounds.

Builderman

•Feels bad for you, but he dosent have time for those feelings after you had demolished his machines in one go, he needs something stronger.

007n7

•Very guilty, he knows it's not entirely his fault in why you became a killer, but he also knows that you had a good reason to.

•He fears you, he really does, he wonders just how creative you can get with killing.

Dusekkar

•He saw it all coming but he didn't think that it would be so soon, still shaken up after what he had witnessed.

•Even if you are long gone, he makes sure to keep your stuff clean, that dinosaur book you had in there? Not a single spec of dust.

Taph

•Youa re a bigger threat, he can see it, but he knows that he has to deal with it.

•He wishes to help you go back to who you were before, but if you did, they would keep forgetting you...

☆~~♡~~☆

Kilers

1x1x1x1

•After he had spectated, they haven't said a word, she tried to talk to you but you had snapped at him.

•He knew you were going to be a very strong killer, maybe he could try and manipulate you.

John Doe

•He didn't do much after what had happend.

c00lkid

•He thinks you are so cool like this but also he is terrified, after spectating you he had witnessed the way you killed his dad, this made him scared...

•But you wouldn't hurt his dad like that if he asked you kindly, right?

Azure

•Thinks that it was Two Time who had provoked you.

☆~~♡~~☆

Ending note: ima leave it here I'm doing this at 4:08 a.m. because I couldn't sleep and now I feel tired.

[rose-maidenn]

Pick a card : Your 2025 , predictions based on each month

1-2

Hey guys how are you Happy New Year ＼(^-^)／ , I know I delayed a bit (^.^) for this one but hope you enjoy this , if you resonate like and reblog and gimme feedbacks cause that's what keeps me motivated to post 🫶🦢🩷✨️

If you do like my work and would want an in depth reading please check out my :

Masterlist

Paid readings

Pile 1 :

January

I see you starting the year kind of defeated by the previous year it was really hard and tiring for you and tested your faith a lot , you had to make hard choices, I see that you are stuck in a toxic situation or obsessing over something that doesn't serve you . I see that by middle of January it will get better , I do see turmoil in the start but breakthrough is near and it's for you . You will go out to picnics by the end , water bodies will help you , avoid fast food alrighty and make a vision board baby cause this is your year alright .

February

Like I said circumstances will improve I see a quick change of mood in February, is it your birth month ? Celebrations are around . You will feel protected in February things will feel sweeter . You will make a quick decision that will prove to be extremely beneficial for you this maybe about getting in a relationship or joining therapy as well . You might learn more about emotional regulation and heal your heart chakra . You will be grounded in your body and approach life with meaning .

March

There's stubborn energy in march , you are still Taking things slow and steady , the next chapter of your life is about freedom and not in the sense of travelling places alone but in a sense of freedom from other people's judgements and approval I see that you might have a rip off with someone or hear that someone is leaking information about you this might be a fire sign person who's jealous of you hermit for a while and then make a move , plan in silence and win.

April

Now that you have learned a minor lesson of detachment you have vigor and life again, you will seek new opportunities might get a new hobby as well maybe surfing or racing are you info F1 ? You will also get serious about studies some major exam is on the horizon. Nights in April are significant maybe you will do lot of late night studies or sneak out at night or night rides will make you so happy .

May

For may you are in a mood of enjoyment and happiness but remember to work hard there's tendency of you being too engrossed in enjoying that you forget that your labour is yet to be completed, focus on long term goals and possibilities. You might start visiting the temple more often. The person who was leaking info earlier is gonna miss you a lot in may they might even come back to talk ti you again but you're already done with them , you are in a mode of benevolence but yet you know your value well if they do disturb you too much do a cord cutting .

June

Now is the true time to enjoy your fruits of labour you had done in may , your success rate is high you're spiritually aware and emotionally well regulated, you will truly be happy I see reconciliation of someone you loved when you were young maybe a friend or teenage crush kinda vibe , through instagram or something. You are soaring high , your vibrations are too you're close to the sun and your thoughts will create your destiny so think positively.

July

July is also a positive fine with new opportunities and growth in the money sector of your life, if you have a new business idea or creative idea make sure that you invest in it , you will have more energy and vigor in this month but I see you being kind of lost if it's not well decided where you wanna move next so think before you leap work in the right direction and trust god . Also I see that a feminine figure most probably your aunt will get sick so take care of her if she's important to you.

August

August will focus on healing your old wounds , what have you ignored , if you do your healing well by doing shadow work you will get a breakthrough and live well by circumstance , might get a new house , I hear a moving house as well , you also might be s*xually active a lot during this time , Choose your partners wisely. This person might be an air sign . I see you might try to numb your pain but don't this healing will liberate you so choose this .

September

In September you're not giving a fuck about anyone , you're doing what you like how you like , leaving people and situations and praying a lot , I see some sadness about things left behind this could be stuff that didn't work out in business family or love , if it is the person mentioned in August then you can avoid the pain by being cautious and not attaching yourself by simple discernment I see 1111 , you can choose what you want to happen

October

October is literally like live through the pain moment 💀 I see a hike in finances but your mental health is detoriating you're staying alone , thinking too much and explaining too much , it's necessary that you give yourself a break here okay talk to a friend please please I beg because I see these great times for you which you may fail to recognize because you're too much in your head , it's really important to focus on you in October, mute the noise and focus on you . Eat dates , go to a date and save the date because you're a star.

November

Silent night holy night all is calm all is bright energy , this year Christmas is gonna be lit and you're preparing from November haha I see you getting advent calender ordering gifts for yourself and family . You're gonna be In a supernova mode excessive focus on your goals and you're like you will destroy anyone who will come in your way energy , you're protective and calm it's like you're a mafia boss observing your opponent and waiting for your minions to attack , lol you're gonna have fun in November a lot of funn.

December

December calls for a dark night of the soul heavy reflection on your year and the endings you have had this year , despite being scared you were strong and did what had to be done and you're proud of yourself by the middle of the month . I see you cooking a lot and going to shopping a lot mostly groceries you will be more confident and feel amazing in your body if you had a weight loss goal this year drumroll I see you meeting it . Love Love , you're doing great.

Pile 2 :

January :

Fire in your heart and clear vision is what you're going for in January , I see the circumstances might not be the most favourable but you're hopeful in the midst of a chaos, the happenings have made you instill a sense of balance within oneself and clear sight for what you truly want. You will be presented with a choice in January a choice of new life a new belief a new mindset and it will lead to great outcomes , I sense some modelling offer or working in corporate sector .

February:

The opportunities of January seem to be at full action in February you're more confident than ever , you're at eagle eye view towards the things that you want , your intuition is strong now you're observing the small details and working on them to correct them . Like posture, working on a project you really consider important. The advice is to lay on grass and watch the clouds it will give you comfort. Rest and relax and let universe prepare your auspicious way .

March :

Money is incoming in March, as March is actually the astrological new year I see that you will feel it more than the offers the weight of the time and you will look forward to everything, you're not afraid to work hard and you're really admired for those qualities. I see that you might have recovered from a breakup and now you're set on this path all over again , don't be scared the universe holds your hand , it won't set something in your path that you cannot handle.

April :

You will have ample resources in April to the point that you will become detached with money because you realise that there are much more things to life. You will be more spiritual and find fulfillment in your family and spend quality time with them , a kid maybe Born during this time or you might get pregnant so if you don't want that be safe . As for your love life I sense turbulence cause by old people so don't let the oldies in. Work on healing your sacral chakra in April.

May:

In May your love life seems great tbh , movie dates , colouring together , park dates etc a lot will be happening and it's nice to see . And I see in may you might become too detached with money you may feel drained so you catch up now , multiple investments Will be made by you . One of the sectors good for you will be wine , invest in a wine brewery or gold , both will work well. If you worship Lakshmi this is the month you get serious about her cause she's ready to bless you so so much .

June :

June is full of fun with friends but also a lot of endings due to arguments , make sure you more along with the right people and don't settle because in case you're you're moving with idiots they will exactly show you why they are an idiot , might make remarks on your body and make you feel insecure not recommended. I see your partner being supportive and helping you. Ground this June and wear red lipstick man it suits you so so much it drives your partner crazy .

July :

July is a state of recovery , some of you might have felt disconnected with your high-school friends so you seeked new friends or coworkers but this month you will understand that they love you so much and they're always here for you even if it seems hard at times . You will get flowers a lot , I see a guide being extremely protective about you will be an old spirit guide . If you're a saturnian Saturn will be kind to you and you will have the courage to face anything and everything. Your mindset is good .

August:

August is the month you fall in love with the aesthetic value of the things around you , you might go redecorating your entire room or house , tip you should get a gold vase it will be lucky for you I also see some hummingbird symbolism and bells definitely great for you . Your parents will come around and you will feel connected to them a lot. For some of you around this time you might get engaged . I hear San Paolo so omg excited for you .

September :

The energy is quite similar to August, you're just very very excited in September. Might get new shoes and watch old cartoons even do some repair work in your free time . Will come across a red car and would consider even buying a car. Spiritual advancement is also seen you might have started meditating in early July and September will be the month of effects heightened awareness seeks you now . Don't take any drugs okay I see some peer pressure coming in .

October :

444 on my time zone October will be a protected month or it could mean to up your protection game mann you need a sigil to help I do see a sigil it's circle kind of arrow like , kind of reminds me of the vikings. This pile also gives me Vasalisa vibes ( fairytale) . The fire of your heart burns greater than the fire around you're the tree of life and you're the disaster of it and rebuilding of it . Omg why am I writing this one so whimsically maybe that's how you feel very whimsical very witchy .

November :

You're gonna feel really cute first of all , drenched in kisses and you're gonna party Charli xcx style, your worries are lighter your heart is bigger tbh , attending concerts can be something you do or you might start liking a new artist I hear conan gray , suki Waterhouse tbh . A month of crafts as well , creating new things like bags and cards . You seem to be on a break from work in this month or just your work is comparatively easier so you're in a state of rest .

December :

You're in worship mode in December totally offerings and affirmations are your mantra . Your year was a total up down coaster man (*>∀<*) like it had a balance of everything fun and sadness but what remained consistent is the love , romantically this year will be better for you because you have learnt from your past relationship not to depend too much on your partner and it indeed is helping you keep this one and also your mental health . Take care love love to you.

Thanks for reading 🫶

[artyphex]

Hey so here’s Ace’s birth scene. Like written out.

I’m working on the first HuskerDust kitten fic in a huge mess of an order but I’m writing the birth scenes first just to get them out of the way. And I thought I’d post Ace’s just to show you what to expect. They’re as non-graphic as I can make them while still being immersive and getting the point across. There’s vague references to blood and other fluids but nothing specific. Same with genitalia. Which is referenced and described explicitly at other points in the fic, but not here.

So if you’ve been curious. Here’s your preview. This scene most likely WILL change between now and the final version but not much. Enjoy!

He went to his bathroom cabinet. What was it they always grabbed in those stupid shows? Towels. Towels, that was a thing. He had those. Scissors, too, for the cord-cutting if he’d have to do that. He didn’t know. He didn’t know how any of this was supposed to go.

There had to be more than that, more than just towels and scissors. What else was there?

There was another wave of pain. A pressure in his core like he’d split open. He gripped the side of the counter and groaned fuck, fuck, fuck, through clenched teeth.

Okay, fuck it. Fuck it! He’ll only have towels and the scissors. He doesn’t need more than that. If he does- he won’t. Natural process, right? You’re not supposed to have anything else. You’re supposed to be able to do it on your own.

Of course, that was for living people. Living people with bodies that are meant to do this. He was neither of those things. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him, in this state, in this body. This wasn’t supposed to be possible. So maybe he couldn’t do it on his own. Maybe he couldn’t do it at all.

“I ain’t gonna die,” he found himself saying as he grabbed a folded stack of towels and put the scissors on top. “I can’t. I can’t die. I’m not gonna die.”

Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d just get stuck like this. Struggling against the pain of something trying and failing to find its way out. Maybe it would never stop. Maybe this was forever.

He went to the bathtub and lowered himself in slowly, resting the scissors on top of the towels and holding them all against his chest. Another tight wave of pain shot through him as he tried to gingerly set himself down. Making everything tense and then loosen. Outside of his control, he flopped the rest of the way in, landing on his back hard.

He looked down at the towels in his hand. He refused to look lower. He saw the scissors sitting there. Decided he was lucky they hadn’t stabbed him in the heart. He took them and dropped them on the floor next to the tub. But he held onto the towels. He held onto them tight.

And then it just- happened.

It was like his body felt his panic and just took over. He didn’t have to think about it. Like it had done it before. Man or no man, something deep and old and human in him knew what to do, and so it did it.

When the pain came, he pushed through it. Pushed through it. As long and as hard as he could until his body stopped, and when the next wave came, he did it again.

Push through it.

Breathe.

Push through it.

Breathe.

One conscious thought bubbled to the front of his mind during a moment between breathing and pushing. He took one hand and checked, down, to see if anything was happening. When he did, he pulled his hand away, that fear coming back in his chest. Something was, and he wasn’t ready to know what yet.

His body took him over again.

Push through it.

Breathe.

Push through it.

Breathe…

There’s a solid, wet rush between his thighs, and then it stops.

It stops.

He’s suddenly surrounded by still, cool, painless air.

His body relinquishes control back to him, and he goes limp like all of his muscles were made of loose thread. Certain if he tried to move, he might fall apart.

His head rested on the lip of the bathtub, and he closed his eyes.

Breathe…

And then there’s a sound.

It’s coming from- down by his feet. He isn’t sure he hears it at first. It’s quiet. His heartbeat and his blood are rushing so loudly in his ears he wonders if he just might be hearing things.

But then it comes again. Louder this time. It’s somewhere between an animal’s squeak and an infant’s cry.

A third sound, louder and longer, like a real cry. A cry for something. For help. For him.

He lifts his head very slowly and opens his eyes cautiously. But he looks.

“Oh god…”

It is squirming. And little. But it has limbs— four of them. Arms flailing. Legs kicking. A tail lashing against the ground and a little face. A toothless pink mouth opened wide and crying.

It’s not a slug.

Angel reached down at it. Scared to touch it, like it might mutate into a monster and eat him. Like he might crush it to death with one wrong placement of his finger. He inched closer to it until his fingertip brushed its arm.

Its whole body flinched at that touch. It let out a little startled sound. Angel flinched back, hands shaking.

“H-hey,” he said. “You’re o-okay.”

He reached for it again. This time, his fingertips brushed its cheek, it made another sound again. He breathed. He slid his fingers under its head with one hand and its tiny butt with the other.

“I- I. I gotcha,” said Angel. “I gotcha.”

His heart raced faster with every inch he picked it up. But he picked it up, and held it in front of his face.

It’s not a slug.

It had the fat, bean-shaped body of a human baby, the big head, but its short little legs ended in paws with splayed out toes. There was its tail. Fluffy but matted down with… stuff. Its arms ended in tiny fat hands with short round fingers. Its head… there was nothing human about that. It looked like… a cat. A kitten.

A baby.

And- she? She. It looks like a she. But so does he right now, technically, so that really doesn’t tell him anything.

Still, “she” is easiest at this moment, so “she” it is.

She has stuff all over her.

At that moment there’s another rush out of him. This one a lot more wet for a result a lot more disgusting. That’s what the scissors were for. He swapped it- her to his lower set of arms. Reached over the side of the tub, found the scissors, and cut the cord. Then wrapped the leftovers he’d just expelled in one of the towels he’d brought and threw it somewhere toward a wall.

Gross. But that means he’s done. It’s over.

He should get cleaned up.

He kept her in his lower hands, and reached for the shower head with his upper ones. He turned on the water just barely. Getting the weakest stream possible. Moving one nob and then the other, until the water was just warm and cold enough to feel like nothing.

That should be safe right?

He held her out, cradling her between two hands angling her up, delicately running the gentle stream of water over her round belly.

Her limbs flailed out, her mouth opened and she made a yowling cry of displeasure.

“Sorry. Gotta get you cleaned up, I’m sorry,” said Angel. Running the fingers of his free hand over her little chest and stomach to speed it up. Down her arms, legs, tail. He could see her colors better now. She had greyish fur, almost white, that darkened gradually into points on her hands, feet, tail, and face. He found little dark ears hidden in the fur of her head. She had a light-pinkish purple tint over it all.

“There you go…” Angel said as her angry cries softened to skeptical coos. “Ain’t so bad, right? Feels kinda nice…”

He had to get her back.

He slid further down in the tub, until he was almost lying flat, and balanced her on her front in the center of his chest. Her little head out to one side. He brought the faucet over her, giving her the world’s softest shower. Running his fingers up and down her back to help it all wash away. Until the water’s clean.

He sits up, adjusting her to be cradled against his chest. He turns off the shower head and puts it back in its place. They’re both soaking wet now, he reaches next to him for another towel-

She’s purring.

He feels it more than he hears it, but he hears it too. Little smooth pebbles of sound. It feels to his ear like dipping your hand in a bag of dry beans. Each noise gliding against him so soothingly. She’s making it, there in his arms, it’s one of the first sounds she’s made.

He looks down at her, in his arms, her head rolled against the fluff of his chest. Her fingers curling and uncurling loosely against her palms.

“You’re…”

She’s purring.

“You’re… really small…”

She’s so small.

She trusts him.

“Yeah… yeah. Okay. Let’s get you outta here.”

[rsventhesecondd]

headcannons,  ┓

→ Featuring . Hayato Suo as your FUBU ← •

☁️┆ ⤿ request by  @anon 👻 ༺  ╰ ღ WBK :  requests open  ╯🦢

HAYATO SUO as your fubu — head cannons ! •

warnings . contains nsfw , fluff , all characters used are aged up to 18 , f!reader + not proof read yet . note . some parts may seem rushed or ooc in other peoples opinion. english isn't my first language, so please bare with oncoming vocabulary or grammatic mistakes.  ๑❛ᴗ❛๑ authors note . this is slightly rushed since I had to do something in the midst of editing this draft , but nevertheless— please enjoy reading !

fubu!hayato , who fucks you in the most ridiculous places. Behind a random dark alleyway , inside a bathroom during a party your friend hosted , and everywhere else you could think of.

" W-Wait, what the hell Hayato! We're gonna get caugh— " He cuts you off with a kiss. "Don't worry [name] , nobody really goes here. Atleast for now" Suo assures with his signature smile, a small glint forming in his eye.

fubu!hayato , who knows your body more than you do. He knows which buttons to press , that spot that makes your head turn back from the pleasure, how you act when you're close, – eyes rolling back. He's fully confident that he's probably ruined your future experiences— well if you'll have one other than him.

"What about here? How does it feel?" He questions grazing a a specific spot, causing you to turn your head back– a moan in response. "Do tell me, pretty girl. Remember, closed mouths don't get fed" He added, curling up his fingers in the process.

fubu!hayato , who's such a sadist, getting turned on by your humiliation, begging him to fuck you raw— your whimpers when he angles his hips to reach that spot, or when you call out his first name. You're just too adorable for him, how could he refrain from teasing such cute girl like you?

"The ropes aren't too tight, is it [name]?" He asks in a slightly worried tone. He wouldn't want to hurt his precious doll too much. " No-no.. , " You said, quickly shaking your head. —" hurry up. hurry up. " "Oh? Aren't you a needy one." He teased, gliding his fingers from your clit to your entrance. "Look [name-] , I've barely touched you, and you're already so wet." He says with the same tone, slightly laced with an amused one.

fubu!hayato , whos has such a pretty cock— slightly above average ( or not ) , 7 inches long , 7.62 inches when hard. 3.47 inches wide, trimmed , circumcised , curved lightly to the left– and he uses that as an advantage to hit all the right spots. His pretty flushed tip is #EOA6b9 pink, shaft is a creamy #E4D5B4 beige. 2 distinct veins with the longest ranging from the base to the tip on the middle right side, he's sensitive the most there. Excretion is macaroon cream, and when he does, he lets out a soft groan.

" Have you ever thought about how you have such a pretty cock? " You said, tracing around his veins as he shivers, his lips tugging into a grin. "How.. bold of you [name] , " He mutters out out with a groan; amused by your words, almost.. flustered? "I've never really thought about it.. like.. that"

fubu!hayato , who isn't really much of a head pusher or throat fucker, letting you do as you please. And when your tongue glides over his sensitive tip to his veins, he simply just pushes his head back. He really isn't a type of person to curse out so openly, even under a lot of pleasure; but when he gets too stimulated, he let out a sound that is in between a groan and whimper, caressing your hair ever-so slightly.

"Mm— you're doing so good, [name]" He says, letting out a breathy exhale as you kitty lick his tip.

He's so sensitive, but it takes more than just a few minutes to make him cum.

fubu!hayato , who just loves tasting you all over— trailing kisses everywhere. Your neck, shoulder, spinal cord, from your abdomen to your inner thighs, whilst leaving a few marks in the process, letting out a loud pop as he takes his lips off your bruised skin — he just can't get enough of you!

"Ah, I can't seem to get enough of you, [name] , " He says, placing your index and pointing finger in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. "You're just.. too addictive; even for me" He says against your ears, licking your earlobe.

fubu!hayato , who always leaves fights unscathed. He seems to be the type of person who dislikes being scathed, but when it comes to you leaving both love and bite marks all around his skin, fingernails scratching his back as he rams in your pent up hole— he isn't complaining. Instead, he encourages you to make more.

"Remember to breath. If it ever gets too stimulating, just bite down as hard as you can." He whispers in your ear, shoulders close to your mouth. "W-Wouldn't it leave marks? I thought you didn't like being scathed–" You said, breathless. "Hm, I don't. But when it comes to you, I'd rather you add more." He retorted. If someone does indeed see him without his Quipao, those subtle scratches all over his back— bruised neck and shoulders.. then, he'll just make up some sort of excuse.

sincerely, raven ! — requested by anon 👻 ╯

[gracie-eilish]

11 and 💛, maybe a little angst and then fluffy comfort? 🥺

“let me love on you”

prompt list

"billie i know how hard you're working, but please baby. its three in the morning and you need sleep." you pleaded.

billie had been cooped up in her home studio all day. recording, writing, re-recording, re-writing. however it was late and while you loved hearing her sing, hearing her sing while you tried to sleep, knowing she should be sleeping even more than you, was agitating.

"just give me ten more minutes." she didn't even look up from the monitor, just waving a hand in your direction. you huffed wanting to just go over and unplug the damn thing, but deleting all her progress didn't sound like the solution to this argument.

"no billie, you're coming with me now. it's late and you're gonna fry your vocal cords. please just come get some sleep. you can come back tomorrow-" billie cut you off, spinning around to face you.

"do you understand how important this next record has to be for me? y/n, I didn't win a single grammy for what I thought was my best body of work so far in my life. and you even said yourself, that when taylor swift- taylor freaking swift - didn't win anything for red, she went home and wrote 1989 which then became the most decorated pop album of all time. so please just let me make my better record."

you mentally cursed yourself for your taylor themed encouragement you gave her last month. you thought it would be a nice motivator to keep working hard, now it was just biting you in the ass... and sleep schedule. you took a deep breath walking across the room to her, squatting in front of her chair.

"yes, i did tell you that. and I think i also told you about her song all you had to do was stay. did i tell you about that one?" you thought quickly, hoping to get your stubborn girlfriend away from her studio.

"yes you did, that was so cool! she literally dreamt the lyrics to the chorus. like fully dreamt it and then woke up to write it."

you gave her a knowing look, softly rubbing the tops of her thighs while she caught your drift.

"what does that have to do- OH. oh. you're good baby." she realized.

"yes i know i am, thank you very much. now why don't you clean up down here so we can go to sleep so you can dream your next song lyrics, yeah?" you teased standing up and holding out your hands for her to take. she looked up at you like a toddler deciding if they wanted to keep playing with their toys or play with their bath toys compromising for bath time.

"c'mon baby, you're exhausted and need some rest. let me love on you."

"fineeeee. you win miss swiftie." she grumbled turning away to save her progress and shut off her equipment.

"i always do!"

"yeah, yeah. whatever." she scoffed before turning to grab your waist for a second. "i'm sorry for being so stubborn. you were just trying to take care of me and i appreciate that. you know how stressed i am about this album already and i need reminders every now and then to stop and rest so thank you for doing that for me," billie said with puppy eyes, but genuinely was sorry.

"oh my love," you pulled her in fully for a hug, cradling the back of her head. "i will always take care of you, even when you're being stubborn. i love you too much to not make you rest every now and then. but i swear to god if you start voice memo-ing songs in the middle of the night like taylor does, your's sleeping on the couch." you teased making billie giggle.

you pulled back to look at her face properly, cupping her cheeks. "i love you sweet girl. so much." you leaned in closing the space between you two with a cavity-inducing kiss.

"i love you more mama," she whispered into the kiss, only breaking apart when you both started smiling too much.

[sapphiccup]

Burning Blue...

Word count: 1.3k

Pairing: Abby x reader

Cw: Slow burn <3 series…. //light panic attacks descriptions, awkward conversation, slightly suggestive, warning there will be nsfw in later chapters, Malnourished abby for the first few chapter, trust issues, anxiety, yep, gay stuff. MDNI AND CIS MEN -> DNI!

Summary: Abby is in quite the pickle, she is trying to get back in the real world again after dealing with so many cross roads with life. Scared to make the the wrong move again, however a certain someone pushes her to get back out there with life again. And once she does take that step.. well. Let’s find that out together, shall we?

Dc!:@/mmadeinheavenn

Song: Burning blue by Mariah the Scientist🧪💎

Prologue…ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

You sat on the same couch with a woman who is particularly on the more buffer side than most. She’s new, different, doesn’t speak a lot in your little village you call home. Home away from out there.

You could say, it’s like freedom from the real world.

Freedom in more ways than one, it felt as though this home of yours was so mundane that even this quiet woman has been accustomed to it. So accustomed that.. she’s forgotten about human touch, and would like to remind the both of you, how good it feels to be human again. Not weapons, not survival, just.. human.

In doing so—- here it all began. One hand on your thigh, and the other around your waist, a kiss so tender pulling away from your now warm swollen lips, panting in unison. The scent of arousal permeated the air,<- (credits to moonie for this highlighted line) like a spark to a flame as if it was strong as gaz de pétrole liquéfié.

But before you got here, there was quite a story that begun a little like this…

She arrived months ago with some kid, named Lev. He’s also quiet, but more like speaks when spoken to,

quiet. Cuts the bullshit and gets to the point. Got along quickly with that one. So, quickly, they figured you and Abby should meet. And after a while of insisting over and over again. You finally, exhaustedly gave in. Dragging your feet behind them, as they walked up the stairs upon a porch, knocking on the door. You suddenly understood that you felt more nervous than before, meeting this unknown silent woman. Who definitely looks like they’ve seen more shit than they should have. You took purchase to the ground instead of the porch, rocking back and forth on your heels to the tips of your shoes. Arms behind your back, as if you were a kid again, nervous to say hi to the new kid in class or you are the new kid. In your 20’s feeling more vulnerable than before, odd that those feelings are crawling over your skin, that you claimed has thickened. It was hot too, the sticky kind of hot, and of course you’d pick the ground under the beaming sun instead of her porch with a sun roof to banish momentarily hot rays. Another knock to the door came. You’d hear some heavy steps come near the door, whipping your head upwards to see. Abby.

“What’s up Lev?” She asks, only peering a bit out of her white door. Her face barely out the door, only able to see her nose.

“It’s time to get out and actually socialize. Like we practice” Lev urged them, with a slight groan to their cords.

“Ah, yes, definitely tell the whole village that as well Lev, thank you. Appreciate you so much..”

“Oh, is this what this sarcasm you spoke of before feels like?”

“Yeah— ugh, you know what.. we’ll work on your sarcasm skills later”

“Cold, okay see you—I’m gonna go work on a few cars today” he said turning on his heel, speeding down the stairs, giving you a cheeky smile before heading towards back into town.

“I- wai-“ She reaches out for them but they are already gone. Poor Abby, after years of finally finding a place she feels she can relax, she finds herself in quite the pickle to actually start speaking to people again. Feeling as though she doesn’t even deserve a friend after.. the Seattle incident. She slips through the door and out there she goes, greeting you with a nod, and an awkward bitten lip.

…

“So..” She starts off, with hands in her pockets, trying to regain some kind of comfortability. Or control.. You introduce yourself before this entire thing you’ve prepared takes off like a failed paper airplane. “—Lev said you needed some company, so here I am.” You continued, noticing her eyebrows raised, and a hint of pink embarrassment kisses her appled cheeks. “Yeah… I- you know..—-“

“I’m sorry I’m just..— not used to being insisted that I need to get back out there and socialize. Been a while.. with infected out there and.. all” is what she chooses to say as eels slip down her back, her once rosed hinted face now blanched with paleness. The memories of what she's done, the mistakes that were made, the karma that was dealt, the two sides of the same coin situations, everything that she wish she could take back and do differently… The conversation with Mel especially still lingers and has made a terrible cocoon in her mind. Ready to just pop open one day. But of course she sticks with the story that would be more common to share than her past of many unique decisions.

“Uh-huh…” you began,

“Well, I’ve been here for at least 5 years. Truly—- since the buildings used to be just scraps and what not.. but here we are.. heh, ha— um.. anyways… D-don’t really see you around the dining hall?” You bambled, blubbed, your sentence, wanting to just crawl back into your bed and sleep off whatever silly nerves are trying to camp in your nervous system.

“Yeah?”

This conversation is clearly not going anywhere! Might as well switch it up, you are afterall “You haven’t been able to meet everybody, and we’re all soooo curious about you”

“Is— is that sarcasm?”

“Maybe” you respond with a playful smolder, you manage to get a quirked eyebrow from this mysterious woman, and for that.. that is a win of sorts. Though, you fwip your head away from her, teeth dragging against your chapped bottom lip.

“Huh, didn’t pick you to have that kinda of humor” She states, as she slowly walks down the stairs. You turn back your attention to her as those wooden stairs creak under her. The closer she gets the more you notice how tall she actually is, and if you didn’t know any better. You took a step back, caught off guard from the height. In fact your eyes wander a bit more, not pervertedly of course just.. observing her physique. She wore a black wife pleaser, some dark blue jeans, her hair slightly chopped in a… interesting style.. seems like a struggle with scissors but that is no matter. Maybe she’d like a haircut some day by one of the friendly locals.. however you’re careful to not just bring that up yet. You’d also ponder if she had a muscle regression before getting here, unless you are mistaken from her stretch marks on her arms. Abby rubbed the back of her neck letting out a grunted ‘ahem’. You regain your focus with a twiced blink and ears are hot as ever.

“Maybe you should pick a little harder, miss socially inept” you jested, a little poke of fun wouldnt hurt after being caught for starring… you’ll apologize in your own way later tonight.

“Ha.. haa, okay watch yourself— I didn’t say you we’re that funny”

“Wait till you get to know me some more, maybe you’ll be smiling one day”

“Yeah, good luck with that” Abby muttered to herself, rolling her eyes. Reminding herself that maybe this is what she needed. Something familiar, conversation, regardless of how oddly blunt you are. Some directness would be nice for once. No wondering in her ocean of a mind if she made a fool of herself with you with your kind of attitude.

And just from that one conversation, things moved slow, then a bit quick, then slow again, but as time moved on, the more you both figured, this is okay. At first you figured you both are a little weird, but honestly this is the most at peace she’s been in a while. So fuck it if you’re weird, fuck it if you’re a little blunt. Just fuck it. At least you’re not something that represents her past. And thank fuck for that too.

Of course Abby didn’t just bounce back outta no where though, hell no?. There were her good days, and her bad days. The panic attacks from when the position of night terrors that favored her dad dying to her being afraid of dying herself. The pain and regret fostering in her soul, leaving traces in her finger tips, and the blood that was once there by her friend Manny, still haunts her. To a point where she find herself rubbing that spot on her face, washing her face longer than usual, or just full on diving full face in her bathtub— when taking a simple bath.

She hasn’t even told Lev this situation of hers, don’t wanna burden anyone in her mind that is. However those small conversations you have with each other helps. Only on her good days though.

Her bad days, you could tell if they were about to erupt. The bad blood that she would spill, those tiny curses of something minor slipping out in big crowds when something or someone went wrong, even just a regular hand on the back had her fidgeting more than usual.

And asking her if she’s okay? Out of the question. She just leaves and goes home. Little did you know, she just cry from how not okay she is. The realization of it all tumbling down for her and not knowing how to fix it. She feels as though she must fix it. To be “normal” again, not as feeble as some skittish deer. Is what she would refer herself to when she calms down from her episodes.

Sometimes, something thicker than water can either help you with life, or drown you, pulling you down like a creature of the deep. That’s what it felt like for Abby everyday. Something creeping on her skin as if one day her past will just burst through the door or she herself blabbed a bit too much about what she’s done. Scared of being perceived the way she used to be seen.

Until one day after a month of knowing you something happens…

Prolouge||continue?->

A/n: Hello! I never wrote a Abby x reader before, and I want to make this a slow burn with some real life situations that reader and Abby could go through together. This is just my take on how Abby could be like if she were to go back to civilization again especially after dealing with the rattlers. It had to been added upon trauma? In so in this series it will be Abby and reader trying to tame the tides of her traumas/secrets/and most of all her episodes that come and go. 💋☁️

[muxshwriting]

like father, like son

Bradley Bradshaw x sister!reader

summary: when you crash land, it's not bradley you see coming to save you, it's nick || warnings: plane crashes, head trauma, hallucinating, reader has the callsign hummingbird, broken bones || word count: 1202 || masterlist

"MAYDAY MAYDAY. I'm going down."

Bradley's heart dropped as he watched his sister's plane begin a death spin through the air. Your engine had been washed out sending your plane flying through the air, gradually spinning faster and faster until you couldn't hope to pull it out of the turns.

"Hummingbird, eject." The calm voice of control filtered through your helmet as you reached for the lever between your legs.

Except it didn't move. Your lever was jammed, your canopy wouldn't open. You couldn't eject.

"Negative. My lever is jammed. Repeat, my lever is jammed."

"Try it again. Then go manual."

The worry sets into your bones as you remember your brother is flying with you. "Brad- Roo. I love you-"

Your radio cuts out before Bradley can reply as you start to disconnect everything your connected to, pulling out your comms and removing your oxygen. The plane is still falling to the ground, closer and closer. "Talk to me dad."

Over the radio, Rooster is screaming at you. He's watching your plane get closer and closer to the ground, counting the seconds and waiting to see the parachute release from your plane. But the chute is never released.

"I'm going after her."

"Rooster- No." Maverick began. "They're sending the rescue team out."

"That's my sister Maverick. I'm not gonna leave her to- I'm not leaving her alone."

It doesn't take anymore time for Bradley's brain to decide what he's doing. The moment Bradley's straps were undone, he was jumping from his plane and running to yours. His legs couldn't carry him fast enough as he got closer to the wreckage. There was smoke lazily pouring from the back of the ruined plane that Bradley ignored. He couldn't think about that right now. He clamboured over the wreck, pushing stray pieces of metal out of his way. The cockpit came into view. Except it was empty, you weren't there.

For a split second, the chaos in Bradley's mind calmed as he let himself believe that you had got out in time. But then it returned tenfold. he hadn't seen a parachute deploy and you'd been so close to the ground when he'd looked away. Even if you got out, there's no telling how much damage you'd sustained from hitting the ground.

He screamed your name with a desperation nothing could match. The guttural and heartbreaking sound of a brother who wouldn't survive loosing you. His eyes scanned the landscape until he spotted a bundle of a parachute not too far from the crash. The rope is all tangled and wrapped around the chute as Bradley tear through the fabric and pulls it to let him through.

You're lying in the cradle the chute created. Small cuts and scrapes cover your arms and some of your face from the cords cutting into you as you fell. But what worried Bradley the most was the dripping cut near you temple and the way your leg was crumpled beneath you, bending a way it probably shouldn't. But you're breathing. Your heart is beating and your breathing which means your alive. Bradley hasn't lost you.

Not yet.

He's shaking you awake before his brain catches up and realises that he maybe shouldn't shake someone with a head injury. But you groaned as you came back to consciousness and blearily opened your eyes.

But to you, it wasn't Bradley crouched in front of you, it was your father.

"Dad?"

Your dad frowned, reaching forward and brushed a stray hair behind your ear. "Hummingbird, it's me. It's Roo."

"No. It's Goose. It's Dad, not Roo." Your voice is slurred but you're smiling as you talk to your dad. Or rather who you think is your dad.

Bradley decides it better to let you believe he's his dad than to fight you on this. "Yeah. It's Goose, okay? Are you okay?"

"It kinda hurts."

"What hurts?"

Instead of answering, you sink deeper into delirium. Your smile widens as you push against Bradley's hand that's fussing over you.

"Y/N? Hummingbird, you gotta talk to me. What hurts?"

"Everything." It's a whisper that breaks Bradley's heart. Your smile has dropped, the sheen over your eyes dulled by pain as you seem to come to your senses. "Brad- It hurts."

Bradley's pulling the parachute away from you, unwrapping the cords from your limbs and getting ready to pull you out of the wreck. "I know. But you're gonna be okay. We're gonna get out of here."

"Yeah?"

He can hear the hum of a rescue helicopter growing closer. "Yeah. You're gonna be okay."

"Okay... I love you Roo."

"I know." Brad whispers back. "I love you too Birdy."

Bradley held you close even as the rescue team found you two. He held you even as they checked you for injuries. It wasn't until they had to move you onto a stretcher that he let go but he couldn't leave you alone. He looped his pinky with yours just like you did when you were kids, keeping his hold until he absolutely couldn't. The whole journey back, he held your hand while kneeling at your head whispering anything and everything to you, just so you knew he was there.

He's pulled aside by Maverick as your wheeled down a corridor of the medical centre, finally having to let go. Maverick doesn't let him be deserted for long, pulling him into an embrace that neither wants to end. "She's okay?" He asks just as concerned for your wellbeing.

"She saw Dad."

It's all Bradley says but the mention of Goose sends Mav's head spinning. "She- what?"

"When I found her. It was like she wasn't seeing me there, she was seeing Dad. Mav..." His voice broke as he spoke, the emotions of the last hour pouring out in waves. "I think she'll be okay? Her leg is probably broken, she hit her head but she wasn't majorly hurt any other way."

"Then she'll be okay." Maverick wasn't sure if he was convincing Bradley or himself.

It's hours later that they let Bradley and Mav in to see you, sharing the extent of the damage: a leg broken in two places, a severe concussion, countless scratches and scrapes from the parachute cords and the general rough landing and some bruising all over. But you would be fine. Most importantly, you would be able to fly again.

You stir in the bed, hand twitching as you try and move. Bradley surges forward, holding your hand in his like he had done before. "We're here." He whispered to you. "Me and Mav are here."

"Dad?" It's one word that sends Maverick's heart breaking all over again.

Maverick takes your other hand and presses a kiss to your knuckle. "Uncle Mav's here."

You just smile, squeezing their hands and ignoring the pain. You were back. And maybe your Dad wasn't here but for a split second you could feel him arms around you and you could see him. Maybe he had gone but you still had Bradley and Mav to hold you on the difficult nights and whisper stories into your hair when you couldn't sleep. They would protect you from the storm and never let you go.

[tojiscrack]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄

summary: 11.4k words — you spend some time at megumi and yuji’s open game, but spend some more time with someone else there

notes: i was overwhelmed with the amount of asks, messages, comments, and dm’s the last chapter provoked! (in a good way ofc, i loved it 😭). now i’m just curious — a lot of you (as predicted) hated the events of last chapter. you’re definitely not gonna enjoy this one :) anyway, it’s 1hr past the 22nd of dec, and i intended to get this out for megumi’s birthday, so pretend i did. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR GRUMPY PORCUPINE! <3

tw: shouting, BELLOWING, yelling, whatever other words you might use for that lol, and blood, criminals, and gangs

i do not own any of the characters of jjk, i only own the character of y/n and her mother. the other characters belong to gege akutami.

previous chapter :)

next chapter :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

"the raven himself is hoarse that croaks the fatal entrance of duncan under my battlements ... come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts!"

the stage lights cast a soft glow, illuminating you as you delivered your lines with striking conviction. it wasn't a performance for a packed auditorium, but a rehearsal for your extracurricular theatre club.

the room was mostly empty, save for a few of your peers and your director, yet megumi could feel the atmosphere buzzing with quiet focus. your voice filled the space, and he silently appreciated how you could throw yourself into a character so conniving like lady macbeth and then jump right into being your bubbly self once again, as though you hadn't just emasculated poor macbeth trembling on the other side of the stage.

not that he'd ever tell you that. the most you'd get is a pat on the head, and even that seemed to be a bit much for megumi.

the lack of an audience didn't matter to you, it seemed; you poured your entire heart into the scene, as if the world were watching.

but it was easy to remind himself of the fact that it was a rehearsal and not a real performance, for every time you reached that exact line, you'd let out a snort and turn away with the same maturity as a child. megumi became more and more unimpressed each time it happened.

"y/n," the director called out, her voice made ten times louder from the echo of the megaphone.

you nodded, but still failed to wipe that grin off your face.

"i got it," you assured her, and megumi had almost missed what you'd said when the loud movement of the seats from somewhere in the backrow had sounded for the nth time. you schooled your face with an expression of determination, but megumi could see the underlying hint of amusement, clear as day. "unsex me here! and fill me from the —"

you'd cut yourself off with your laughter, the sound of it only resulting in more groans from your peers backstage, but megumi only watched you with a raised brow, mentally cursing whoever was making that stupid chair noise from the backrow — your laughter had been drowned out by it.

"i can't do it," you chortled, using the pages of your script to hide your face. "i can't do it!"

the director's sigh echoed around the hall.

"right, adjust the flower crown 'cause it's sitting on the edge of your head, and let's do act five, scene one."

megumi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he observed the stage's organised chaos. you and your peers bustled about, setting up for the transition to the next scene.

the props crew adjusted the minimalistic set pieces while one of your friends struggled to untangle a misplaced curtain cord. you briefly stepped offstage, laughing with another castmate as they adjusted your flower crown to sit properly atop your head.

as the lights dimmed slightly in preparation, megumi looked up again, his patience steady, fully expecting to see you dive back into the character of lady macbeth without skipping a beat.

and you had — straight away.

you were now at the centre of the stage once more, standing by a fake sink — a prop — your arms extended before you, one hand holding your script, the other with fingers curled towards yourself.

"out, damned spot!" you began, voice striking. "out, i say!"

there was a pause, and megumi half believed that you had forgotten the rest of your lines (even though you were reading out of a paper script held in your hand) but then you looked up, apparently going to improv.

"out, damned fricking spot! get out of here! you damned — damned spot, get away and just — just go and leave and why don't you just leave —"

"y/n," the director called out your name, tone firm and scolding. "stick to the scri— oh for god's —"

you laughed loudly, shaking your head and standing still, your hands back at your side.

"'kay i'm sorry," you sighed, and megumi could tell that you were genuine, but he knew the director couldn't. from his seat in the audience, the director's eyes had narrowed, her megaphone now at her side as she raised a brow at you, the lines on her forehead prominent as ever.

"i'll start again," you told her, and megumi had to strain to catch that, for the stupid chair noise had echoed around the hall again.

you had lifted your script and began hurriedly rereading your lines, but when your eyes had lifted and skimmed the hall, passing megumi's, he frowned when you stumbled, almost looking as though you had attempted to retreat in fear.

"what just happened?" the director's voice called out through the megaphone again.

you furrowed your brows and squinted your eyes. megumi held back a scowl. what the hell were you up to now?

you eventually answered the question, but only after you'd become comfortable at the centre of the stage again, nodding to yourself with a smile.

"ah, sorry," you said, meeting her stern gaze sheepishly. "the outline of megumi's head just scared me for a second —"

the scowl that he'd been trying his hardest to hold back had been released, and it only deepened at the sound of the people backstage — your foolish classmates — laughing along.

there was nothing funny about that, and if he chose to tell all of them about your mermaid fiasco several years ago, you wouldn't find it funny then.

he sunk in his seat, throwing you a glare you probably couldn't see very well seeing as the rest of the auditorium was dark; the only lights being shun were the ones on the stage.

"if she wasn't my best lead, i would've kicked her out by now," the director whispered, only, it had been (accidentally) spoken with the megaphone on.

she quickly turned it off, but it had been too late: you'd already heard it.

your lips parted slightly, eyebrows raised in mild offense, but the glimmer in your eyes betrayed a certain smugness. you glanced briefly at the director with mock indignation, a hand coming to rest on your hip as if you were about to deliver a snarky comeback, but instead, you simply shook your head and turned back to your script, a faint, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

megumi watched this unfold, his expression still maintaining that bitter scowl.

while the comment seemed to have both bruised and inflated your ego, he wasn't surprised. you'd always had this uncanny ability to balance between taking yourself seriously and not at all. best lead, he thought dryly, watching with half lidded eyes as you delivered your next few lines correctly. if only she knew how many times he'd seen you trip over thin air or forget half your lines in the name of a 'creative process'. still, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that, onstage, you were captivating — even if it happened to be for the wrong reasons half the time.

as the rehearsal wound down, you and your peers began packing up on stage. megumi used his phone to check the time.

it was time to go home.

scripts were gathered and props carefully returned to their designated spots by the crew. the faint creak of the stageboards accompanied the bustle, with one of your classmates complaining about how she couldn't find her missing pencil while another laughed at something whispered behind the curtains.

you slipped off your flower crown, adjusting it absentmindedly before tossing it onto a nearby prop table, and joined the group tidying up. the director had long since stopped barking orders and now stood by the edge of the stage, chatting with one of the seniors about next week's rehearsal schedule.

megumi stood from his seat with a quiet sigh, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he made his way towards the backstage area, but not without stopping to throw the annoying person at the back row with the noisy chair a glance.

the person was now standing, but the automatic chair had slammed itself shut, allowing that loud noise to carry itself around the hall.

megumi had made his way towards the wall by the side curtain, his nose scrunched at the person — their silhouette showing that it was a guy around the same height as himself.

he had left the hall abruptly as megumi leaned against the wall, waiting for you to finish up, his gaze idly tracking your movements.

you turned around and jumped.

"ah, porcupine!" you gasped, unclipping your bracelets absentmindedly. "you need to announce your arrival, you scared m—"

"shut up, mermaid," he snapped, his patience running thin.

your lips pressed themselves into a tight line, eyes narrowing as you straightened your posture and clenched your jaw, willing yourself to keep your composure, though the sharpness in your movements — tossing your bracelets into the props table with more force than necessary —betrayed your irritation.

"i'm gonna call security on you," you threatened him, the corner of your mouth twitching as if you were fighting the urge to scowl outright, but instead, you busied yourself with adjusting your hair. the flower crown had messed the top of it.

"why are you tapping your head like that?" he questioned, not even entertaining the empty threat you'd shot at him.

"'cause if i'm not careful, i'll end up looking like a punk," you answered, before intentionally eyeing his dishevelled, fluffy hair. you met his sharpened gaze with a look of faux remorse. "yikes."

there was a glint of something dangerous in his eyes as he watched you try to unclip the necklace hanging delicately on your collarbone — a warning, sharp and unspoken, that clearly said: watch it.

"turn around," he grumbled, when it became apparent that it was going to take a while for you to finally manage taking the ugly necklace off.

you complied without much protest. however, that didn't mean that you did so silently:

"could be nicer about i— ow, porcupine! it's got my hair, it's got my hair!"

"stop moving," megumi demanded, messily throwing your hair over your shoulder to your front. he grunted under his breath when you continued to struggle against him. "squirming like a mermaid —"

your reaction was immediate, bristling with indignation as your head snapped around to glare at him, though the position made it awkward. if he wasn't fiddling with the clasp at the base of your neck, you might've been tempted to swat at his hands, but instead, you turned your focus forward, muttering something unintelligible under your breath that was undoubtedly not complimentary.

you flinched when he had finally managed to successfully unclip the necklace, but only when it continued to tug at the hairs at the back of your neck.

"porcupine — ow! oh my g— stop!" you complained, your eyes watering and knees bending as megumi tugged at the necklace again.

"how else am i supposed to take it off?" he shot back, grumpy.

"i'mgonnaendupinahospitalbedlikeallthoseyearsagoandnearlydie—"

"you never nearly died," said megumi, emphasising his point by cruelly pulling the necklace down again. you had stumbled back into him, but he remained stagnant where he stood, brows furrowed in both annoyance and deep concentration. "don't be stupid."

"ouch! you're doing it on purpose now, you — porcu—"

"right, who is porcupine?" the director's voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and demanding attention.

the two of you looked up abruptly: she was standing before you, arms raised (and brows furrowed) in confusion.

deadpanned, you shot megumi a quick glance before addressing her.

"... is it really that hard to guess, looking between the two of us?"

at that, megumi had harshly pulled the necklace, taking some of your hair with it.

you squeaked, your hand immediately going up to ease the pain as you spun around and stared at his hand, the necklace holding bits of your hair cut fresh from the top of your neck.

"..."

"..."

"... okay, what is going on here?" the director asked, her eyes following the prop as megumi casually threw it over your head and onto the table behind you.

megumi barely had time to blink after that before you lunged at him, your hands diving into his hair with startling precision.

you yanked back with just enough force to rip out a few strands, his grunt of annoyance and pain echoing around the hall as the director stood frozen, her expression caught somewhere between bewildered disbelief and an exasperated sigh, as though contemplating whether this entire exchange was even worth addressing.

"right, y/n —"

"now we're even!" you snapped, as though the woman beside you hadn't spoken at all. you presented the dark hairs to megumi, and then purposefully made him watch as you slowly pocketed them, taking your sweet time and relishing in the crease between his brows that continued to deepen the longer you drew it out.

"you're a weirdo," he stated icily, but you turned away, paying him no mind.

"keep talking and i'm gonna get nobara's voodoo doll."

the two of you exited the auditorium together, the air practically vibrating with the quiet reluctance of megumi's brooding presence beside you.

he strode with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, meanwhile, you walked with an air of triumph, your fingers slipping into your own pocket every so often to toy with the strands of his hair, a small grin tugging at your lips every time you caught the subtle crackle of his growing irritation.

he deserved it.

"what did you think of rehearsal?" you asked him curiously. "lady macbeth's lines are so funny —"

"they're not funny," megumi disagreed bluntly. he sounded genuine. "you're just immature."

you showed him the strands of his hair that you'd passionately held onto in your pocket.

"say that again," you challenged, brows raised.

he merely swatted your wrist away with a scowl; you pocketed his hair with a shrug.

"as i was saying," you continued, as the two of you exited the school, "the macbeth play isn't gonna have a proper audience anyway, so i'm not too fussed about perfecting lady macbeth's lines. it's gonna be recorded tho! what did you think of it so far?"

megumi narrowed his eyes, the sun peeking out from over the clouds bright enough to blind him momentarily.

"couldn't even hear anything 'cause of the idiot sitting at the back," he told you with a scowl.

you laughed, brows raised in intrigue.

"yeah, they've been here for the past week or so," you informed your friend, chuckling at his sour expression.

"why don't you kick him out?"

"if we were to kick out every single disturbance, you would be sitting outside every day, porcupine."

"i'm not a disturbance."

"your hair is though."

"shut up."

as you neared the bike rack, you spotted yuji and nobara waiting for the two of you by their respective bikes.

yuji's was unmistakably bright — an electric blue frame with neon green accents that megumi thought perfectly screamed his excitable personality, complete with a flashy bell he had been spinning absentmindedly. nobara's, in contrast, was a sleek, matte-black with a subtle crimson stripe running along the frame. as the two of them looked up at your approach, yuji tilted his head with a toothy grin, arm raised in the air, already waving.

megumi believed that your bike stood out against the others, its pastel yellow frame and front basket adorned with a bunch of small, faux daisies that gave it a cheerful, almost whimsical vibe.

he approached his own as the three of you jumped into conversation with one another.

megumi's bike, dark navy and utterly plain, had been parked beside yours — you never failed to remind him how it looked like a sullen counterpart. he didn't care: it was his bike after all, not yours.

"my parents are working late again," yuji added brightly. he was sitting on his bike, waiting for the rest of you to clip on your helmets and do the same. "grandpa's home, and choso's at his place, so we basically have the house to ourselves tonight."

you silently nodded, hanging your bag on the right handlebar.

megumi scowled at nobara, who had seated herself on her bike, discarding her phone in her bag and zipping it up without another word.

"put your helmet on," he demanded her.

she looked up at him with a stony expression, her lips set in a straight line and brows furrowed as though to say 'are you talking to me?'.

"i'm having a bad hair day today —"

yuji frowned, looking bewildered:

"— but your hair looks nice —"

"shut up," snapped nobara, continuing as though you had not laughed loudly at the falter in yuji's bemused smile. you swerved away from his leg when he extended it to kick at your bike. "i'm not gonna make it worse by putting on that helmet."

megumi did not look impressed by her answer, throwing one of his legs over his bike to sit down and unclip his own helmet, glaring at her all the while.

"you're turning into the mermaid —"

"what the hell?" you demanded angrily, gesturing to your own helmet, which was conveniently sitting on your head. "i'm wearing mine!"

megumi's face tightened, jaw tensed as though he were biting back a sharp retort. one hand gripped the handlebar of his bike firmly, while the other toyed with the edge of his helmet, spinning it idly in a way that betrayed his rising frustration.

"i know why you're hesitating to wear yours," you shot back, offended by his jab at you, unprovoked. "it'll flatten down your sea-urchin hair and make you look like your dad —"

"watch it," he warned you icily, a short, clipped exhale leaving his nose as he glanced between you and nobara, his expression a mix of exasperation and resignation, like he'd just resigned to a battle he never wanted to fight in the first place.

the sky stretched above in a pale canvas of soft blues and muted golds, the sun dipping lazily towards the horizon, its warm light spilling across the school front in delicate, golden hues. the four of you had mounted your bikes and had already begun cycling down the road, away from the busy bus route yuji would usually take and down the quiet neighbourhood, away from the loud traffic lights.

wisps of cotton-like clouds floated idly, their edges tinged with blush and amber as the day prepared to give way to the evening the longer the four of you bickered and laughed, simultaneously being wary of the occasional car that would pass by every now and then. the faint rustle of leaves stirred by the gentle breeze whispered through the air, carrying with it the crisp, earthy scent of early autumn. your shadows stretched long across the crosswalk, mingling with the sporadic glint of sunlight reflecting off the polished metal frames of your bikes.

"grandpa went to the store the other day," yuji loudly spoke. he was riding his bike beside you while megumi and nobara cycled just ahead. "he bought a bunch of new films for us! we can watch the nun tonight!"

"is it wise to watch a horror movie at your place?" nobara called out, her hair a lighter shade where the sun hit it.

yuji looked bewildered at her question. "but we always watch horror movies at my place..."

"no, she's right!" you added, eyes wide. "what if we accidentally trigger the s word somehow?"

yuji's expression shifted almost comically as the realisation dawned on him, his brows furrowing in confusion before lifting in sudden clarity. he sat upright on his bike, one hand tightening on the handlebars as if steadying himself, while his other hand shot up to nervously scratch the back of his head.

"oi, use both hands," megumi demanded from up front.

yuji silently complied, though his eyes remained glued on you.

"sukuna won't —"

"don't say his name," you hissed, brows furrowed in both anger and panic.

yuji's wide-eyed expression stayed constant as the conversation continued.

"wait, it should be fine, guys," nobara had intervened, one hand holding onto her bike while the other extended itself towards the brooding, dark-haired male cycling beside her. "we have megumi — he's great at protecting us!"

megumi shot her a sharp look as he swatted her hand away. apparently, he did not agree with this idea.

"remember when he pushed su—"

"nobara!"

"— the s word away from us when he said he'd rip our hair out and use them as handcuffs?" she continued, as you cycled behind her with a wariness only the demon could bring out of you. "he comes up with the most creative threats, y'know. sometimes i'm a little impressed, but my hair's too short for handcuffs —"

"he wanted us bald," you reminded her helpfully, "so that means ripping your hair from the roots, which is long enough for handcuffs, paired with mine, too."

"that's irrelevant," said megumi, his hair standing up as the four of you cycled through the breeze. you imagined him looking rather silly from the front, seeing as the back was serving enough laughs out of both you and yuji. "and i can't do much today anyway. after the movie, i have to look over sharmin and miwa's history homework."

you frowned at the back of his head.

"you're doing their homework?" you asked, sounding offended.

"they asked me to look over it before practice today," megumi answered calmly, "but i didn't have time, so i said i'd do it later today and give it back to them tomorrow."

that did not sit right with you, not when megumi always refused to do your homework whenever you asked.

you pedalled faster and slipped in between megumi and nobara, shooting him a look of disapproval.

"any time i ask you to do my homework, you refuse," you told him with a raised brow.

"same goes for them," megumi responded, throwing nobara (who was now behind the two of you) and yuji both a look a warning glance for arguing over nothing loudly. "i'm not doing their homework. i'm looking over it."

you shrugged. "yeah that's what i ask you to do, too."

"no you don't."

"yes i do!"

"you don't."

"i do!"

"you don't," megumi snapped, his patience thin. "you lie about being sick and try to guilt trip me into it —"

"accusations!" you gasped, lifting one hand to point at him dramatically. "false accusations!"

you'd nearly lost your balance on your bike due to how quickly you had sat up and let go of the handlebars. megumi, once again, extended his own arm and directed your bike properly again, but not without clicking his tongue at you in distaste.

"y/n!" nobara called for you from behind.

you looked over your shoulder and then regretted it when megumi flicked your forehead in warning. you turned back around abruptly, narrowing your eyes at him as they watered.

he didn't have to do it so hard, you thought to yourself grumpily.

"nobara, i can't look at you 'cause of the bike police over here —"

"shut up."

despite megumi's harsh criticism, nobara had continued to talk anyway.

"yuji's hair is nothing like miwa's, right?" she said, and you did not have to look back to be aware of yuji's frown of both annoyance and disappointment. "his is like a dull pink —"

yuji did not like that. "hey!"

"miwa's looks better," you responded easily. it hadn't been a difficult decision after all: you remembered the day miwa had walked past the school doors with the long, blue hair that ran past her shoulders and spine. "the blue suits her! and the bangs too!"

"told you," you heard nobara's smug voice add.

"it also matches her eyes," you commented with a smile. "you can't say the same, yuji."

"wha— megumi!" yuji shouted desperately. "help me out!"

you glanced over at megumi's face. he seemed indifferent, as always, but his response had said otherwise.

he had shrugged, relaxed. "they're right."

yuji's wail of misery only had the three of you threatening to leave him behind. he had sulked for a bit, but eventually joined in on the next set of conversations you found yourself immersed in for a portion of the remainder of the journey.

the sun hung low on the horizon, its amber glow spilling across the quiet neighborhood like molten gold. the bungalows stood neatly in rows, their silhouettes softened by the warm, fading light, and the occasional flicker of a porch light hinted at the coming dusk, while the air seemed to grow still, as though welcoming the four of you to yuji's neighbourhood again.

"you can't do it," you told yuji, who had been adamant in showing all of you a trick that choso had taught him on his bike the other day. you threw him a look of disbelief from over your shoulder.

your bike had swerved unexpectedly, and when you turned back around to regain control, you noted that it was megumi, who had his hand on the front of your bike, apparently saving you from having ridden over a large rock in the middle of the road.

"i can!" yuji protested, riding past both you and megumi to keep up with nobara, who had long since ridden ahead. "just watch!"

"don't do it, you idiot," megumi chided, glaring at the back of yuji's pink head.

"but —"

megumi cut across him harshly. "you're gonna fall."

"i won't!" yuji shouted back, eyes wide with exhilaration. "i've done it a hundred times already! just look!"

yuji surged forwards on his bike, his grin brimming with confidence as he positioned himself to attempt the trick. he shifted his weight back, tugging up on the handlebars with a flourish to lift the front wheel off the ground.

for a brief, fleeting moment, the bike wobbled in perfect balance, his exhilarated laughter ringing out in triumph.

but then the balance tipped — too far back — and the wheel slammed down awkwardly.

yuji, unable to steady himself, tumbled sideways onto the road with a loud thud, his limbs sprawling across the sidewalk. his bike clattered noisily beside him, the bell letting out an inadvertent chime as it hit the ground.

the three of you stopped, a beat of stunned silence passing before laughter broke out simultaneously: nobara had doubled over her handlebars, wheezing as she clutched her side, while you clapped a hand over your mouth, struggling to stifle your snickers. even megumi's usual stoic expression cracked slightly, his lips twitching as he muttered something under his breath and shook his head.

yuji groaned dramatically, sprawled out on the concrete road like a tragic hero, but none of you made a move to help him, not even when he asked.

"guys..." he called out weakly, face scrunched in pain. he extended his arm shakily, eyes half-lidded. "help..."

you shot a glance at nobara, holding your breath to try and stop yourself from snorting out another round of laughs, before turning your bike around and cycling away.

"just go, leave him," you hurriedly told her, your legs working quickly on the pedals of your bike.

yuji lifted his head.

she did not hesitate in following suit.

"we warned you!" she called out with a wide grin.

megumi had not said a word as he, too, seemed to agree with the both of you, his feet pressing down on the pedals a little faster.

"go, don't look back," you muttered, kicking off your bikes to continue cycling down the road.

you laughed merrily as his calls of protest grew faint the further you rode away, leaving him to flail on the ground, loudly lamenting his fate.

but of course, you weren't evil — perhaps nobara was, though — for you and megumi had turned on your bikes to get him, and she had been the only one who let out a groan of exhaustion at the mere thought of it.

but the funniest part wasn't the way you'd found yuji lying on the road in the exact same way you'd left him, nor was it the way his eyes had lightened up at the sight of you...

it was how he had remained firm on giving you all the silent treatment the rest of the way to his house, and how he had been struggling to do so, for if anyone was an expert, qualified chatter, it was yuji itadori.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

the football field stretched wide under the fading light, its green expanse marked with crisp white lines that gleamed faintly in the late afternoon. you were standing on the bench at the front row, watching the football players dart across the field.

it was jujutsu high's open game for the football team, which (by the school's definition) was a practice session open for the general school public to attend.

your eyes followed the ball as it sailed through the air, a blur of motion intercepted by a leaping player — chad, you noticed with raised brows, as the whistle from coach yaga encouraged the rest of the team to push forward.

your eyes had scoured the players in search of your friends. you couldn't exactly tell who was who because of the uniform and helmet that would conceal both their bodies and their faces, so you could only rely on their player numbers displayed on both the fronts and backs of their jerseys.

player number��one — who was currently sprinting alongside massive player number six — was yuji. you never bothered him when he concentrated on the game. you usually saved the disturbance for when he'd done something to piss you off (like intentionally telling your spanish teacher that you deleted duolingo off your phone to spare some storage).

player number two was who you were really looking for, and it only brought a smile to your face when you'd found him — megumi — sprinting the other way.

"you're going the wrong way, megumi!" you helpfully reminded him.

he ignored you, as per usual. but you noticed, with triumph, how his legs had started to slow down.

beneath his helmet, you were certain he was gritting his teeth.

"the ball's that's way!" you called out, one hand cupping the side of your mouth, the other benevolently pointing at player number eight, who was now in possession of the ball. "what are you doing?"

megumi had approached coach yaga, and from where you were stood, accompanied by the chatter of the other onlookers, you could not hear what was being exchanged between the two. the sharp glare that coach yaga had shot you was a lot to go by, however, not that you cared.

you hadn't cared in middle school, you wouldn't care now.

yaga knew that very well.

megumi turned away and had begun jogging towards his teammates again. you shook your head, your foot tapping the metal of the bench impatiently.

"well it's too late for that now!" you told him, tutting in disapproval. "they've gone and scored without you! oh — hi toge!"

player number six, todo, was a towering presence, and you watched as he charged across the field with the ball tucked firmly under his arm, shrugging off attempted tackles like they were nothing more than minor inconveniences. close behind, yuji darted around the defence with his usual agility, his movements quick and unpredictable, drawing shouts of encouragement from somewhere behind you, because — right, that was a thing now — he had gained quite a few admirers over the last week, not that he had been aware of it. the only reason you knew was because of an occasion last week where you and nobara had camped inside a singular stall in the girls' toilets, overhearing a conversation between a few sophomores and juniors.

megumi was now in possession of the ball, and though he wasn't as speedy as yuji, he excelled in the game by being strategic, which compensated for the lack of agility.

he's doing well, you thought to yourself. it was too bad you enjoyed poking fun at him.

you exaggeratedly waved both arms in the air as if directing imaginary traffic, calling out random, unhelpful advice about the game. his head had turned for a fraction of a second, and that had been enough to encourage you to go further.

"quick! the small one's behind you!" you called out, your expression grave. you chuckled when he actually looked over his shoulder. "haha! made you look —"

"— l/n!"

your eyes travelled across the field to meet yaga's, shielded by his sunglasses. he didn't look pleased in the slightest, but he hadn't said anything else when you stared back at him.

your name was his first warning.

you shrugged and turned back to the game, mimicking a referee's whistle sound — poorly, of course — just to see if it would make megumi glance your way again.

it didn't, but you had not missed the way he'd quickened his steps, an act to try and free himself from being forced to listen to your constant shouts and yells.

"megumi! spell red!" you called out to him, your hands cupping your mouth. he turned around and narrowed his eyes at you, a menacing glint circling in each of his irises. "no? okay, i'll do it for you! L — S — T — E — R —"

the field erupted with laughter.

number six, todo, was the first to lose it, nearly doubling over as he slapped his thigh, while yuji could barely stay upright, clutching his sides and wheezing between gasps of air. the entire team seemed to pause, their focus on the game completely derailed, as they recalled the viral meme and the ridiculousness of your performance.

yaga, however, was not amused. he blew his whistle sharply, barking at the players to get back into formation, his forehead veins looking like they might burst at any second.

"keep laughing, and you'll all be running laps until the sun sets!" he roared, but his threats only managed to stifle the laughter into barely concealed snickers. "and you — stop opening that damned mouth of yours!"

meanwhile, megumi shot you a glare so venomous, it could have melted steel. his fists clenched at his sides, and you could see the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders as he tried to rein in his irritation.

"stop," he snapped, his voice dripping with exasperation.

"all right, all right," you sighed, before cupping your mouth again. "spell megumi! T — O — J — Y!"

megumi stood in the centre of the grassy field, arms by his sides, like a child refusing to comply to rules. you could see the way his jaw had clenched at your joke.

he had always had this incessant need to be right. to correct you when you were wrong. to show off his brilliance.

you could see him fighting a losing battle.

"that's not how you spell my dad's name —" he'd started angrily, but the sound of yaga's whistle had cut through anything you had wanted to say in response.

"IS THIS THE SPELLING BEE?" he demanded, irate. "fushiguro!" he'd all but bellowed, teeth gritted. "why are your legs not moving?"

megumi turned to face his teacher.

"she spelled my dad's name wrong —"

"IS YOUR DAD HERE TO BEAR WITNESS?"

"..."

"GET BACK TO YOUR TEAMMATES!"

megumi had made a move to leave, but at the sound of your snickers, he stopped, lifting his arm and pointing it in your direction.

"kick her out," he'd said — correction: demanded — without hesitation.

your mouth fell open in sheer disbelief, arms extended outwards in confusion as you glared at megumi like he'd just committed the ultimate betrayal.

kick you out? the audacity, you mentally marvelled.

you weren't even on the field, which you could've easily invaded if you had wanted to. you were merely offering a bit of moral support (albeit in your own unique, slightly chaotic way).

"that's a breach of my human rights," you alerted both your teacher and your friend. then, you shifted your attention to only coach yaga. "he's not even participating! personally, i think he should be benched!"

"l/n, sit down and SHUT UP!"

"no, seriously!" you insisted, crouching down to untie your shoelaces. "i can replace him on the field!"

megumi turned around again to face you this time. even though his helmet made it hard to see his face properly, you could see the way he'd narrowed his eyes at you. "you don't even know how to play properly —"

"well i'd do a hell of a lot better than what you're doing," you told him, standing up again and folding your arms over your chest. "which is nothing, by the way."

coach yaga had had enough:

"FUSHIGURO, STOP ENGAGING WITH HER AND MOVE UP THE FIELD!"

megumi faced the angry man with, no doubt, a glare of his own. "she's —"

"NOW!" yaga had bellowed, and you could only laugh at the way megumi's fists had clenched, but he'd obediently ran towards the other players (not without shooting you a glower, though).

you chuckled at his reaction, but choked on it when coach yaga had mercilessly turned to you next.

"SIT. DOWN. L/N," he ordered you, the hand holding the whistle lined with angry veins threatening to pop. you could see one on his forehead, too.

you opened your mouth to oppose, but he'd blown his whistle so you couldn't even hear yourself speak.

and this had become a recurring theme.

any time your lips would part — whether to cheer for a play, yell sarcastic advice at megumi, or protest yaga's increasingly dictatorial tone — the sharp, ear-piercing sound of his whistle cut through the air, drowning you out completely. he'd positioned himself nearby, whistle ready at his lips, as though waiting for the exact moment you dared to utter a sound.

you even tried whispering once, only for him to blow it louder than ever, causing you to flinch and clutch your ears.

the message was clear: coach yaga would not tolerate your antics.

but his overzealous whistle-blowing had unintended consequences, ones that had you giggling into your hands.

the players, accustomed to the whistle being a signal for key game instructions, had begun growing confused by the constant interruptions. at one point, both kamo and logan parker hesitated mid-play, unsure whether the sharp whistle had been meant to signal an offside or something else entirely, and this had led to an awkward collision on the field — logal tripping over kamo as the latter tried to pivot too late — and the two of them ended up sprawled in a tangled heap.

and yaga, visibly frustrated by both the situation at hand and the rhythm of your constant laughter, had no choice but to bench them both, muttering something about how some people were ruining his practice.

"your hair's a mess," you told kamo, when he'd approached the bench you were standing on with his helmet beneath his arm.

"thanks, didn't notice," he responded, blowing the loose strands of his hair out of his face.

you eyed him carefully as he sat by your feet, his knees an angry shade of red where he'd fallen due to the collision.

"does that hurt?" you asked, frowning. "you could sue yaga for blowing his whistle and causing confusion."

kamo peered up at you, his elbows resting on his thighs, his back hunched over in such a way that chiropractors would be disappointed by. you couldn't quite paint what he was thinking, for his face, so devoid of any and all emotion, made it so that his lips were set in a straight line and his eyes would remain half-lidded.

"you can!" you continued, as though he'd voiced his uncertainty to you. "and you can show your knees for proof!"

kamo kept his gaze fixed on the game, following the flow of plays that unfolded without him. you couldn't quite paint what he was feeling in that moment, for his expression was a mix of irritation and fatigue as he lazily tossed his helmet to the ground with a dull clatter.

"i'll remember to bring in a formal complaint tomorrow, then," he added, his eyes following player number five, who was in possession of the ball.

"i'll be your backup!" you told him enthusiastically. when he peered up at you, expectant, you clarified yourself. "y'know, for moral support."

"hold my hand and everything?"

you grinned. "all right, don't get ahead of yourself now."

"my bad," he said, bringing a hand up to brush the stray hairs out of his face. his dark hair had been tied back with a flimsy rubber-band into a low, loose bun, which apparently proved worthless in a rough game of football.

at the centre of the field, andre johnson clapped his hands loudly, rallying the players into position as he directed the next play with precision. toge stood further back, his sharp eyes scanning the field, ready to intercept, while todo, living up to his reputation, plowed through the defence like a battering ram, drawing cheers from his teammates.

you felt bad for the players that had ended up on the floor because of his onslaught of attacks.

one of them just so happened to be yuji.

and as you jested loudly at his limp body, todo stared back at him, horrified:

"BROTHER —"

"ooh..." you marvelled, standing on your tip-toes as todo ignored the game altogether and charged the other way. everyone except for megumi had moved out of the way. "might wanna put that one on a leash..."

your eyes had darted from the game to kamo, and back again.

"no offence, kamotionless..."

"none taken."

the two of you watched as megumi extended his hand to your pink-haired, groaning friend on the floor, intrigued as he accepted his help in pulling himself up.

both their heads had turned to face you.

yuji's lips parted in a comical frown, his hand clutching his lower back as he turned to glare at you with all the indignation he could muster. you could only chuckle at him, for his pink hair was dusted with grass and dirt from the collision, and his expression screamed betrayal.

raising one hand, he offered you an exaggerated thumbs-down, shaking it slowly as though to emphasise just how unimpressed he was.

you stared back at him, brow raised as you placed a pointer finger on your chest, mouthing 'me?'.

his exaggerated nod made you scowl at him and look at megumi instead, but his stare wasn't any better, for it had lingered on you longer than necessary: his sharp eyes had darkened as they subtly drifted downwards, his expression tightening ever so slightly, though it was hard to tell if it was irritation or something else entirely.

he was still pissed at your interruption of the game from earlier, clearly, for his stance had been tinged with quiet discontent, as though he'd seen something he didn't quite like.

rude, you thought to yourself, i stopped yelling at him and i'm likeable.

whatever it was, he said nothing, his eyes snapping back to the field with a stoicism that betrayed nothing outwardly.

across the field, yaga's voice thundered over the chaos.

"ITADORI! FUSHIGURO! get back to your positions — NOW!"

yuji jumped slightly at the sheer force of his command, but megumi had barely looked fazed, as though this was a common occurrence during practice.

yuji shot one last mournful look in your direction before jogging into place, his steps a little heavier than before. megumi, on the other hand, walked briskly back into formation, his gaze focused ahead, though the rigid set of his shoulders suggested he wasn't entirely composed. yaga's glare followed them both until they were back in line, his frustration simmering visibly as he blew his whistle to resume the play.

"what's the history with you and coach yaga?" kamo had asked, which had greatly surprised, your brows raised as you stared down at him. he took your silence as a sign to continue. "yuji said you met coach yaga in middle school."

"oh my god," you beamed, hopping off the bench to sit down on it. "i'm so glad you asked!"

you dug into your pocket and retrieved your phone, tapping on it excitedly to pull up the set of images in your camera roll that you'd visit so often, it would never catch dust.

the academic years of twenty-fourteen to twenty-sixteen.

"so i met him in the sixth grade," you explained, selecting an image of him from the time you had unexpectedly pulled your phone out in the middle of the corridor and snapped a headshot. "that's what he looked like back then, so, not that different. still got that weird spiky hairstyle, except it's longer now, but you get the idea."

kamo nodded, his front leaning forward to get a good look at your phone.

"he's angry," he commented idly.

"er... yeah," you confirmed, hesitant. you slowly swiped to the next photo — yaga's realisation of the image being taken. "that's 'cause i took his photo in the middle of the hallway, so..." you shook your head quickly. "but anyway! i met him during our first middle school p.e class. we were playing dodgeball and i was standing at the back to support yuji, even though we'd just met through megumi, but if megumi liked him, then i knew he was good. and then yaga just got mad at me."

kamo watched as you showed him another picture of an angry coach yaga.

"and it was a whole thing," you settled on saying at last. "rest of our time during middle school went by with a theme of pissing yaga off. it's tradition now."

kamo raised a brow, the corner of his lips tugging upwards in mild amusement as he listened.

"sounds like you've had a pretty clear mission since day one," he said, his tone dry but his gaze alight with curiosity. he tilted his head slightly as he regarded the photo on your screen, his hand brushing back a loose strand of hair as he continued. "coach only ever turns red when you're around."

there was no judgment in his voice, just a quiet humour that seemed to match the slight, crooked smile now playing on his face.

without a word, kamo shifted subtly closer to you, leaning in as though to get a better look at the next photo. his arm rested lightly on the bench beside you, and while the movement was casual, the reduced space between you both went unnoticed — or perhaps, just unacknowledged.

you didn't seem to mind at all, and the easy flow of your conversation remained uninterrupted. if anything, the proximity only added to the comfortable rhythm of your storytelling:

"there's actually a legacy," you grinned, swiping several times to get to a particular image. "you know s— mr gojo, miss ieiri, mr nanami, and mr haibara were yaga's students back when they were in school?"

kamo didn't say anything at that. some part of you couldn't blame him, especially when you would constantly spew out nonsense that megumi would immediately shut down in front of everyone.

if you weren't you, you probably wouldn't have believed yourself either.

"at least try to look like you believe me," you scowled.

"no, i do," kamo insisted, though not very convincingly.

"no you don't."

"yeah i don't."

"okay, well, now you will," you stated, showing him the photo you'd been searching for in your packed camera roll.

it was yaga's wedding in january of two-thousand-and-six. you had chosen this particular photo because of the scene in the background: the men you knew dressed sharply in suits and ties, and the women you knew also elegantly adorned in dresses and heels.

"he's married?" kamo asked, looking genuinely surprised. it was the only time you had seen any form of emotion cross his face.

"was married," you corrected him, and then laughed as you zoomed in on his face. "got divorced years ago — look, he's bald!"

as you and kamo continued discussing yaga's wedding, the conversation spiralled into unexpected detail. you pointed out the floral arrangements in the background, commenting on how they looked oddly mismatched with the formal attire of the guests. kamo had raised an eyebrow, countering that maybe yaga had bad taste in decorators. from there, the discussion veered into an animated debate over who had possibly caught the bouquet, with you insisting it was nanami and kamo scoffing at the idea of him even participating.

but just as kamo parted his lips to counter your next argument, yaga's unmistakable voice had cut through the air.

"LOVEBIRDS!" he'd roared, the two of you looking up simultaneously towards the field where yaga stood, hands on his hips, thoroughly exasperated. "FOCUS ON THE GAME, OR LEAVE!"

you pocketed your phone again, glaring at yaga like he'd personally offended you on a cosmic level.

"he's just salty we have luscious hair," you muttered under your breath bitterly. the fact that the entire field had fallen silent didn't deter you from adding more in the slightest. "got a lot of nerve for someone with a wedding album collecting dust..."

unbeknownst to you, chad smirked knowingly, glancing towards kamo with an exaggeratedly teasing expression, waggling his eyebrows as if he'd just uncovered the secret of the universe. kamo, predictably, ignored him entirely, his focus unshaken.

meanwhile, megumi's reaction had been far sharper.

his eyes darted between you and kamo before settling firmly on you, his brow furrowing so deeply it looked like he was judging you for a crime against humanity. his glare lingered, sharp and unyielding, like you'd just desecrated something sacred — which, knowing megumi, might've been the concept of behaving during practice.

"just get him back on the field," he stated firmly, shooting coach yaga a glare.

"kid's right," said yaga, before blowing his whistle again. "KAMO, PARKER — BOTH OF YOU — BACK ON THE FIELD!"

obediently, kamo rose to his feet, brushing off his knees before bending down and retrieving his discarded helmet, and then giving a short, wordless nod to logan parker, who had been waiting nearby.

from the sidelines, yaga's gaze immediately zeroed in on you.

"AND YOU!" he barked, pointing a commanding finger. "stop distracting my players! you've got five seconds to zip it, or you're out of here!" his voice had carried across the field with the same force as his whistle.

you frowned deeply. his reaction felt like an overreaction to you — typical yaga behavior.

but then, the realisation hit you like a sudden spotlight. you glanced at your watch and felt a jolt of panic. you were supposed to stay for only a bit before heading to rehearsal.

"ah, shit! i'm late for rehearsal!" you panicked, hurriedly grabbing your bag and scrambling to leave. the theatre director was definitely not going to forgive you for being late again, especially with the lead role hanging in the balance.

as you ran across the benches, you looked over your shoulder, ignoring the crowd and team laughing at you.

"lady yaga, this is all your fault by the way!"

as you darted towards the building, the teasing chants from the football team had started fading behind you. despite the growing distance between you and them, you could hear yaga cursing you from where he stood, as though he were right next to you.

you were not, however, aware of the two pairs of eyes watching you retreat, one of them mildly amused, the other beyond annoyed.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

bonus scene:

the cracked pavement beneath satoru's feet echoed faintly as he strolled through the unfamiliar neighbourhood.

during a conversation about toji's dark past, he had showed off to the family about never having stolen anything, as well as never being stolen from, which only resulted in ogi demanding that he walk in a sketchier neighbourhood and see if he could come back saying the same thing.

and he had been confident, of course, as he looked around at the graffiti-covered walls and flickering streetlights, which might have seemed intimidating to anyone else, but he remained blissfully unfazed, humming a tune under his breath.

in one hand, he'd held a slightly squished cupcake, the frosting a little smeared but no less delightful to him. his sunglasses perched jauntily on his nose, and his long strides carried him through the shadows as though the neighbourhood itself were lucky to have him gracing its streets.

...

that had been before he'd found himself trapped in a phone-box, the gang that had caused his sealing surrounding the box in awe.

'we seriously stole the gojo guy's money?'

'aw heck yeah! he's filthy rich, too!'

'look at that sleek, black card!'

'awesome! his phone's the new model as well!'

satoru stared at the gang leader, scowling.

his balaclava had fallen when satoru had thrown a punch at him earlier, exposing his tattooed face, the dark line that crossed his nose and the thin arrowed lines that went down his eyes.

satoru thought he looked silly with those pigtails.

"how much are those glasses?" the leader had asked, throwing his balaclava over his shoulder for one of his minions to scramble for.

satoru, his neck bent in an attempt to not bump his head, flashed him a grin.

"more than you can afford."

the guy gritted his teeth at him. satoru felt satisfaction bloom in his chest at that, but he noted how the tattooed male could be no older than seventeen or eighteen. what the hell was he doing as a leader of a gang?

"but you should probably open the door to try and get them," satoru suggested, bending down a little to meet the kid's face.

"i'm not stupid," the kid scowled. he was bagging all of satoru's expensive belongings right in front of him.

"if you were smart, you wouldn't style your hair like a five year old girl."

"if you were smart, you would dye your hair."

satoru scowled at him. "if you continued your education, you wouldn't need to join a gang for money."

the kid didn't look too pleased with satoru's rapid riposte, for he looked around at his minions, slinging the bag of satoru's possessions over his shoulder, and turning away with a raised brow.

"come and get your stuff," he had challenged the trapped, white-haired male, who could only watch in anger as one of the minions marvelled at his stolen cupcake.

his cupcake.

satoru let out an exaggerated groan, his head lightly thudding against the very top of the glass wall of the phone box as he tilted his chin to the ceiling (that happened to be so very close to his face).

this was beyond annoying; his cupcake was gone, his wallet and phone stolen, and now he was cramped into this tiny, outdated relic of communication...

but then, a flicker of excitement sparked across his face, the edges of his mouth curling upwards.

out of all the traps he could've been stuck in, it had to be a phone box. how retro. how tragically iconic.

with a sigh, he tapped the dusty dial pad, punching in one of the numbers he knew by heart: shoko's.

the faint hum of the dial tone filled the tiny space as he leaned back, arms crossed, waiting with a fading grin to hear her undoubtedly sarcastic greeting.

but it had been taking a while.

"this is such a pain," he grumbled to himself, annoyed.

and then looked up excitedly when her voice sounded through the speaker.

"hello?"

"shoko, i'm trapped in a phone box 'cause some poor kid with his gang jumped me," he explained hurriedly. it wasn't a completely accurate retelling of the story, but it got the main gist of it, and he was punched for time. "i need your help!"

there was a pause. was she seriously contemplating helping him?

"..."

"shoko?"

"hm," she hummed, her voice nasally. it usually got like that when she was working. "have you returned my lighter?"

satoru furrowed his brows. he had never promised to give that back, not when he hated it when she smoked.

"no —"

BEEEEEEP...

she had hung up.

satoru angrily punched in the numbers of another friend, one who had to be more sensible than her.

"hope she has an asthma attack," he cursed quietly, as he expectantly waited for nanami to pick up the phone.

"kento nanami, who's calling?"

as formal as ever; satoru expected no less. had he been in a better predicament, he would have made a joke about it.

"nanami!" he cheered, and then hurriedly got to the point. perhaps he ought to go a different route, if only to avoid the same outcome with smoke-addict-shoko. "remember when i helped you pay for yuu's birthday expenses?"

he heard him let out a breathy sigh from the other end of the call.

"what's this about, gojo?" he asked, sounding exhausted.

satoru explained his situation as best as he could. he had high hopes for this call — nanami was always the serious, sensible one. there was no way he'd turn him down now.

"you're stuck in a phone box with no way out?" he repeated, though even nanami wouldn't be able to fake amusement even if he tried. satoru felt his stomach drop. "what a shame."

BEEEEEEP...

and he was left with that same ringing beep...

no, the next one would work. he was certain of it.

the kfc disagreement might have occurred a year or two ago, but it was all right. satoru knew that.

they were best friends, after all.

he hurriedly pressed suguru's phone number into the dial and waited.

and waited.

and waited...

...and waited...

and then gave up.

i would've picked up his call, he thought to himself bitterly, before dialling the fushiguros' telephone.

he prayed to god that megumi would answer, and not —

"erm... hello!"

you.

he found you funny, a great kid, one to match the zenins' wit in every way. but you could be so very... chatty.

especially when he didn't have the time.

"y/n, i'm trapped in a phone box 'cause of some sketchy kids in a gang," he explained, though something in his gut knew that this was futile, "where's megumi's mom? where's your mom? in the event that she'd even care —"

"my mom is —"

but you had paused, for megumi's voice had entered the line, but distant:

"i know you stole my book, y/n. give it back."

"i didn't — ugh! satoru, i can't talk to you right now 'cause i'm in the middle of making fun of megumi 'cause he said i stole his boring, non-fiction book when i didn't —"

"— yeah i don't give a shit, where's your mom?" he interrupted, because there was only so much he could take.

your gasp on the other end of the line was telling.

and it came as no surprise to him when you hung up as revenge:

"oh you— okay! bye!"

"wait, y/n —"

BEEEEEEP...

"oh for fucks —" he began, but kept his cool as he pictured his wife. his wife who, surely, would help him. she was his only hope at this point, because if not her, then it had to be ogi.

if not her, then it had to be toji.

he shivered at the thought.

he waited for her to pick up.

"hello? who is this?"

he had no time to waste.

there was a long pause after satoru's rushed explanation, the muffled static on the other end of the line filling the silence. he leaned forwards slightly, gripping the receiver, his hope wavering as the seconds stretched on. surely, his wife was gearing up for some clever solution, for she was smart, he remembered that well during high school and college — or at least, that's what he convinced himself of.

then came the sound of her laughter.

it started low, building into something unrestrained and far too amused for his liking.

and before he could say or do anything else, she ended the call with a click, hanging up the phone herself. satoru stood there, staring at the receiver in disbelief, the faint beep of the disconnected line mocking him.

BEEEEEEP...

reluctantly, he had called both ogi and toji next, and each regret stung more than the last. ogi sounded all too pleased by the event, and had hung up to, no doubt, inform everyone he knew of 'the gojo heir' being a victim of mugging.

toji's brutal honesty hit harder.

his voice had been laced with smug amusement, delivering one dismissive insult after another before abruptly cutting the call. by the time the phone clicked silent again, satoru felt something he rarely experienced — genuine, soul-deep irritation.

with a frustrated growl, satoru clenched his fist and swung it towards the glass, the impact reverberating through the phone box.

a sharp crack echoed as small fractures spread across the surface, and a few shards broke loose, tumbling to the ground.

he flexed his fingers, inspecting the streaks of red beginning to stain his knuckles. the sight annoyed him more than the pain — bleeding wasn't part of the plan. still, the partial break in the glass was hopeful, and he prepared himself for another attempt.

as he paused to assess his next move, his gaze caught on a young blonde-haired girl walking along the street nearby. she couldn't have been older than you or megumi, about ten, her small figure striking against the gritty surroundings.

desperation took over as he called out to her, motioning with his uninjured hand. the girl stopped and turned towards him, but her wide, wary eyes said it all — she clearly thought he was some sort of lunatic. satoru would have tried to understand his viewpoint if he wasn't so irritated with his situation.

she hesitated, clutching her backpack tighter, and stared at him as though deciding whether to run or stay.

"you're a pedo!" she'd decided altogether, which only got satoru to clench his jaw at her.

his neck was starting to hurt with how the height of the phone box had bent him at its will.

"i'm not a pedo, and if i was, you'd be safe, you blonde, bob-headed, little shit."

she furrowed her brows at him, but she'd taken several steps closer, which told him that there was a certain level of trust there between them.

"i'm trapped," he explained, for the eighth time. he looked around and saw a discarded hammer on the dusty floor. "get that hammer and pass it to me through the hole i made."

"my mom told me not to speak to strangers," said the child, her white dress notable in comparison to all the dust and dirt surrounding them.

"your mom also left you unattended in this sketchy neighbourhood," said satoru, brows raised. "you think her opinion matters? help me out."

the child still seemed reluctant. satoru groaned loudly.

"i'll buy you a cupcake."

she ran over to the hammer and presented it to him. satoru encouraged her to push it through the hole, but the way she was looking at it made him pause.

and he was right to do so, for she unexpectedly held it over her head, and then slammed it into the glass window, his hands immediately going over his head to prevent the glass from cutting into his face and sensitive areas.

"sick," he marvelled, as she continued to smash up the glass.

and after a little more smashing, she had finally had her fun and handed the hammer over to satoru through a much wider hole.

he took it gratefully, looking down at her through his round glasses with his head tilted.

"might wanna step back, kid," he warned her, before releasing all his pent-up anger on the phone box, enough to smash its front in a way that made it unrecognisable.

he stepped out, throwing the hammer away, leaving it discarded somewhere forgettable behind him.

"i'm getting my stuff back."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

the gang gathered around satoru's possessions with wide eyes, each of them marvelling at the loot they'd just stolen. the leader, with a smug grin on his face, rifled through his wallet, fascinated by the sleek, black card inside.

"this guy's loaded," he muttered to himself, feeling more than a little victorious, for there had been four different sleek cards, and he was certain if they chose to rob his house next, they'd find more.

his fingers hovered over satoru's phone, still in pristine condition despite the earlier struggle.

the rest of the gang members, too, admired the items with greedy satisfaction.

but their smugness was short-lived.

in a blur, everything around them seemed to freeze for a moment, only to snap back into chaos. one second, they were standing in the middle of the street, basking in their victory, and the next — a flash of white filled their vision.

it was as if the world had shifted, disorienting them completely. the last thing they saw was satoru's towering presence, the white of his hair and his eyes like blinding light.

then, with only one warning from one of the members ("guys, he's coming! he's coming!"), they found themselves in a dark alley, each of them battered and exhausted, sprawled out on the ground.

the gang leader himself could taste blood in his mouth, his head swimming as he tried to piece together what had just happened in the space of five minutes. his body screamed in pain, the bruises already beginning to form, and his mind struggled to understand the impossible speed of the attack.

they hadn't stood a chance.

satoru stood over him now, his foot casually pressing down on the younger man's face, pinning him to the ground with alarming ease. his grin was feral, manic — a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

his possessions, now securely back in his grasp, were scattered around him, including the cupcake, which he held up to his lips, barely noticing the bloodstained mess of the street around him. his body was tense, like a coiled spring, filled with untamed energy as he looked down at the leader with barely-contained excitement...

there was something unnerving about the way he was smiling — something wild and unhinged, as if the fight, the chase, and the thrill had unlocked something primal within him. he was terrifying, but utterly in control of himself, and the chaos surrounding him.

"heh," he laughed to himself, throwing the bag over his shoulder. "i get why toji used to do this all the time. look at your faces!"

he eyed them all, noticing one thing they all had in common. he laughed loudly.

they were all japanese.

"what is this, the yakuza?" he joked, taking a bite out of his cupcake.

he deserved more sweet treats, he decided. perhaps he would go downtown to treat himself again.

his eyes had landed on the very criminal that had taken his cupcake intentionally. he walked away from the gang leader and bent down to present it to him again.

"want a bite?" he teased.

when he didn't respond, satoru stood up straight again.

"what, you scared?"

but despite asking the question, he didn't wait for a response. instead, he turned around, spotting the little, blonde girl that had helped him out, and walked off without looking back.

"go back to school," he advised them. "you guys are shit criminals."

satoru strolled over to the little blonde girl, who looked up at him expectantly, her bright eyes wide and curious. her expression was a mix of confusion and caution, as though she wasn't quite sure what to make of the strange man who had just singlehandedly obliterated a gang.

satoru, unfazed, reached into his wallet with a casual flick of his wrist, extracting a five-dollar bill. he held it out to her with a grin, his earlier manic energy fading into something far more playful.

"here, kid. get yourself something nice," he said with a wink.

"my name's hana," she told him, taking the bill. "hana kurusu."

he raised his brows at her.

"good to know," he'd said, and without waiting for a reply, turned on his heel, the faintest chuckle escaping his lips as he walked away.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

notes: turns out my law exam i told you about went super well (got an A, woohoo!) and i was being dramatic lmao. so half this chapter was scenes i knew you’d be happy with, the other half was a lot of kamo, which i knew a lot of you hate me for, but it had to be done ‘cause i was right about the shit sociology test :/ lmao anyway, this was basically just some filler hahaa (with semi-plot!) 😼

previous chapter :)

next chapter :)

taglist (send an ask or comment to be added):

@1l-ynn @shaigimo @shuupiu @nappingnai @xbarrjallenx @reinaswrld @anintrovertedechoe @momoewn @polarbvnny @lailuv21 @cherriee-ee @hfuensiekabhsufnd @k0z3me @laughingfcx @jelly-fsh @anonymity-222 @blubearxy @jamypam @thelost-child @anotherwriternamedclara @ist0leurc0ffee @spookypeacesandwich @jvpit3rr

© tojiscrack (previously ack4rwoman)

i do not own any of the characters of jjk, i only own the character of y/n and her mother. the other characters belong to gege akutami.

if you enjoyed my writing, i’d really appreciate it if you tipped me — tumblr no longer has the tip function, so maybe here in my tip jar :)

[mystellenia]

ellie with a clumsy gf ୨ৎ

summary: how ellie cares for her clumsy girlfriend

content: nothing thats nsfw!! just ellie being a cutie concerned gf

notes: answer to this req!! SHES SO PUPU BABYGIRL IN THAT PIC I WANNA BITE HER JFWIBFJWKRJR. she's actually so beautiful i can't. entirely unrelated: idk how i feel about this... but i’m trying not to be like EW I HATE THIS FUCK THIS ITS SO BAD. like i dont even feel like that but we already know how i feel about this formatting. its growing on me tho

(wc 0.39k) so short i know guys i gotta dip my feet

constantly laughing but also concerned at how you manage to trip and bump and bruise yourself up on literal air

in apocalypse au, she's always been very aware of her surroundings bc of patrol and combat and stuff so she tries to keep you out of the way of things that she knows you'll bump into

always has an ice pack chilled and ready to go in the freezer in case you bump yourself real hard and it's sore because ice helps bumps not bruise right when you get them (looking at you guys clumsy ladies write that one down)

always warns you about things right as they're happening since you get into things SO FAST

like just as you're bumping into something or dropping an item she's blurting out, "wait! there's- a shirt on the floor"/"remember- that the washing machine door is open"/"baby, you're gonna drop that- just... like you did just now. you okay?"

always asks what you did to get a new bruise. she'll notice a new one and joke, "oh, what did you do this time?" and you'll respond, "i may have walked into the dishwasher while the door was down... but this one doesn't hurt that bad 😁" it's become like a little game

she's become sooo desensitized to any bump or bang sound in the house bc she knows its just you. not to say she doesn't care about you getting hurt--she immediately throws out a "you good?!" or "you need me?"--she just knows you know what to do: ice pack or heat compress. it's routine now.

read that low vitamin c levels make you bruise easily, so always has vitamin c rich snacks stocked up. oranges and strawberries and other fruits, always ready!

she's so stupid in love that she'll cut the fruits up into hearts or try nd make the most simple little animals with them from some mother of 3's tutorial on instagram reels and genuinely gets upset when she can't recreate them.

^ like you notice her absolutely maiming some apples and ask, "ummm why are you slicing and dicing that poor apple?" and she'll mumble, "it's supposed to be a stupid crab."

and for my ladies with darker skin where bruises aren't as visible or even just pale skin that just doesn't bruise easily, she's still just as concerned. and since there is no visible warning of a sore spot, she's hurriedly apologizing after pressing on a sore spot or laying on a tender patch.

@abbysbug @picklesarenice69

hello to my clitter critters. soooooooo erm sorry about going like basically inactive for like 2 weeks i got into the fight of a lifetime with my mother 😊 we still beefing 😊 dw tho when she's old and wrinkly i’ll have power of attorney and trust the cord WILL be plugged.

like i’m joking but as of now that bitch is an opp fr

but anywhoooo i’m back. and my dinosaur of a laptop had a health scare and i thought i was gonna have to plan a funeral for her but she went to the doctor (apple store) and she's all better. idk how it still works so well now bc my mom got this when obama was still president 😆 don't y'all worry tho this motherboard does nothing but purr we chillin (the fan turns on whenever there are too many graphics moving)

[wide-nose-and-wonderful]

SINNERS.

Pairing: Sammie x Pearline!

Warnings/Type: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff & Stuff, A Smooth Talking Preacher Boy In Another Decade. It's Early 2000's, ONE SHOT!

Summary: Young Boy Sammie Moore has finally turned twenty one! He decides to spend pre birthday at the mall with his family for some early birthday gifts. Who knew a quick break off to the food court would be so eventful.

Word count: 6,624 / Whomever comes across this work, enjoy.

It was Wednesday. The air inside the Guitar Center thrummed with the low hum of amps and the sporadic twang of hopeful guitarists. Guitars of every shape, size and pedigree, amid a lingering scent of aged wood and polished brass. Sammie held the blues like a well-worn record, already dissecting the acoustic sections across the other side of the store, thoughtfully tapping on soundboards of various models. By that time, the thought of his father found him. He recalled the very last conversation. A couple days spread out into a few months, but the words remained as clear as the day they were spoken.  

“Listen Sammie. The bottom line. Either you cut out all the nonsense. Get yourself back to going to church, or I'm gonna have to ask you to leave ma’ house. I won’t have people talking.Calling my son a Sinner. You know what kind of impact that would have on the church. My livelihood and legacy. Everything I've built so you and your brothers and sisters could make something of yourselves…” 

“But that’s your life. I’m entitled to live my own. Maybe your legacy just isn’t ma’ legacy anymore.” 

He wondered what type of state he was in. Different emotions had him undecided. Was it some sense of longing? Regret, maybe relief, some kind of fear? He bet he could write a song that would express it all, tell it better. That’s all Blues was. Express of the emotions that were a little hard to say out loud and straight out. Some emotions required a beat, a melody and a tune. 

Twenty one years today. Old enough to drink legally, as Stack reminded him. Old enough to really be out on his own with no excuses. Do his own thing, with no one to answer to. A man. The point he’d made sure his father knew. 

“We gon’ throw you a party like no other lil cousin, just you wait till this weekend…”

Sammie grinned, feeling the weight of the instrument in his grip. Stack seemed more eager then he did. Like he was in some strange way getting to relieve his early twenties. Boy, did he have some stories to tell. The things he’d done and saw. Sammie’s mind on the other hand was far from drinking and dancing. Attention from loose women. He didn’t want the party. A quiet night inside almost suited him better. He still hadn’t heard from his father. That bothered him.

Jedidiah Moore, epitome of stubbornness despite his sermons on pride and unforgiveness at Sunday service. Grudges could stay and wayne like the summer heat, and boy was he particular. In front of his congregation he presented as a wholesome man. Caring, considerate, a good listener and confidant. Behind closed doors was different. Sammie may have had too many examples to count, but his image as both pastor and father beat against one another with little equality. 

Sammie’s mother, Geraline Moore called two days prior, although loyal to his father's will, she'd been a bit more understanding in her nature as a woman, but a mother would always be curious about their child when they weren't with them. Sammie knew she'd been eager to hear just how he’d been doing since going to stay with Annie and Smoke. Questions like, was he eating, being respectful. Her voice stayed thick during their conversation, riddled with a sadness she tried to hide. Sammie regretted that the most. She’d been the last person he wanted to hurt. 

By the time Sammie sighed that fact away, Stack veered straight toward a wall full of electric guitars with a glint of mischief in his eye. The candy-apple red Ibanez  launched into a series of wildly uncoordinated power cords. Only thing to break Sammie from all his thinking. 

Elianna covered her ears at the broken melody, but there remained a particular sense of awe in her face. She’d walked off from Annie who’d been eyeing one of the instruments, following her uncle in a childlike curiosity. She’d done that ever since she could walk. Sammie often wondered if she thought Stack was her daddy, and did it instinctively. Or could she tell the twins apart just by looking.   

“Uncle,” She cried amidst the atrocious noise. ”Stop it!” 

Smoke threw a glare in the direction of his daughter's protest. He’d been busy at the front desk talking to one of the men that worked there. A sheet of paper laid out nicely on the table, separated the two like a business transaction taking place unbeknownst.

“Stack! Cut it out,” he hissed. “You gon’ break something and I'm not tryna hear they mouth.”  

The man on the other side of the table had his eye on Stack the moment he picked up the expensive instrument. Smoke noticed too, which was why when the man finally locked eyes with him, Smoke gave him a subtle but serious flash of a glare as if to say in so few words, don't say shit to my brother, I got it.

Although identical, Smoke never seemed to let anyone, including Stack forget that he was the oldest twin. Sammie confirmed that difference, almost immediately. They looked every much alike but were very different men. Stack embraced it, and lived boldly in his thirst for freedom. He had a very do whatever you want attitude. Sammie always wondered if being a twin meant that type of thing was unavoidable; the desire to break away and form a separate identity. To be one’s own person. 

As expected, Stack laughed through his noise making, even beyond Smoke’s threat. 

“You don’t like ma’ song baby niece?” 

Elianna shook her head. little hands still firmly over her ears. A giggle did manage to leave her. Annie pursed her lips when she walked over. Not entirely displeased, but not entirely amused. She’d probably gotten used to it, as long as she’d been around the twins. Stack could test Smoke’s patience.Sammie had been witness a few times when the brothers had their heated arguments. Most of the time it had to do with Smoke not liking the type of women Stack brought around. Only one Smoke ever went completely soft for was his baby girl.

To Sammie, five year old Elianna Moore was the cutest thing walking. She had equal bits of Smoke and Annie in her, but she looked more like her daddy, or at least Sammie thought so. She’d been declared a miracle child by the midwife, Annie took about a month to recover fully. A hard birth, Smoke managed to breath out one time when someone asked him. Ever since then he’d been a devoted father. Maybe a little over protective, but Sammie assumed he’d gotten the life he wanted. Annie was a good woman. She could cook and the house was always clean and smelling good. More than that, she was his comfort. Since staying with them, Sammie had walked in on at least two instances where Annie was standing cradling and holding Smokes head close to her chest. Like her heartbeat energized him.  

Another death glare by Smoke had Stack finally off his antics. He put the guitar back with that chuckle that pissed Smoke off, and moved in one swift motion to swoop up Elianna and kiss her on the cheek. She giggled, high up in his arms and hugged his neck. He gave her this sad face and pressed his forehead on hers.

“How you gon’ say ya’ uncle was bad. You spose ta be ma’ number one fan out here baby girl.” 

Elianna provided a couple pats to the shoulder. A little of Stack’s personality had no doubt rubbed off on her too.  

“You wasn’t that bad uncle Elias, but you was baaaaad.” 

She scrunched her face like she'd tasted a sour candy. Stack smacked his teeth, but smiled. 

“Why you have to elongate the word? See. You lucky you cute and you ma’ baby.” 

He kissed her forehead and put her down. 

“Big cousin Sammie, now he's gooooood,” she said, head tilted and smiling. 

A laugh escaped Annie. Stack grinned and shrugged, before he laughed himself. 

“Well. I can't even argue that. He got some talent, no doubt. Which is why we gon’ get him hooked up. Make him a big star. Then we can watch him on TV. Playing all them blues songs.” 

Sammie sighed. Stack brought it up numerous times before, even managing to convince Smoke to help get him signed to a label, and it was hard to get Smoke to agree on anything, depending on what it was. But, hesitation remained, the thought of being famous. He loved music. Loved playing the strings, sure. Learned the Guitar on his own with months of strenuous practice whenever he got the opportunity, but, recognition didn't matter too much. Humble beginnings stayed on him, even after his father's Church gained popularity. Best part about the Blues was the way it made a person feel. He’d had a few instances where people cried, said they needed that, that his voice was powerful, that the world somehow got brighter. He never felt that way at his father’s church. The music, the Gospel to Sammie, was strangely constrained in the way of freedom. Maybe not the same freedom Stack looked for in experiences, or how family presented for Smoke, but the type of freedom a bird might need to not just fly, but to soar. At least under his fathers eye, things felt like that. Contained and cadged. He had a chance at glory, and turned from it. Then like clock work, Sammie got back to thinking about Jedidiah. If he did become famous, that would seal the deal on their relationship.

“Nah Stack. It's all good.” He said, a particle smile to hide the inner battle. “I don't need all that. Y'all like ma’ music. That's enough.” 

Stack smacked his teeth. “Mind what I say. Big cousin got you. Twenty one, can't even believe it. Growing up right before our eyes.” 

Stack walked over, threw an arm which resulted in a partial head lock and hug all rolled into one gesture. He had a heaviness to his arm, weighted, but a comfort all at once. Stack faked sniffing, dapping at his own eyes in some form of dramatics with his knuckle. There were no tears to dry away. His smirk betrayed him anyway. Sammie knew he was on bullshit. Stack knew it himself, but went on talking.

“Seems like just yesterday you were that nappy head lil boy running round toothless following after us. Everywhere too. Couldn't seem to shake ya. Guess much ain't changed but this new line up you sportin’ huh.” 

Sammie gave a crooked smile before moving from under his arm. “Man. Whatever. You ain't never remember me like that.” the tone might have come off unconvinced, but he let off a chuckle afterward. Stack would always be Stack, fabricating stories with how he thought they’d played out, no matter what, but Sammie was fine with that. He took him for what he was. 

Annie stepped up, bag in one hand as she placed the other on Elianna’s shoulder. Elianna pouted just slightly. While talking to Stack, there had been a missed conversation happening between mother and daughter. That familiar dimple expressed itself on one of her little cheeks. Identical to her father's, and Stack’s.

“Mama, please get this…this one is the best.”

Sammie couldn't help but grin. Elianna Moore did have an eye, and she'd found a lovely make and model he’d overlooked. 

“I like it mama,” her dark brown hues traveled up and down the guitar. “You don't like this one, big cousin?” 

Sammie stepped forward and bent down on one knee. Doing so had him at Elianna’s eye level and in the area dedicated to vintage electronics. He ran a hand reverently over the smooth neck of a honey-blonde telecaster before his eyes landed on the charcoal-grey Gibson Es-335, perched on a stand. Elianna’s choice. 

“I do. I really like this color and pattern design too. Good pick.” 

Her eyes lit up like street lamps at the approval, and her little dimple surfaced for a second time. Her smile warmed him, but also reminded him of home. The brothers and sisters he’d left behind often looked at him in that same way. 

“Can you try it?” 

That meant she wanted a song played. Her favorite one. Oddly enough, a song Sammie took a liking to when she was months old, frustrated with his father, and ready to run away to prove him and everyone else wrong. Like a dandelion seed, Sammie envisioned himself countless times scattering away from the South, catching the wind towards something more. Muddy Waters, Mannish Boy. Sammie would never understand how she was wise enough to remember it. Maybe, it had nothing to do with the particular song at all, only that he was singing it, and made it personal that she grew a liking to the way he did it. Whatever the reason, whenever his baby cousin asked, and if a guitar was nearby somewhere, he'd play it for her. He provided a gentle pinch to her cheek, grabbed the guitar, put the band over his head and got into a good position as he stood to his feet. 

“Okay, tell me lil’ bit. What song ya’ want cousin Sammie to play for ya’?” 

Elianna tilted her head from one side to the other before she tugged at his shoulder sleeve. 

“Whaaaaat. You don’t member it?” 

Her eyes grew big.

“Course I do,” He said, and chuckled.

 He would never forget.  

This time he wouldn’t coax a mournful melody. That could only be played on the one back home where Jedidiah was. 

“You leave out here, Sammie. You not taken that Guitar wit’ ya.” 

So he left it behind. Been in mourning ever sense. Peering down at the price tag on this one he didn't own, Sammie took a breath, and promised himself he’d be careful while playing. His part time job didn’t make enough should something happen in the process of the song. He didn't want to cause trouble for Smoke and Annie. They’d been so generous. 

“Excuse me,” he said, catching the attention of one of the employees. “Y'all mind if I try this out?”

“Yeah, sure dude. I can plug it up.” 

Sammies gaze traveled. They’d hid it away beneath the counter. Smart. The amp crackled to life, filling the shop with a warm, inviting glow of sound that hummed a quiet power once plugged. Elianna brought her hands together in anticipation. Not something done for Stacks performance. Annie smiled and even Smoke paid attention. 

“Oh, daaaaaaamn. Aye, everybody come watch ma’ lil’ cousin. He bout to blow this shit up!” Stack called, with the same elongation of words he’d scolded his niece for as he waved over unsuspecting onlookers.

Whatever opinions anyone had about Elias Mooore, he was the biggest hype man and support anyone could ask for. Sammie always appreciated that about him.   

“Blow it up?” 

The man's face went pale in color. More red patches showing on areas of the skin. Smoke unfazed, shook his head. Another great supporter, just in a different way.  

“Nah. Not like that. Just an expression. Means he bout’ ta put on a show for y’all. So pay attention.” 

Sammie closed his eyes a moment, breathed deep, and let his fingers find their way to the familiar cords of Mannish Boy.

“Oooooooh, Yeah. Oh Yeaaaaaah. Everything, everything, everything gon’ be alright this moooorning…Oooooh yeah….Whooooooo!”

At the ripe age of seven, he’d gotten the opportunity to hear a studio recording of the song. He would shut his eyes and try to imagine what it was like being in that space at that exact time. Muddy there, maybe Howling wolf, little Walter for sure, the band of course, and that guitar amped and ready.

“Come on dere now preacher Boy, you gon’ sang this song…Or are you gon’ sanaaag this song…”   

Slow, a tentative rumble, built into the iconic riff, each note a drop of sweat and hard earned wisdom of all the greats that came before him. His voice joined the guitar, a raw soulful cry that seemed to emanate from somewhere deep within. Stack hollered off a loud Yeaaaaaah’ In the background. 

“Now, when I was a young boy…At the age of five…My mother said I was gonna be…The greatest man alive…But now I'm a man…I'm age twenty-one…I want you to believe me, honey…We having lots of fun…I'm a man…”

He played with a passion and skill that belied his age, and others felt it. Stack with his hootin’ and hollerin’, Smoke with the tapping of his feet, Annie’s subtle swaying, and Elianna’s innocence, off beat but happy in her own personal dance to the tune she loved.

“I spell M…A, child…N…that represent man…No B…O, child…Y…that spell mannish boy…I'm a man…I'm a full-grown man…I'm a man…I'm a rollin' stone…I'm a man…I'm a hoochie-coochie man…”

The music grew louder, the mood more festive, and pretty soon others outside of the Moore’s joined in. A crowd began to gather. Tourists paused, drawn in by the authentic sound. Children stood mesmerized. Different people, singing along, clapping hands. The air changed, thick with the raw soulful energy of the blues.

“Sittin' on the outside…Just me and my mate…I'm made to move…Come up two hours late…Wasn't that a man?...I spell M…A, child…N…that represeent man…No B…O, child…Y…That spell mannish boy…”

No telling how many new customers would arise from this performance. From behind Sammie caught a different instrument joining in. Drums. Then another, the harmonica of all things. A mournful counterpart to the Guitar. He wasn’t aiming for perfection, just connection. That’s why he never looked back to see exactly where the oncoming sounds came from, the sheer exhilaration of being alive and in the moment mattered most.  

Instead he poured his youthful heart into it, fingers dancing over the fretboard. His voice, though a little rough around the edges in his opinion, resonated with genuine feeling, catching the melody and riding it. A lively, upbeat tune filled with joy. A song born from the newfound lightness in his soul. It wasn’t quite the same, but familiar. Not home, but close to it. He’d missed the sensation of the vibrating strings. Getting lost in the music. How he’d imagine his fingers painting the air. Each note, this brush stroke of emotion.  

Then he saw her.  

At the edge of the crowd. A woman bathed in the late afternoon light. He’d swore he’d never seen hair so dark. Coiled, full, in a medium high afro of tight curls. Deep brown complexion complemented wide eyes, mysterious and endlessly captivating. She wasn’t smiling, he noticed, but her expression was one of quiet attentiveness, like she absorbed every note, every nuance of the song. 

Sammie stumbled slightly on a chord. The carefully constructed composure cracking momentarily. 

As the last chord faded away, this appreciative ripple traveled within the crowd who hadn’t noticed the slip up. Any doubt flew away with the applause. He stood and only gave a partial bow. 

“Thank y'all. Appreciate it. My lil’ cousin likes this song. Played it especially for her.” 

A look around. No Elianna in sight. No Annie, or Smoke or Stack either. Then with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, a man dressed in a tailored suit pushed through the crowd and offered his hand. 

“Magnificent! Absolutely magnificent! Heard you playing all the way down the hall. Lotta people heard ya. But me personally, said to myself what raw unpolished potential. You gotta a gleam in ya’ eye. Talent. Such that I ain't heard in a good long while, least round here in Mississippi. I’m Johnathan Remmick. Remmick Talent Agency. You, young man, have a gift..” 

Buzzing from the performance, Sammie shook his hand, a subtle half grin playing on his lips. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “Just playing around.”  

“Playing around?” Remmick chuckled, a low oily sound. “Nonsense. You’re a star waiting to be discovered. I can make it happen. I’m thinking you got the it factor. Got some big names I know would be excited to have you open for um.” He pulled out a business card. “Let's talk contract. I have connections, studios, the whole nine yards.” 

This sudden sense of uncertainty filled him up. Sammie looked out at the faces in the large pool of people. None belonging to his cousins, or Annie. This might be the right opportunity Stack always talked about, he thought, but the hype of it all had them swallowed up in different sections. He was alone with no clue what to do next. Flattered, stammered, almost unable to think logically, he grinned. 

“Wow, okay uh, yeah Mr. Remmick, That’s amazing.” 

“Amazing is an understatement!” 

Remmick clapped him on the shoulder, a little too hard, for Sammie’s liking. Something about him carried an air of doubt. Maybe the overt eagerness, or the smile, just a little off. 

“I’m talking stadium tours, record deals, the whole shaBang!” But first, we need to, shall we say, formalize our partnership.” 

“Hold up a minute,” his voice low and even. “I can’t rush this. I actually have a lot on my plate right now.” By a lot, Sammie considered his father and what that reaction would look like if he did sign with some big company to make music.  

Remmicks' smile faltered, just a fraction. 

“Ofcourse, of course. Just a preliminary chat. But I wouldn't want anyone else to snatch you up while you're still thinking about it. Time is of the essence, ya know.” 

A flimsy looking document surfaced from the briefcase, Sammie didn’t even notice he had one at first. A hastily prepared Contract of Representation. Papers that looked intimidatingly thick.

“Pretty standard artist management agreement. Take a look.” 

“You just carry these round wit ya.” 

It seemed a little too calculated.

“Always be prepared. You never can really know, can you.” 

Sammie reached for the contract, but a hand intercepted it. 

“Hold on there, Slick.” 

Stack emerged from the crowd. Broad shoulders, and even broader grin. A stark contrast to Remmick’s polished demeanor. Smoke came from the opposite direction, Annie not far behind carrying Elianna in her arms.

What’s this all about?” Smoke asked, tone deceptively mild as he took the contract from Remmick’s hand.

Stack, meanwhile, positioned himself subtly between Sammie and the white man. Remmick’s smile faltered. 

“Just a standard contract, gentlemen. Helping this young man achieve his dreams.” 

Annie, who had been quietly observing, moved beside Smoke. Eyes, sharp and intelligent as they scanned the document. “This seems a little unbalanced, Mr. Remmick,” she said, her voice polite but firm. 

“Standard for someone just starting out,” He insisted, voice a little sharper. “This is an investment in his future. He’ll be rolling in it!” 

Smoke flipped through the pages, his brow furrowing. “Forty percent commission? Control over all his music? Perpetual exclusivity? Sounds like a dream alright…for you.” He looked at Remmick, eyes narrowed. “This highway robbery, damn near.” 

“Now, see here,” Remmick sputtered, “This is how the business works! I’m offering him an opportunity!”

“Yeaaaaah. An opportunity to get screwed over,” Stack rumbled, his voice a low growl. “My cousin ain’t stupid. He just gets a little starstruck.” 

Smoke handed the contract back to Remmick. “Think you’ll find my cousin’s gonna need to consult with some professionals.” He emphasized the word ‘Professionals’ with a meaningful glance at Stack. 

“Look, I’m just trying to help. I see the potential here.” 

“We see it too,” Stack chimed in, “And we’re gonna make sure he gets his fair shake.” He placed a protective arm around Sammie like a guard. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have some celebrating to do.” 

Remmick backed away. Shot the twins a resentful look before disappearing out the door. 

Sammie looked at both his cousins with an assumed gratitude and released the breath he'd been holding in the entire exchange. For all of it he’d froze, unable to think, or find the right things to say. It reminded him of the little Mermaid. The movie Elianna loved and wanted to watch with him every time he came over. One particular scene got him thinking. The one where the evil sea witch had the mermaid sign her name on a contract. Damn near sell her soul. Sammie thought this situation might be a lot like that.

“Glad y'all came when you did. He got ta’ talkin’ so fast, didn't have time to think.” 

“Don’t worry bout’ it,” Stack said, providing him a few hearty pats on the back. “You just focus on the music. We’ll handle the sharks.” 

“And we’ll get you good representation when the time is right if you really serious bout’ this music thing. Someone who actually cares about your music, not just your potential to make them a quick buck,” Smoke added.  

“Your talent is real Sammie. Shouldn’t be exploited.” 

Annie kissed his cheek leaning a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

He wished his father saw it that way. He finally understood the underlying feeling he carried ever since he woke up that day. He missed him. That's what the unease was. Hoping Annie didn't notice, he focused on Elianna, still in her arms. 

“So, lil baby. Have yourself a good time. Big cousin do good?”

She laid her head on Annie's shoulder, but nodded with a smile that grew more and more. 

“Sooooo good Sammie. Everybody gon’ like that song now. But, that’s still our song.” 

“Sho’ is. And you was right about the guitar. It's a good one.” 

“So that the one you want?” 

He diverted his attention. 

“How you mean Smoke? You know my job won’t pay for this. Might be bout’ a year before I could even think about it.”

“Damn Preacher Boy,” Stack bellowed. “You ever hear anything I say or does it just go in one ear and out the other. For the hundredth time. I told you, ya’ big cousins was gon’ look out.” 

Smoke’s grin leveled out. “Been without your guitar for a while. Thought you might like another one. One of your own. Harder to part from it when it’s ya’ own.” 

“Y’all serious right now?” 

“Hell yeah,” Stack replied with a smile. “Pick whatever one you want. We buying.” 

But Sammie couldn't bring himself to speak. He just stood there, clutching the guitar like a lifeline. 

Elianna lifted her head in surprise, her smile disappearing as she stretched out her hand. 

“Cousin Sammie, no. Don’t cry…”

“Thank y'all….thank y'all so much.” 

… 

Sammie left the Strum Studio Guitar Center, chest full and heavy. Pulled in by the smell of Auntie Anne’s pretzels, he b-lined toward the food court. It loomed ahead. Its wide expansion of patrons on pause from their personal shopping excursions littered the area as pockets of people filled up most of the seats. The newly purchased guitar rested on his back, complements to Stack and Smoke. 

He’d become overtaken by the inevitable pull of nostalgia. Something familiar, comforting.

Miss Ruby’s Sweet Tea.

Singing always managed to make him thirsty.

He found it tucked away in the food court, a tiny unassuming counter nestled between Svarro and orange Julius. Miss Ruby herself was still there. A member of his father’s church. Devoted, religious, but with whiter hair. A shade browner. No doubt spending early mornings tending to her garden of poppies. Had it really been that long, Sammie thought. Even her hands were slightly more gnarled with age, but the warmth in her smile hadn’t changed. 

“Preacher Boy. Honey that you!” She exclaimed, her voice as sweet as the tea she made. “Lord have mercy child. Seems like a long time since I seen you. You haven’t been to service.” 

“No Ma’am. Not for a while. I moved quite far. Getting there’s been kind of a challenge.” 

“Oh Honey. There’s no excuse for missing out on the word of the lord. Pastor couldn’t help you none?”

“No ma’am. But I still make time. Say my prayers.” 

“Alright honey. I won’t go on nagging. Just tell your father I said hello when you do see him.” 

“Yes Ma’am Miss Ruby,” he said, feeling a lump form in his throat. “I will.” 

“Well. What you come here for. Sweet Tea. I’m guessing.” 

“The only kind besides ma’ mama’s that I like. So. Yes please.” 

She filled the glass with the amber liquid, a constellation of ice swirling within along with added lemon slices. Those weren't regularly added, Sammie had to add those, separately. What he referred to as the extra kick. Sweetness accompanied by a slightly sour finish. He paid her. The dead presidents, a tiny prince for such a taste only found in Mississippi. 

Sammie took a sip. Perfect. Sweet, but not cloying. Exactly as he remembered. Tangy, with a hint of lemon. Cold. Refreshing. Sunshine and honeysuckle in a glass like the catching of fireflies on a hot summer night with whispers of secrets and first loves. Best in the Delta.

The elderly woman’s words were not lost on him by the time he’d finished his Sweet Tea, and departed. He’d held on to his cellphone a solid five minutes before he decided to dial his fathers number. Found a bench to sit on in order to talk. The anxiety, though, swelled up in his legs, something terrible. One kept bouncing, before the other joined in, prompting him to get up. At least that way the tingling wouldn’t be consistent.

Sammie couldn’t understand why he was so uneased. Not even a full hour had gone by since he’d confidently performed in front of numbers of people. Strangers just passing by. All of a sudden, when it came to talking to his father, he was at a crossroads of nerves. But between the time it took to settle the debate going on in his head, he’d decided that not calling would be worse. 

Sammie found a relatively quiet corner near a bubbling fountain. He’d been avoiding this afraid of what he might hear, or worse, not hear. But guilt was a relentless tide, pulling him under. He glared at his phone, thumb hovering over his father’s contact. 

Ring. Ring. Ring. 

Each unanswered ring was a beat against his conscience. The call clicked over to voicemail. Sammie swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “Uh. Hey. It’s me. Just wanted ta’...I was thinking I should call to say uh…Uh, hope your havin’ a good day.” He ended the call abruptly, a hollowness settling in his chest. 

He slumped onto a nearby bench, the fountain’s cheerful gurgle mocking his mood. 

“…I’m so sorry to call you while you're at work, but I didn’t know what else to do….yeah….I stepped away. Said I was going to the ladies room, buy Gloria I-.” 

A female's voice broke, this kinda sob escaping her lips. 

Sammie felt a strange connection, a shared hurt.The situations were different, but that underlying emotion stung the same. That yearning for reconciliation was the same. 

Her voice, muffled by tears, continued, “I feel like they're staring me down. Both of them. He said he wanted to meet up to talk about the separation. I wasn’t expecting him to bring her…” 

Sammie shifted uncomfortably. He shouldn't have eavesdropped, but he couldn’t help it. The woman’s pain was palpable. Raw ache that resonated with the unresolved tension that was squeezing the cell phone, waiting for Jedidiah’s call back. Her conversation, like tiny needles, pricked at his attention. She sat on a bench about ten feet away, her back to him. Voice tight, laced with frantic edge.

It was her. The woman from before. 

Something in that gaze, something profound and undeniable, electrified him. When he finished Mannish Boy, he looked for her, but she was gone. Stack called these types of encounters, once in a lifetime occurrences. Sammie watched her stand to her feet. She stood a second, took a deep breath before pushing her shoulders back, proceeding to walk to the table where a man and woman sat.

She looked trapped with that pretend confidence, a bird with clipped wings. 

“You walk down this road. Better be prepared for what comes…” 

Sammie settled his resolve and made his way towards the table. This was one of those, once in a lifetimes. Heart pounding against his ribcage like a frantic drummer. He stood beside the woman, placing a hand on the back of her chair. “Hey, Babe,” he said, voice surprisingly steady.  

The woman’s head snapped up, her eyes widening in surprise. The man frowned as he gripped the other woman's hand on the opposite end of the table. The man, Sammie would assume was the ex husband and his new lover beside him. 

“Aye, anit you the one that was in the guitar center earlier? Negro put on a whole concert.” 

The man chuckled, but his voice was laced with irritation too. Good, Sammie thought. His focus never faltered. He leaned down, looking into the woman’s eyes. A silent plea passed between them. 

“You okay?” he whispered. 

She hesitated, throwing looks between him and her ex husband. Then, a subtle nod. 

That was all Sammie needed. 

He bent down and, without a moment’s hesitation, captured her lips in a kiss. Not some chaste peck. Passionate, this kind of desperate kiss. One that spoke of longing and protection, defiance and hope. He poured all his suppressed emotions into it, like how his fingers danced over the strings of the guitar, or how his voice married the melody when he sang. Just to taste the faint salt of tears... 

Sammie broke the kiss, hands still on either side of her face. His gaze locked with hers. “I missed you,” he said. “Let’s get outta here…”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t stay to examine reactions. Instead, he led her away. They walked. He could feel her trembling hand in his, a silent acknowledgement of the absurdity and bravery of what he had just done. When Sammie was sure they were out of sight he let her go. Her back pressed against one of the walls and she moved to cover her face. Embarrassed, stunned, relieved, Sammie wasn't sure.

A minute went by, maybe two before she dropped her hands and stared at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. 

The silence stretched. And then, it happened. She’d finally found the words. 

“My God. What were you thinking? That was.” 

“Outta line,” he finished for her. “Yeah I know. But you looked like you could use a hand back there so…” 

Sammie couldn’t read her. What would she do to rectify his actions? Slap him, scream and shout. Surprisingly, she did neither. A single tear escaped tracing a path down her cheek. She wiped at it impatiently, but another followed, and another.

He reached across, his hand hovering hesitantly. 

“Hey…”

She flinched away. 

“It's okay. You don't have to. I'm just a little overwhelmed.” 

Sammie dropped his hand. 

“Understandable.”  

Her face shifted with an air of concern. 

“How old are you anyway? You look young.” 

Sammie snorted, avoiding the question in its entirety. 

“Come on, don't do me like that.” 

She wasn’t easily swayed with the dismissal. 

“No. Really.”

Sammie lifted his chin. Lids automatically providing a low shade to his already gaze. Tongue running over his lower lip. 

“Old enough to get you out of that situation back there.”

She shut her eyes momentarily before she exhaled. 

“Right. But you just kissed me. Like…”

“Worked though, didn’t it?” 

“It was unexpected, is what I'm getting at, out of the blue. I had no time to think.”

“...But you didn’t pull away,” Sammie said to cut her off. 

He watched her countenance fall. Took note of her reaction. The way her body tensed, how she sucked her cheeks in.

“That's his loss,” he added. “Any man can see that.”

She took a second wiping a tear that slipped. 

“I'm old enough.” He peered down, then back at her. “Old enough even, to maybe take you out sometime…” 

The words slipped before he could catch them and swallow them back down, but if he didn’t ask now, the opportunity would pass by. Stack would be proud. 

“Take me out sometime?” She sounded shocked at the gesture, but not overly taken aback. 

A little grin played on him. 

“Yeah. I don't know...”

“How come you don’t know,” Sammie asked.

She took a deep breath. 

“I'm going to be going through a divorce here soon. Not sure if I got time for that kinda of thing, right now.”

“Well. While you're figuring it out, let me give you my number…”

He patted, reaching inside and pulling out a pen from his jacket pocket. Another pat, and he took out the receipt he’d gotten from Ruby’s. He used the wall as a writing board and scribbled off his phone number.  

She hesitated, but took it. 

“It don’t gotta be a date. Maybe… you might just need someone ta’ talk to.”

Her eyes scanned over the purchase on the receipt showing through by way of the dark ink. 

“Ruby's Sweet Tea. Hm. You know I never had one of those….”

“Names Sammie by the way. Most people call me Preacher Boy though.”

She looked up. “Preacher Boy?” 

“Yeah. Ma’ daddy own a church. Used to sing there. Got a lil’ popularity doin’ that for a few years. Started callin’ me Preacher Boy.” 

All of a sudden her expression changed. That light bulb moment. 

“Pastor Jedidiah, down there at New Hope Revival. You his son?” 

“Yeah. His oldest son. Anyway. You gotta name?”

“Pearline.”

He straightened his shoulders, met her gaze. The delicate lines around her eyes, the way she held herself, with a quiet strength made him glad he didn’t hesitate, the kiss still had his heart burning, but he managed not to let her know that. 

“Hm. Well nice to meet you officially, Miss Pearline.” 

“That was beautiful, what you did early,” she said, her voice a low, melodic murmur. “Muddy Water. I like him. Ma’ Grandpa played his records a lot before he passed.” 

“Great artist. Think he conveyed the feeling of being confined, breaking away from that.” 

She nodded slowly. 

“I could hear that when you sang. You have a lot of feelings in your music.” 

She let her back press against the wall. Shoulders dropping with a delicate grin on her lips. 

“And even though what you did just now was totally outta line. I mean buttin’ in people's business, well. Thanks, Sammie. Preacher Boy.”

“Mmmhmmm.”

He looked toward the path in which he’d taken to get to Miss Ruby’s. The food court had slowed, afternoon veering off into later hours of the day. The Twins and Annie were probably waiting. He promised he’d meet them back at the arcade, maybe with time enough to beat Stack in a game of Mortal Kombat. 

“You know. Best way to get over something old is to try something new. First things first. Should get yourself one of them Sweet Teas before you leave outta here.” 

Sammie would rest on that statement. He didn’t have control over anything. Knowing that surprisingly eased his mind. He reached out, took her hand and kissed the top of soft brown skin.  

“Have yourself a good day, Miss Pearline.”

Of course he couldn’t be certain when he turned to walk away that she’d ever use the number. After all, he wasn’t a mind reader in the slightest, but Sammie concluded that the pleasant look on her face at the very least, would consider it. 

END.

A/N: Oh, you think I forgot about our girl Peraline? Nope Nope, not that beautiful melanated sista’, you know I had to write something for her and Sammie! Come on now. I’ve always loved exploring canon characters if they have chemistry from their respective mediums. Plus, I feel like I owed Annie and Smoke a happy ending. They deserved to have their little girl with them. So, for whomever watched the movie and felt the same, hope her addition to this fic made you all smile. Until next time, thanks for reading!  

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR CLAIM ANY OF MY WRITING. -Wide Nose And Wonderful /Mrs. Saint Writes.

[simpyclown]

dabi x paramedic!reader

cw: bvrns, reader does have a quirk, mature content, afab!reader. spit k!nk.

wc: 1.2k

Dabi invaded your apartment after a fight, not knowing that you were one of the only people who had a healing quirk around. Lucky bastard.

You straddle Dabi’s hips as you cut his white bloody shirt and try to take it off carefully. He has patches of skin coming off with the cloth, and you can't help but wince as he hisses with the pain.

“Do you really need to sit on my lap to do this?” Is what he asks, rolling his eyes, a grunt echoing on your silent apartment when you pull a piece too stuck on the skin of his chest.

He ended up burnt in his last fight. As usual, he invaded your apartment silently, begging for help, even if he keeps complaining about your methods. 

You can't help but notice how his hands are very unassumingly holding you by your ass, though. His long fingers dig into the clothed meat, making you wince and think about the probable fingerprints he's gonna leave there.  You won't lie, it makes a heat pool on your belly, and something akin to need crawls on your skin.

“Yes.” You explain easily “it's the best position to use my quirk”.

He doesn't seem to believe you, eyes glued on your working hands, like he expects you to use your quirk with the pads of your fingers. You haven't used it in front of him yet — thank goodness —, nor answered him when he asked about it, so you imagine how curious he probably is. 

Noticing his dubious stare with a raised eyebrow, you chuckle lightly while you finish peering his shirt out.

“Do you even have one?” is what he ends up asking. Frowning while you discarded the traps that were his once white shirt in the ground. 

“Of course I have” you huff, “do you think a quirkless person would have a job and live alone like me?”

You ask it because you know how quirkless people can be mistreated. You don't doubt that if you didn't have one, you wouldn't even get a chance to work,much less work as a paramedic. One of your aunts was quirkless, and you know how difficult her life is, even when it was common for some people years ago. 

Dabi also seems to know, the frown on his face lessening when he sighs and throws his head back against the couch. The muscle cords in his neck bulging, exposing a very inviting throat and adam apple.

“Just do it already” he mutters, teeth gritted with pain. 

Dabi had been a good patient. Silent, enduring the pain when you told him that you couldn't give him painkillers before using your quirk, believing in your experience and making himself wait.

So you understand his clipped tone. Of all people, you're one of the few healers that still feel pain when hurt, and you certainly know how hard the pain of being burnt alive can be. 

Nodding to yourself, you let the saliva on your mouth coat your tongue. Of course, you could just spit on him, but you discovered how people get offended by being spat on. It's not funny. 

You're so concentrated in running your tongue over the seemingly most painful blisters that you almost don't notice how Dabi shivers at the sight of you on top of him licking his chest. 

“Girl—” he whispers, astonished. The villain hiss at the way you just keep licking his burns like he's a popsicle. “What the—”

You feel the way his hands clench at your cheeks, fingers digging at the meat of your ass like he's trying to make you stop. That makes you huff, keeping your work and looking him in the eyes. 

“Wha’?” You mutter against his skin, saliva dripping on his chest. 

His topaz blue eyes are so focused on your mouth that he doesn't even seem to see you looking at him. Dabi is in awe. If he's amazed about your healing quirk or at your tongue lapping at him, you don't know, but it makes you feel powerful. 

God, his stare makes you feel bigger than All Might himself, a fucking goddess. Like you can do anything you want. 

If that's how everyone looks at heroes, maybe you can understand why so many of them feel like they're better than the average person.

Shaking your head slightly, you keep your work slowly. You won't lie. The taste is awful. With how your quirk works, you're blessed with awesome taste buds. Sometimes, it makes your work easier, but today, you have to concentrate on everything around you, so you can keep the saliva flowing. 

Dabi is lucky. Those blisters would make his life hell if he hadn't found you. The bastard actually went to one of the only people nearby who could do something about the burns and how sensitive his skin would feel afterward. 

You can see his skin starting to scab under your tongue, feel it scrapping and falling, making you pass to the next. It is slow work, but is now making you notice things about Dabi you would never see if this didn’t happen. 

How his big hands keep massaging your ass, like he's trying to concentrate on something else, much like you are focused on anything but what's under your tongue. 

You can feel how his abdomen under your hands is ripped. Dabi also smells great — excluding the smell of burnt flesh — he has that faint smell of tobacco and spice that you're certain it's his own base scent. It's delicious, it makes you want to run your nose on the column of his throat and bite down on his skin. 

When you finally feel that his burns are gone, you check his skin. Both the scarred and the healthy ones are both enough to go.

Looking up to check with him, you almost startle when you notice his eyes already on you.

Dabi is staring at you with something in his eyes, the blue glinting while he keeps holding your ass down on his lap, lips parted while he gazes in a trance. 

Fuck. 

You scramble to get off him, trying to move out of his grasp, but Dabi is certainly strong. Stronger than you, in fact. 

Your quirk has some reactions. The last common one is making your patient feel more than he should. Particularly, some lf them can feel attracted to you. Usually, it's controllable, but with Dabi, it seems more severe than you thought. 

“Dabi,” you start, putting your hands on his bicep in a placating way. “You don't want to do it. It's just—”

You gasp when you feel his hips starting to buckle against your ass, his hands holding you down onto his lap. 

“It's just?” He repeats, voice rough. Dabi doesn't blink even once, looking at you like he wants to see through your body, your soul. “I don't want to do this?” He scoffs, finishing his phrase with a slow drag of you against his clothed boner. “I think I want it very much.” 

You look him in the eyes. Dabi’s pupils are blown out, taking almost all the space of his iris. His hands grip you even harder, moving our hips above his.

You curse under your breath, hands grasping at his wrists, trying to make him stop, because the slow grinding is making your clit tingle and you can't fall for that. 

Not when he is not on his senses.

“Dabi you don't, this is-" he interrupts you with a rough chuckle, one of his hands roaming to caress your inner thigh, his thumb pressing just right “this is a mistake. C'mon, you're not even attracted to me.”

You waste your time dragging yourself back on his legs, away from his bulge, but are countered by his hands bringing you back. Dabi sighs tiredly, like you're not making any sense. “C'mon, pretty girl.” He whispers into your ear, teeth clipping it like he wants to brand you, the pet name making you almost melt. He uses it like a tease, just because you called him pretty boy first.

“Who says I'm not attracted to you?” he tsks, hand creeping closer and closer between your legs, thumb pressing on the seam of your jeans, just over where he shouldn't. “You're just right where I always wanted.”

A shiver runs down your spine with his warm breath hitting your skin, finger moving over your clit through your jeans, just enough to make your pussy quiver. 

"Fuck, stop that." You argue weakly, resting your forehead on his shoulder while he expertly opens your jeans with one hand.

"Stop what?" He lets out a mean chuckle, using both hands to bring your face closer to his. "I'm not doing anything."

He bites your bottom lip softly, making you whimper when you notice that he's not guiding your movements anymore. Your own hips are circling above his slowly, teasingly.

You moan into his mouth when he finally puts his lips against yours. His lips are dry, but his tongue is so, so soft. With a little cold metal point on it that shakes you inside out.

"Fuck," he curses, big hands holding your jaw to make you open your mouth to him, his tongue tasting you like you're the best thing he could ever put his hands on. "I always thought you would feel good, fuck, you taste so good babe."

The kiss is wet and dirty. Dabi keeps sucking your tongue into his mouth, like he can't feel enough, like he wants to devour you whole and would if he could.

"Dabi," you whine, words coming out slurred and a little bit out of it, and he groans into your mouth at it, like he's going feral with you calling your name.

"That damn mouth," he curses more to himself than to you, grabby hands letting your face go to pull your jeans off, desperate.

The little leisure touches he was giving you, turning into something else. Desperate. Makes you feel desperate too, belly clenching in need, panties already drenched you'd be surprised if it's not ruined.

You kiss his jaw, doing what you thought the first time you felt his scent and nipping at his throat, tasting the skin there like it's your last meal.

"That damn fucking mouth" he repeats, frenzied "teasing me since the first time. Fuck." He pulls the jeans over your ass, and you feel his chest rumble when he groans at the restrictions of the jeans when he can't get enough access to your skin "I bet-" he interrupts you, one of his hands grabbing you by the jaw, making you face him.

"I bet" he repeats, thumb pulling your mouth open "that your cunt tastes even better, uh?" He asks, letting a glob of spit drip into your open lips, making you whine loudly in pleasure.

You feel crazy and lightheaded enough for him to maneuver you on the couch, shoving you face down and pulling your jeans away, leaving you in just your uniform shirt and the little pink panties you wore that day.

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 19

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, angst, crying, discussions of therapy, sadness, reference to divorce, references to labour and delivery (not explicit but detailed), references to babies, swearing, references to the hospital, self-doubt and self-loathing

A/N: Surprise! I somehow got this chapter done in just a week, and it just so happens to be the last one! If the winds are with me, the epilogue should be out next Friday. But I just want to take a second and thank everyone who is read, commented, reblogged, liked. It means everything to me to get to play in this sandbox, and I really appreciate all the love!

Sharp Memorial Hospital, almost 12 years ago

“One more big push, honey. One more and then you can have a little rest!” The OBGYN urged.

“I can’t! I can’t do this!” Buttercup sobbed, head falling forward as she panted. She felt like she’d been at this for days. She hadn’t slept in over 24 hours. Everything hurt. She missed her bed. She missed the little home she lived in with Jake. She missed not being in pain.

“Shhh, Buttercup. It’s okay.” Jake soothed from his seat on a little stool right by her head.

One gesture from him and the room silenced. He’d been her rock through this whole ordeal, never once leaving her side, never complaining about not getting any sleep or how hard the couch was. He rubbed her feet and her back, fed her ice chips, snuck her a little snack because frankly the hospital’s No Eating While in Labour rule was fucking barbaric. He wasn’t about to make his wife starve herself for over a day on the off chance that she would need surgery. Without letting go of her hand, he stood and propped himself on the bed in front of her. She had opted to push on her hands and knees. Perhaps not the most dignified position, but it was the one she felt most comfortable in. Or at least, the position she had felt the most comfortable in. Honestly, she hadn’t known comfort in over 12 hours.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed quietly, squeezing his hand as another contraction rocked her body. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.” It wasn’t Jake’s Texan drawl that comforted her now. It was Hangman’s no-nonsense voice that cut through the sleep deprivation and pain. “I know you’re scared, darlin’. I know you’re hurting. I know you want this to be over. You’ve been a fucking rockstar all fucking day and you deserve a break. Now, I’m going to come sit in front of you on the bed, okay?” Jake peeked around at the doctor to make sure it was alright before moving the pillows and sitting against the headboard. “You’re going to put your hands on my shoulders and you’re gonna squeeze so damn tight that you’re going to receive a citation for damaging military property. But you’re going to give us one more big push. Our babies need you right now. Okay?”

Buttercup couldn’t help but nod. Not when she was looking into the beautiful green eyes of the man she loved. She could do this. She could be brave and face the pain, the fear. For him. For their two beautiful babies.

Her next contraction came and went in a flurry of activity. She couldn’t remember the pain or the fear. But she could remember the nurse handing her a squirming baby girl before handing Jake the scissors and letting him cut the cord.

“Baby number 2 is on the way, but you should have a few minutes to cuddle with baby number one before you need to get back to work, mama,” Dr. Friedman smiled at the family of 3 while swapping out her gloves.

“She’s beautiful, darlin’.” Jake pressed a kiss to Buttercup’s sweat-slick forehead. “You still like her name?”

Buttercup nodded, panting heavily as she leaned against him, cradling their daughter between their bodies. “Abigail Juliet Seresin. Want to hold her?”

Jake took the tiny girl in his arms and felt something inside of himself melt. The most perfect little being in the world, and she was half him, half Buttercup. “Hey Abby,” he murmured, hearing a monitor start to beep more rapidly. “I’m your daddy. The total badass that was just holding you is your mama. And your sibling is on their way, I think, so I’m going to pass you off to this lovely nurse to hold you so I can help your mama.”

With one more big push, another flurry of activity, and a sigh of relief, their second daughter entered the world. Jake scooped Buttercup into his arms to help her settle into a more comfortable position before the nurse handed her the second squalling baby. Abby was wrapped in a light pink blanket and deposited in her father’s arms.

“Charlotte…” Buttercup murmured, limbs shaking with exhaustion. “Charlotte Delta Seresin.”

Jake couldn’t help the tear that came to his eye. “They’re perfect. You’re perfect.”

Neither were aware of what the nurses were doing around them, and they didn’t really care. Both were enamoured with their daughters. Their family.

Staring at his three girls, Jake made a vow. A vow that would supersede any he made to the military. He would do whatever it takes to be there for his family. To protect them. He would never, ever stop fighting for them.

London, England, Now

Everything had been packed into her duffle bag. Childcare had been arranged. There had even been a convenient black cab sitting outside of her house. And then…he was there.

“Jake?”

The man in question stood at her front gate, a bouquet of pink roses in one hand and a gym bag in the other. The black cab idling behind him trundled down the street as they stared at each other.

He looked as tired as she felt, and she felt the heavy press of guilt weigh down on her shoulders. She had done that to him. She had left him behind, left Charlie behind, and he had to deal with the consequences of her actions.

One hand lingering on her front gate, he offered a tentative smile. “Hey Buttercup.”

“What…” She swallowed back the emotions suddenly clogging her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, it took about ten seconds for me to realize that I didn’t want you to go. I would’ve been here earlier, but organizing childcare, last-minute flights, someone to take over ranch business…” He sighed and shrugged. “It took a bit to get everything settled. But I’m here now because I realized something.” He reached over and opened the latch to her gate, swinging it open to let himself in. In two strides, he was standing at the foot of her stairs.

“What did you realize?” she murmured.

He handed her the flowers, his hand lingering to give hers a tight squeeze. “I realized that I listened to you give all sorts of reasons for why you couldn’t stay, and I gave you reasons why you could. But I never gave you the reasons why I want you to stay.”

She pulled the flowers up to her nose to give herself a moment to compose herself. Never in a million years did she think that he would follow her. Not when she was the one who left. But there he was, standing on her front stoop in London, giving her flowers and wanting to talk to her.

She sniffled. “Let’s go inside.”

Jake nodded gratefully and stepped up to stand at her back as she fumbled with unlocking the door again. “Is Abby home? I’d love to see her but this conversation…I don’t think it can wait.”

She turned her head back to look at him, so handsome in his red flannel and blue jeans. “She’s at a friend’s house. Bob dropped her off before going to work. Where’s Charlie?” Her heart ached, remembering how Charlie had refused to even meet her gaze as they had packed into the airport taxi.

“With Nat and Javy.”

She nodded and let him into the house, dropping her duffle onto the floor and guiding him into the living room. “I’m just going to get some water for these,” she murmured. “Do you want something to drink?”

Jake shook his head, staring around the room as she disappeared into the kitchen. Being in her space felt natural. Almost like he had been there before. The dark teal walls set off the walnut furniture, and he recognized a few of the paintings hanging from the walls, prints that she had mentioned over a decade ago that she loved. Photos of her family lined the mantlepiece. Most were of Buttercup and Abby, but there were some photos of Bob and Natasha as well. The whole space felt homey, lived in, in a way that he hadn’t expected. He could see why she had wanted to come back. This was a home she had built for herself. He’d be hesitant to give it up too, if he had been in her shoes.

A light clearing of the throat turned his attention back to Buttercup, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Do you want to sit?” She gestured to the soft suede couch, and he took a seat on one end, green eyes following her as she settled into an armchair next to him, a small side table in between them. The silence stretched between them as Buttercup picked her fingernails, staring down at her hands. Jake could only watch her, all the words he wanted to say building up in his chest.

“I’m sorry—”

“I wanted to tell you—”

Their words mixed together in a jumble until they stopped and grinned at each other, embarrassment painting their features.

“Do…do you want to go first?” Jake offered, noting the almost desperate look in her eyes.

She nodded; eyes fixed on her fingernails. “I’m sorry. I never…I mean, it wasn’t supposed to. Jake, what I’m trying to say is…” She nearly growled in frustration. “I was going to type up everything I wanted to say to you on the flight and memorize it so that this wouldn’t happen.”

“Flight? You were coming to see me?” He could feel the hope blossoming in his chest, and he fought to push it down, smother it so as to not scare her off.

“I…” she blushed. “Yeah. I wanted to talk to you. How I left…it wasn’t fair. To you or Charlie or Abby. I wanted to clear the air…maybe, try to fix things. If you wanted to.”

A small grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I want to.”

Her responding smile was a weak, nervous thing, and he reached out his hand to grasp hers. “I’m sorry, too.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he squeezed her hand, silently urging her to let him speak. “I probably shouldn’t have taken you to bed that night. Not because I didn’t want to. God, I wanted to. I’d basically been white knuckling it since I dove into that hotel pool after you, and when you told me to kiss you, I kinda lost my grip.”

“You lost your grip?” Her voice was incredulous, and he grinned in response.

“You’ve always been able to knock me off my game, Buttercup. It’s one of the things I love most about you.” He smiled at her, squeezing her hand as she blushed. “But I should’ve known what that would do to you, to us. Especially since we didn’t get a chance to talk about it and what it meant.”

She nodded, tilting her head to look at him. “What…what did it mean?”

He huffed a sigh, leaning his head back against the suede sofa. “Jesus, Buttercup…it meant everything to me. Holding you again, feeling you again…” He sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. “It felt like things were finally back to normal. I woke up with you in my arms again after almost 12 years. I got to kiss your cheek that morning as I snuck out of bed to make our family breakfast. I got to hang out with both my daughters. We were planning a full day of fun family activities, and it felt so fucking domestic that the Jake from 15 years ago probably would’ve punched me in the dick for being so soft.” He grinned at the soft rasp of her chuckle. “And yeah, I was pretty pissed off when you told me you were leaving. I saw my daughter hurting and I was hurting, and I lashed out at you.”

“I deserved it.”

He was already shaking his head before she could get the words out. “Not like that, you didn’t. I basically told you the same shit I did 12 years ago when you told me you wanted to take the job out here. I didn’t listen to you. And looking at this place, who can blame you for wanting to come back?” He looked around again, wishing the walls could talk. Wishing they would tell him stories of the 12 years he missed out on because he was such a stubborn prick. “You built a life for yourself and Abby out here. You should be proud.”

“And you should hate me.” Her words, gasped out through a sob, brought his attention back to her like a shot. “I abandoned you again. I couldn’t keep my shit together long enough to have a real, adult conversation with you because I was so fucking scared that, if I did, I would stay. We would stay and things would be so fucking good between us, because they were also so fucking good between us, and then the other shoe would drop and I would end up hurt again, except this time Abby would choose you because I’m the monster who keeps fucking up, so I would end up all alone, and I’ve worked so hard to be okay with being alone but I don’t think I would be able to recover from being with you again.” Hot tears streaked down her cheeks, her breaths coming out in heavy pants as she tried to catch her breath. “And I was so damn scared of being vulnerable with you, but it was so damn easy to fall back in step beside you. The dinner, and the football game, and the party, and all these little moments where I found myself slipping, found myself having to remind myself that we weren’t married anymore, and it was scary.” She mopped at her eyes with the sleeves of her oversized sweater and sniffled. “I like who I am better when I’m with you. The scary things aren’t so scary when you’re by my side.” Her admission was so quiet that he had to lean in to hear her. “But needing you like that? I knew it would only hurt me more if I let myself need you again and lost you anyway.”

“You’re not going to lose me again,” he murmured, thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand.

“You don’t know that.”

“What I know…” He tugged her hand so that she turned to face him. “What I know is that I’m going to fight for you, fight to keep you in my life again. Because I like who I am better when I’m with you too. I’m less of a condescending prick when you’re around. I don’t take stupid, unnecessary risks when I know that I’ve got you to go home to. I don’t…” He cleared his throat, ready to admit the one thing he had never spoken aloud to anyone, not even his therapist. “I don’t feel the pull to get back in the air when I know that the best thing in my life is on the ground. I just never realized that until I lost you.” With another tug at her hand, he pulled her onto the couch beside him. “I told you that I gave you all sorts of reasons why you could stay, but I never told you why I wanted you to stay.” He raised a hand to brush the tears from her watery eyes, broad palm cupping her cheek. “I want you to stay because of how warm and happy the house feels when you’re in it. I want you to stay because of how much lighter Charlie is with you in her life. I want you to stay because you make Rooster less of a miserable dick.” Her snort of laughter made him paused, heart warming at the sound. “I want you to stay because my life hasn’t been the same since you walked out of our home that night, divorce papers signed on the kitchen table with your wedding ring on top.” His thumb skimmed across her cheekbone, and he let those words that were burning in his chest escape. “I want you to stay because I love you and I want to give us another chance.”

Buttercup crumpled into his chest, Jake’s arms going around her to hold her close as the words sank in. He felt safe and warm. He felt like home.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours. Jake only moved to go get Buttercup a glass of water from her kitchen. That had been another peek into her life here. The walls were a light burgundy, cabinets a light grey with silver fixtures and appliances. When he returned, he pressed the glass into her hand before allowing her to curl up into him again, her tears starting to clear.

“How don’t you hate me? I hate me.” Her quiet, ragged voice broke their silence.

“I think maybe that’s the problem,” he murmured, pressing a quiet kiss to her hair. “I never hated you. I tried to, but the more I tried, the less I hated you. It was like…by trying to rationalize hating you, I ended up playing Devil’s advocate for why you left.” He chuckled quietly. “I kept coming to your defence against myself. I guess I just don’t have it in me to hate you. But you…” His firm but gentle hand traced her cheek before tipping her chin up to meet his gaze. “You’ve always been harder on yourself than anyone around you. And I get that. I practically invented that. Part of what made me fall in love with you is that you have the same drive to be perfect, to be the best at everything. That’s what made me the best at Top Gun. That’s what’s made you an award-winning author and a fucking incredible mother. When you got sick, I think maybe you kept blaming yourself for it not being perfect, which only made it worse?”

Buttercup nodded against his fingers on her chin and sighed. “My therapist and I talked about it a lot. I’ve been working on letting go of trying to be perfect, but it’s hard to reconcile with. I did a lot of damage.”

“So did I,” Jake murmured back. “I was basically a team pariah before you came along and turned me into a half decent human being. And maybe if I had admitted to someone—to Mav or Penny or my grandfather—that we needed help, that we were struggling, then maybe I could’ve gotten us both help before divorce became the only option. But living in Texas, having my grandfather around, it really helped. When I was struggling, he told me that I had to work on forgiving myself for letting us fall apart. It took a long time, longer than it should have.” He chuckled morosely and ran a hand over his hair. “Mav always used to tell us that we couldn’t afford to think in the cockpit. That we had to act on instinct and not get caught up in our mistakes. Letting you go, getting divorced? Those are the mistakes that I could never move past. Maybe because I knew I needed to fix them? I don’t know. But I was finally able to forgive myself for the part that I played. And this isn’t going to work if you don’t do the same.”

Fresh tears spilled over Buttercup’s cheeks. “But what if we do try again and it doesn’t work?”

“What if it does work?” He tugged her close and brushed away her tears. “What if it does work and it ends up being incredible?” He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, reveling in the way she melted against him at the simple touch. “Don’t you think it’s worth it to try?”

Lips trembling, Buttercup met Jake’s green gaze. “You’re worth it,” she whispered through her tears. “You always have been. I just don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You won’t.” Jake’s soft, Texan drawl brooked no argument. “We’ve worked through our crap. We know what to look out for. We know how to communicate better than we did before. And we’ve got a whole team behind us who want us to succeed.” He smiled down at her, so soft and full of love that the last of Buttercup’s defences melted away. “I love you, Buttercup. I always have and I always will. I know we’ve got a ton of logistical bullshit to figure out, like where to live and—”

“Actually—” Buttercup cut him off with a small, sheepish grin. “I might have talked to my company before you got here.”

Jake went impossibly still. “You did?”

She shrugged shyly. “Bob made a good point. I’m the one with the awards, I’m the one with my name on the covers of the books. I should be the one in charge. So…I pointed that out to them. And after a few ultimatums and making one of the lawyers cry, we were able to come to an agreement.” The hope in Jake’s eyes made her chest ache. She reached out and trailed a soft hand over his cheek. “I might have to keep some strange hours, and I need to come back for in-person meetings once a quarter, but otherwise…they’re alright with me working from home. In Texas.”

Jake’s responding whoop of excitement had her covering her ears for all of a second before he scooped her off the couch and spun her around.

“Whoa, whoa, easy cowboy!” Buttercup laughed, hands on his broad chest to steady herself.

“You’re sure this is okay with you?” Jake breathed; face so close to hers that his breath fanned over her.

“I…I want to try again.” Buttercup teared up as she said the words, but she knew them to be true. The truest words she had ever spoken. “I love you, Jake Seresin. I don’t think I ever stopped. And I want to move to Texas to try this again with you.”

Jake’s smile was more brilliant than the Sun. “As you wish, Buttercup.”

Buttercup launched herself into his arms, the arms that had held her and kept her safe for so long, as she heard a key jangle in the door.

“Mum?”

“Abby, darling, I told you. Your mother has gone on a little trip. She will be back soon.” Genevieve’s lilting voice held no admonishment, only reminder.

“We’re in here,” Buttercup called through a laugh, head buried in Jake’s chest.

“Mum?” She could hear Abby coming closer. “Did you miss your flight? Where were you go—DAD!” Not willing to let go of his Buttercup, Jake extended an arm and wrapped Abby up into their embrace. “What are you doing here? Where’s Charlie? What’s going on? Mum, why are you crying?”

Buttercup gently soothed her through her tears, a bright smile on her face. “Shh, babe. It’s alright. I was going to go back to Texas to talk things through with your father, but he beat me here. And…” She smiled brightly at Jake. “I think we came to a solution that will make everyone happy.”

“Oh, that is wonderful news!” Genevieve cooed from her place in the doorway.

Jake turned to smile at her and stilled. “Buttercup?”

“Yeah?”

“Why is a French supermodel standing in your living room?”

The three ladies laughed at Jake’s astonished face. “You must be Jake Seresin. I have heard so much about you from Robert.” Genevieve extended one perfectly manicured hand out and he shook it dazedly.

“Robert?”

“Did I hear my name?” Bob’s voice called from the front door. A few steps brought him to the living room, where he wrapped an arm around Genevieve’s shoulders. “Hi sweetheart.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek and Jake’s mouth dropped even further.

“Bonjour, mon amour.”

Jake tilted his head to whisper in Buttercup’s ear. “Your brother is dating a French supermodel?”

Before she could do more than giggle, Buttercup heard her front door open again.

“You know, y’all should really change the locks after someone moves out.” Natasha’s voice boomed through the house. “I know it’s only been like two days but c’mon.”

Buttercup’s head whipped towards Jake. “I thought you said Charlie was with Nat and Javy?”

He grinned, so cocky and self-assured. “I did. I just never said where Charlie, Nat and Javy were.” He pressed a small kiss to her cheek. “You didn’t think that I would fly across an ocean to visit my wife and leave our daughter home alone, did you?”

Buttercup flushed because, well, that’s exactly what she had been planning to do.

“We’re in here!” Abby shouted, practically vibrating with excitement.

Charlie bounded around the corner and, without hesitation, launched herself at her mother. “I’m sorry!” she cried. “I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye!”

Gasping for breath, Buttercup wrapped her arms around her daughter and squeezed. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m the one who is so sorry. I shouldn’t have left. I was scared.”

Charlie nuzzled into her mother’s chest. “Scared?”

“Yeah, honey.” Buttercup reached out an arm and pulled Abby close too. “But I’m not anymore. Your dad and I talked, and he helped me realize that I can’t let my fears rule my life. It’s not fair to anyone.”

“And what does that mean?” Bob asked, one hand resting on Genevieve’s back. He reached over to hug Natasha close as she came further into the house, Javy in tow.

“Yeah, I’d like to know that myself.” Nat cocked an eyebrow at her.

“It means…” She smiled over at Jake, who couldn’t help himself. He pressed a slow, sweet kiss to her lips, feeling everything in his life click into place, like the puzzle that was his life was finally complete. “It means that we’re going home. We have a lot of work to do, and it might not be perfect, but it’s worth it. We are worth it.”

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