#obnoxiously annoying storm fans

[somethingformyself]

THE X-MEN ARE MORE THAN 1 CHARACTER!!!

FUCK YOU & YOUR FAVES!

THE X-MEN ARE MORE THAN 1 CHARACTER!

Don't watch the show or read the comics if you can't handle seeing other characters shine. There were only 10 episodes, but somehow, YOUR FAVE needed to be in every scene?

[heesdreamer]

SUNSHINE

PAIRING ➩ basketball player heeseung x cheerleader reader

WARNINGS ➩ um its super rough smut lol

WC ➩ 5k

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ i hate both short works and straight smut but i guess that vlog got to me so here you go NOT PROOFREAD also i don’t like writing the boys completely out of character and i do not think hs would say or do half of these things lol but for the sake of the story

“You might just be the least positive cheerleader of all time.”

You were turning your head to the side to glare at the voice suddenly appearing from your left, sighing and rolling your eyes when you spotted who it was and going back to your position with your arms crossed on the side of the court as the game continued on.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be all smiley and ‘go team’?” Heeseung was continuing on even though you were clearly ignoring him, something you did every time he attempted to bug you during the games and rile you up enough to get a reaction.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on the court and not sat next to me on the bench?” You were snapping back at him and you quickly glanced at him before looking away when you saw the familiar smirk creeping up on his face.

Heeseung was definitely not a bench warmer, far from it considering he was practically the star of your schools basketball team and he knew you were aware of this. That still didn’t stop him from occasionally allowing the coach to switch him out so he could come and sit near the cheerleaders, seemingly finding a lot of mid game entertainment in you and your cold reactions.

You’d gone to school with him for most of your life but you never really noticed him until high school started and you joined the cheerleading team under the pressuring words of your mom.

She’d been one when she was your age and she claimed it to be the sole reason she loved high school, the place where she met all of her friends and eventually your father when he transferred their junior year. You’d pretty much expected to be forced into it since you were a child and now on your fourth and final year, you were more so just going through the motions.

Your stoic, and borderline aggressive, personality mixed with the image of you in a small glittery skirt and your hair sporting a giant obnoxious bow in your schools representative colors, seemed to catch the attention of the star player and he hadn’t left you alone since.

“When would I get to talk to you if I wasn’t on the bench?” He was leaning sideways towards you and you frowned softly, trying to ignore him and the stupid smirk sticking to his face now. “It’s not like you stop for me in the hallways.”

“Have you tried taking a hint?” You were once again harshly spitting the words at him and you felt a bit frustrated with yourself for not being able to keep your composure like normal, already stressed from an intense workload and the building pressure of graduation as it approached. “Why can’t you go bother your fan club, I’m sure they’d be more than willing.”

Heeseung definitely didn’t have the same concerns as you and you didn’t necessarily blame him. It isn’t his fault he was immediately offered full ride sport scholarships to multiple different schools and as much as you hated to admit it, he worked hard for his success and he deserved it.

That fact still didn’t make it any less annoying that he was constantly bugging you with his quick comments about your attitude or his countless attempts to flirt with you, asking for your number or sending you Valentine’s Day singing grams every year since you’d met, even though you’d stormed into the cafeteria freshman year and dumped his soda on his head for humiliating you.

He hadn’t gotten upset and started to dislike you like you had hoped for, instead he smiled and moved his wet hair out of his face before asking if you liked the flowers he’d left at your locker.

“Why would I do that? You know you’re my favorite, sunshine.” His tone was lower now and the nickname fell from his lips casually, routine by now considering how much he said it despite the fact you told him to knock it off every single time he used it.

You were sparing him once last glare before turning back towards the game and ignoring the fact he was a lot closer to you now, one small sideways scoot away from being off the bench and on the same bleacher seat you were on.

He was persistent to a point that you could almost admire and you’d never be foolish enough to deny that he was almost stupidly attractive but that didn’t change anything for you. You had too many differences for you to be truly interested and it didn’t help that he smelt like sweat almost every single time you saw him.

Plus, you weren’t lying about his fan club and you already had to deal with numerous sharp glares and mean whispers throughout the years and that was without you reciprocating the interest.

You’d long associated the boy with negative things so it was pretty common for you to greet his smiley face with an eye roll or a straight up sneer, trying your hardest to ignore him but typically falling into a small session of half bickering half flirting before he was giving up again and leaving you to sit and seethe. You couldn’t even escape him at home either, something you were especially aware of right now.

It was two hours into trying to get some homework done and your patience was wearing thin the longer the sound of the basketball outside continued on.

You just so happened to be in the universes shit list and you lived directly across from a park in the neighborhood. You’d been excited when you first moved in, being able to play constantly when you were younger and eventually developing it into a nice place to sit and relax after school. You would have solo picnics under one of the big trees or just go and listen to music laying in the grass.

That is until Lee Heeseung also moved into the neighborhood, starting off your sophomore year with a big obnoxious moving truck on the other side of the park and what followed nearly drove you insane.

He was outside nearly every single day after school and practice, no matter if it was cold or hot, rain or snow. What once had been a calming spot for you to unwind was quickly overtaken by the sound of rubber against cement and you stopped going the day he started.

Sometimes he’d wave at you from the court, catching sight of you glaring down at him from your open bedroom window, but he never made any attempts to talk to you or invite you to join him unlike he did in school and neither of you ever mentioned the fact you were neighbors during your little moments of heated conversation. You learned to ignore him over time but you were particularly stressed recently and before you knew it you were letting out an annoyed yell before marching out of your room.

You’d barely processed the fact you were moving as you tugged a hoodie over your head and slipped on your boots, heading out the door and slamming it as you passed through.

Some of your fire had disappeared by the time you were actually pushing out into the cold night air and crossing the empty street, your steps becoming more hesitant as you entered the park and approached the basketball court, realizing you were going to have to actually speak to him. He didn’t look over as you got closer and your frown appeared again at the sweat gleaming from his skin, his neck red and agitated like he was pushing himself past his limit.

“Do you ever go home?” You were asking before you had decided it was a good idea and you were almost as surprised as he was to hear your voice, jumping slightly at the same time he did as he whipped around to look at you.

He looked confused for a second when he saw you standing there on the court with your hands stuffed in your pockets but when he seemingly processed it was you, he was breaking into a small smile.

You watched him as he continued to pant and try and catch his breath to be able to respond to you, sighing in the meantime and taking a few step backwards so you could sit on one of the benches and stare up at him in the middle of the court.

“Almost didn’t recognize you without your pretty little skirt, sunshine.” His response was eventually coming and it immediately pulled an eye roll from you despite the fact your stomach flipped as he took a few steps in your direction, tucking his basketball under his arm routinely and watching you with amusement and interest.

“Yeah well…” You couldn’t think of a good comeback as he continued to get closer and you inwardly blamed it on the cold.

“Did you come to cheer me on?” He was asking in a soft voice but it had a mocking hint to it, not necessarily mean but potentially bitter and you stared up at him as his eyebrow cocked. “My own personal cheerleader?”

You were trying to get a good read on his expression but it wasn’t making any sense to you, his face lacking it’s usual lightheartedness and almost looking conflicted as he watched you and seemingly waited for you to finally think of a witty response. You didn’t have one, thrown off by both his strange demeanor and having a conversation in an unfamiliar place and you couldn’t tell if he was pleased or disappointed at your sudden loss for words.

He wasn’t saying anything further and you would’ve sighed in relief if it wasn’t for the fact he was watching you so intensely, eventually sitting beside you on the bench and you tensed up when you felt his thigh pressing against yours.

“You didn’t have to stop playing.” You were eventually muttering and you would’ve been more self conscious about your out of character behavior if he wasn’t already being so strange.

“Yeah I did.” He was sighing and you turned your head to look at him, being met with his side profile as he stared straight ahead towards the court and ignored the fact you were staring at him. “You’re a distraction.”

A laugh was bursting from your lips accidentally, almost a scoff and you cut it off short by covering your mouth and giggling out an apology when he shot you a sideways glare. You were shaking your head and trying to gather yourself before clearing your throat softly. “You see me every time you play, never been a distraction then.”

“Are you kidding me?” Now it was his turn to laugh but it was a lot more dry than yours and almost sarcastic sounding, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually said that. “You don’t think seeing you in that outfit every game is a distraction?”

He was finally looking at you now and your face flushed at how close that made you, nearly touching noses if either of you leaned forward slightly but you stayed perfectly still and scanned over his face as you tried to take in his words. You would’ve thought he was joking around and doing his usual rounds of mindless flirting but his tone was flat and his face remained serious, even as you watched him curiously.

You weren’t exactly sure how to respond and your words felt caught in your dry throat, letting down your guard for just a second too long and being struck with nerves.

“A good distraction?” You were eventually pushing out and your voice lifted in a curious tilt, his serious face breaking into a small smile again at the sound of your soft question and hesitant tone, two things he rarely heard from you.

“Yeah sunshine, it’s good.”

——

You spent the next two days avoiding Heeseung as much as you can, having ended the night in some more whispered small talk before he was resuming practice and you were eventually slipping off back to your house once the cold became too much for your hands and nose.

It was weirdly nice to watch him play in a place where he wasn’t obviously trying to show off and under the pressures of competition, watching the skillful way he moved and the sweat that continued to reflect off his deep tanned skin despite the bitter cold touching on yours.

You still felt awkward for having interrupted him and it didn’t help that you had finally played into his flirting for once, mistakenly letting your guard down once you saw him in a more neutral environment and you felt extremely embarrassed about the whole entire encounter. You were telling yourself it had nothing to do with the fact he made your face flush every time he leaned closer or the way your stomach flipped as he talked about your skirt distracting him.

Sadly, you couldn’t stay away from him for long considering a school year quarter pep rally was approaching and everybody involved needed to come to the gymnasium to practice together, including both the cheerleaders and the basketball team.

You frequented the gym a lot more regularly than other students and were pretty used to being in front of a crowd or performing routines to all of your peers but you could tell some of the clubs who would be involved were feeling nervous, striking up conversation with one of the boys from the dance club to try and ease his nerves.

The conversation was entirely friendly and even a little bit awkward considering you barely knew him and he was a lot younger than you but little did you know, Heeseung was watching you from across the gym and making his own assumptions about the interaction.

You completely missed the way his jaw was clenching as he watched the two of you laugh, you instinctively leaning forward and touching the boys arm as a comforting gesture and giving further reason for the hard glare being sent your way from the other side of the room. It didn’t help that you hadn’t been speaking to him and had went right back to actively avoiding him, he’d been overthinking it and looking forward to talking to you about his worries today since you had to be in close proximity.

So it was driving him crazy that you still hadn’t approached him and even worse, you were too caught up in a conversation with some kid he didn’t bother to place a name to.

Eventually the first round of practice was going to start soon and Heeseung watched as your coach said something to you briefly, stared as you nodded in acceptance and then wandered off to go and gather whatever it was that she had asked for.

He was following behind you without even thinking about it, completely ignoring the calls from his teammates asking where he was going and urging him to hurry up before the run through started. You were heading back towards the storage lockers where there was plenty of extra balls and uniforms, anything that might be needed during a game or an event.

You were barely thinking about the basketball player during this whole time, too distracted with the busyness of the day, but he immediately came to mind when you felt something pressing up against you from behind after entering the storage room that was tucked behind the large indoor bleachers.

“What are you doing?” You were grumbling out to him in your usual annoyed tone even though your stomach was flipping at the fact he was actually touching you for once, something he rarely did despite his constant advances.

He wasn’t fully pressed against you but just enough so that you could feel his clothing near yours, you could sense his large frame looming over you and practically caging you in near the wall you’d been passing when he arrived. You shifted slightly so you could turn your head to look over your shoulder and glare up at him when he didn’t respond.

“Who’s the kid?” He was responding and his voice was lower than usual, lacking it’s typical lightness and humor that came along whenever he felt like teasing you.

“Don’t be jealous of a freshman, it’s not a good look on you.” You were shaking your head and sighing, turning back to look at the shelf and try your best to ignore him despite your alarming awareness to how close the two of you were.

It was only increasing when his hand was finally touching you, snaking forward and resting against your hip in a way that caused your breath to catch in your throat, making you lose your nonchalant demeanor for just a split second before you were attempting to compose yourself again. He was just holding onto your hip, his hand large enough that his fingertips were pressing into your stomach.

You didn’t say anything as he touched you and you still didn’t when he was tugging you backwards softly, pulling your bottom half against his instead of fully pressing against you. Your eyes fluttered shut for a second at the feeling of him but you didn’t want him to see the obvious effect he had over you.

You were wearing a hoodie over your cheerleading uniform and half of his hand was underneath it so he could feel the hem of your skirt properly, bunching up the thick fabric around his arm slightly. He’d only pulled your lower half backwards so you were partially bent over now, barely enough to be noticiable but the implication made your cheeks burn.

“Why would I be jealous?” He was finally asking and his voice didn’t cut the tension at all, if anything worsening it. “Wasn’t him you were thinking about when you put this on.”

A scoff was falling from your lips at his sudden claim, despite how true it was considering you’d stared in the mirror particularly long this morning thinking about Heeseung calling you a distraction. Your careless attitude wasn’t holding too strong especially since he was squeezing your hip bone softly, your body instinctively pushing back further against him and causing your breath to stutter.

You felt slightly dizzy from the feeling of him against you so intimately, mixed with the fact that he had obviously been jealous over something as simple as you having a conversation. It should’ve annoyed you like it normally did but your heart raced slightly instead and you placed your hands against the wall subconsciously.

He took that as a cue to bend you over more, bringing his other hand up to your empty hip and using both of them to tug you fully backwards by the waist so you were flushed against him.

“Why are you wearing this?” He was suddenly asking and you were confused for a second before you felt him tugging on your large hoodie, childish annoyance in his tone at the fact most of your uniform was covered up.

You laughed softly at his whining, your voice embarrassingly affected and breathless. “Didn’t want to be a distraction.”

“That’s bullshit, you like knowing I’m watching you.” He was mumbling again now and it almost sounded like he was talking to himself, not really caring if you heard him. He was taking another step forward now and you could feel him more now, your head falling forward at the realization he was hard against you. “You’d let me take you right here, wouldn’t you?”

You considered not answering for a second and lowering his ego but he was slightly shifting backwards and releasing the pressure and a wave of panic ran through you.

“Yes yes I would.” You were rushing out and moving backwards to try and feel him again, ignoring the soft chuckle he gave and the way he squeezed your desperate hips in amusement. “You know I would.”

“Always so mean to me sunshine.” His voice was mocking again like it was the other night at the park and you were slightly thrown off by his change of demeanor, not expecting the roughness from the boy who was always big smiles and loud laughter everytime you’d seen him. He was bordering mean at times with his rough touches and provoking voice but you didn’t mind it at all, knowing you’d be dripping down your thighs if you were less clothed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry for being mean Hee.” Your voice was high and whiny but you were too turned on to be embarrassed, knowing how pathetic you must look.

“Show me how sorry you are.” He was instructing and you paused for a second, not exactly sure what he meant until he was lessening his hold on your hips. “Fuck yourself against me.”

Your breath was catching in your throat again and you let out a soft whine, one of your hands on the wall sliding down it slightly as you almost lost your balance.

He wasn’t exactly radiating patience and you were beyond desperate so you wasted no time in giving him what he wanted, pushing yourself back against him harder and crying out when you felt that he wanted it as much as you did, almost painfully hard now. His hips instinctively moved forward to meet yours but he immediately froze and stopped, letting you do all the work as you continued to roll your hips against him and try to get some sort of relief.

It wasn’t nearly enough for you, barely enough pressure for you to feel him and imagine how deep he would feel inside you but not enough to actually help you out in your building desperation, overwhelmed with longing for him as your hand fell off the wall and reach back to grab into his wrist.

“Please, I need you to touch me please.” You were begging him and a soft cry sunk into your voice, your head spinning with how bad you wanted to feel him anywhere.

“Fuck look at you.” He was grunting out before caving into your request, pulling you up softly and walking forward so now your entire body was pressed against the wall.

The cement was cold on your cheek and it would’ve been too uncomfortable if it wasn’t for the immediate distraction he was providing, his large hand slipping under your hoodie and aggressively groping your chest. His knuckles must’ve been rubbing against the wall but he didn’t show any signs of caring about the pain, twisting your hard nipple in his fingers and humping himself against you.

Your head was falling backwards to land on his shoulder, panting and letting out streams of high pitched whines as he roughly played with your mounds and thrusted against your skirt covered core.

He was using his free hand to reach over and grip your chin, holding it tightly between his fingers and turning your face so he could sloppily kiss you from where you laid on his shoulder. You were happily humming into his mouth despite the amateurish way you were moving against each other, more combined teeth and swapped spit than an actual kiss.

You could feel it dripping down your chin as he licked into your mouth, completely filthy and dirtier than you ever imagined him being. It was driving you absolutely insane and you’d completely forgotten about where you were or the fact people were expecting you back, the door not locked and accesible to anyone who came looking for you.

“Want you inside me Hee, please.” You were crying out into the kiss and he was only pulling back enough so you could speak, watching you with hooded eyes and parted lips and he tried to catch his breath and process what you were begging for. “I need you so bad, I can’t breathe.”

“Want me to fuck you sunshine?” His mocking tone was back and he squeezed your chest aggressively to emphasize his words, rutting against you in a sharp thrust that sent you harder into the wall again. He ignored your shocked cry and did it again before laying another wet kiss against your mouth. “Tell me baby, go on and beg for me.”

“I’ll do anything please, anything.” You were nearly sobbing now as you desperately tried to appeal to him, rocking yourself backwards into his hard cock to try and get him riled up enough to snap. “Need your cock in me so bad, do anything.”

Your words were slurred and mainly gibberish by now but it seemed to be enough for him, he cursed under his breath as he watched you desperately beg for him and you barely had time to process the fact he was moving before he was tugging down his basketball shorts and pressing your face against the wall again.

You moaned sharply into the cold cement and you were grateful it muffled it slightly considering you only got louder once he was roughly pulling up your skirt, ripping down your panties in one go and not bothering to warn or prep you before he was pressing the head of his hard cock against your entrance.

“Next time I’ll take my time with you, make you fall apart for me slow.” He was muttering in your ear as he lined himself up, pressing forward slightly and covering your mouth with his head when you let out a loud cry. “Can’t wait anymore though, gonna fuck you like the slut you are.”

You were nodding enthusiastically at his demeaning words, the more coherent part of you fluttering with butterflies at the fact he was already thinking about a next time that wasn’t so rushed. You had no issue with him simply fucking you now, feeling like you’d die if he spent another second teasing you or building up to it.

He was finally pushing himself fully inside you and your legs would’ve gave out if it wasn’t for his arm that was snaking around your stomach and his heavy weight pressing you against the wall, practically suffocating you as you lost your breath from the feeling of his complete length inside of you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He was hissing out between gritted teeth and you instinctively clenched around him at the comment, satisfaction rolling through you when he groaned at the feeling. “No idea how long I thought about this.”

“Then show me.” You were snapping out, immediately hearing him laugh as your usual attitude resurfaced for a second, quickly growing impatient the longer he stayed still inside of you.

You were quickly taking back any anger you had when he was pulling out of you, almost all the way, before slamming his entire length back in. You could feel him so deep that you almost couldn’t catch a breath, bucking forward and your mouth parting in a silent cry that was immediately interrupted when he started to fuck into you at a fast pace.

He gave you no time to adjust to his thick size and you were grateful for it, the rough burn of him stretching you being exactly what you needed after years of bickering and teasing with him. It was beyond what you could’ve imagined, all that tension finally bursting into relief as he fucked you so rough you’d surely be coated in bruised by the time the pep rally actually rolled around.

You’d gone completely dumb and you knew he had too, holding his composure just enough to continue his aggressive thrust but losing all ability to tease you or make more comments towards your behavior.

He was holding you tightly against him and you almost wished you were somewhere more private so you could see him undressed, suddenly overcome with the need to feel his skin against yours and be completely covered in his warmth. You tried to ignore the unusually soft thought towards him and focus on how good he was making you feel, the familiar tight coil building in your stomach as he continued to fuck into you deep and rough.

“Please please.” You were begging again but you weren’t even sure what for at this point, your mouth just moving on instinctively so he didn’t stop under any circumstances.

“I know baby I know.” His voice was more gentle than it had been before but still just as tight and overwhelmed, definitely reaching the end rapidly himself like you were and trying his hardest to prolong it considering how good you felt as you kept getting tighter and tighter around him. “Squeezing my cock so good sunshine, you’re so perfect for me.”

“For you, just for you.” You were quickly responding to the casual possessiveness he had showed and this seemed to affect him more than anything, his hips faltering for a second in their assault before he was fucking into you even harder than you thought was possible. He clearly liked hearing you claim yourself as his own and you felt overwhelming dizzy at the realization.

It was a complete blur now as he fucked into you, coming undone faster than you ever had before and blacking out for a few seconds from the pleasure of him doing the same inside of you. You were too out of your head to care about the fact he had came inside of you and you didn’t even think about it.

You were immediately worried it would be awkward once you were coming back to your senses but then you processed the fact that Heeseung was placing soft kisses against your neck, turning you around gently so you were finally facing him and you felt a bit emotional from how kind he was being now after he’d just taken you so aggressively.

You were definitely in some sort of dropped space after the intensity you’d just been through because you were kissing him suddenly, happy you’d had him in that way but now feeling like you’d missed out on seeing him from this point of view.

He was grateful accepting the kiss and tugging you forward by your lower back, the same place he’d been holding but very different context now as he softly moved his mouth against yours and brushed your hair out of your face.

“Are you going to let me take you on a date now?” He was asking into the kiss and you pulled back to laugh softly, laying your head down on his shoulder and feeling the way they lifted as he chuckled at your reaction.

“Yeah hotshot… I’m sure we can work that out.”

[lonelystarrs]

He’d Never Admit It…

You hated Gojo Satoru and he had a funny way of making it up to you.

♡ part one ♡ part two ♡ part three ?

Senior high school Gojo x FemReader

Warnings: 18+ NSWF . Bullying . Gojo being annoying . Oral receiving (fem) . Sexual Theme. Minors DNI.

God you hated him.

The worst part is Gojo Satoru knew this.

He knew he bothered you and he used it to his advantage, his constant teasing and taunting, his ability to pop up wherever you were with timing that was almost suspicious. He knew when to appear, he knew how to push your buttons and he loved it.

Winding you up was enjoyable for him. He’d done it since he met you when he was sixteen and you got paired together for a small project. Even now at eighteen he wasn’t showing signs of letting up on what you’d call bullying, he was sure he’d miss it when you both finished senior high school, after all this was your last year so he was determined to carry it through until the end.

He’d pull your hair in the corridor, your head jerking back and almost falling backwards from the sudden unbalance, your arms would fly out in front of you as to try to balance yourself again. Sometimes he’d tug so hard you would fall back on your ass by his feet, he’d lean over you with his hands in his pockets. He could have caught you -but he never did.

“I’m handsome from all angles right?,”

Or

“What’cha doing down there?”

Would be his way of acknowledging it, of taunting you about it knowing full well it was his fault.

Thankfully you rarely did fall. More often you’d spin around he would also look around suspiciously like he was trying to find the source that did it.

“Did you see that? It disappeared around the corner!”

“I know that was you asshole!”

Gasping dramatically his hand flew to his heart, faking a pained expression at your accusation and insult.

“It was not! I’d never do such a thing, the only time I’m gonna pull your hair is if I’m behind you and-“

“-Shut up!”

You’d sputter loudly storm off flustered and he would cackle, you’d hear it even over your own stomping because it was the most obnoxious noise you’d ever hear in your life. 80 year old you would still stand by that you were sure of it, this pricks laugh would haunt you forever.

“Yo Satoru, picking on the weak again?”

You’d hear Geto as he joined his friend, after all he was never far behind. He’d let it happen even if he thought Gojo was going too far, even if you ended up with tears glistening in your eyes from Gojo telling you that you were weak and should give up. But Suguru never seen that Satoru wasn’t far behind to wipe the tears away in his own way.

You hated that he worked his way under your skin in a way that made you rattle on the inside until you physically felt like you were going to burst. How the combination of hate and frustration rose you to a level of frustrated need only he could give you. He’d wind you up to the point of tears only to kiss them away and lull you into releasing your emotions on him.

You hated those blue eyes that everyone loved -that everyone worshiped. You hated them even as they peered at you over the rim of his glasses, that were currently steaming up from his breath fanning against your clothed core. His tongue working a circle around your clit as his large hands pushed your skirt up to your hips.

“See? You’re so wet you sooo wanted this. Annnnnd y’wore these pretty panties knowin’ they’re my favourite on you~! So risky wearing these to school all f’me.”

“I-I didn’t wear them for you!”

“Oh? Y’wanna let all the other students to see what a slut you are wearing these during classes huh?”

“S-Shut up asshole!”

Gojo chuckled, feeling it vibrate on his tongue against you as he gave an opened mouth grin, blue eyes dancing in amusement.

You rolled your eyes and huffed out in annoyance, the hand in his hair gripped as you pushed him against you again, the legs over his shoulders resting down his back pressed him forward muffling his laugh. -He loved it when you stood up against him like this, took control and almost made him into a little pet. Maybe it was a phase he was going through as being dominated wasn’t his thing, after all he had a god complex and liked being known as one of the strongest around.

But there was just something about when you took the reins like this, it kinda made him feel better for upsetting you. Maybe it was a silent apology for pushing you too much again, maybe it was him saying that even though he is your source of upset that he can be the one to also be the source of your high.

He’d make you feel better, he’d always make you feel better.

He’d carry on teasing you everyday until you got so angry it would crumble into this situation -on the desk in your class room, in janitor cupboards or anywhere he could pull you in that was risky because he was cocky about it.

Your makeup had smudged slightly at your eyes from you crying earlier, his cheek still stung from the slap to his face and the hollowing of his chest over seeing you crying hadn’t quite left yet.

But it always got you where he wanted you -between your legs whether that be his face or his own hips nestled against yours watching you cry out under him.

Pushing that silly little skirt up to your waist, opening your shirt just enough to pull the flimsy bra down to suck on a nipple, just enough to watch one bouncing with each thrust.

He’d never tell you he lost his virginity to you, he’d never tell you that each time with you meant something and he’d never tell you that he’d hit himself internally for how he treated you.

He knew what he was doing but he just couldn’t stop.

You made him feel awkward, you made him feel insecure and you made him think things that contradicted his outer personality everyone knew him for.

The fact he was jealous today because he seen a guy flirting with you at the end of class, it annoyed him that he heard you say you were single, that no you weren’t dating Satoru because what idiot would.

So Gojo waited by the door watching the students pour out, his arms crossed, one leg bent with a foot pressed against the wall he leaned on and a frown on his face. You always were last out of the room because you hated crowds, when you appeared he span, grinning at you with his arms leaning on the door way blocking you from leaving.

He seen your face drop.

“Sooooo,”

You rolled your eyes and tried to push past him, he blocked again by swaying his body in whichever side you tried to leave from.

“Move Gojo, I don’t have time for you.”

Gojo hummed and lowered his arms walking at you, making you step backwards.

“M’sure you can find some time like you made for dipshit earlier,”

You sneered at him rolling your eyes,

“Jealous Satoru?”

“Pft, over a lil easy school girl like you? Nah, c’mon I have plenty of options.”

His eyes widened when your hand hit his cheek, he wasn’t even looking at you but over your shoulder shocked that you actually had just slapped him.

His gaze shifted slightly to look at your face, tears brimming in them and he felt somewhat guilty for thinking they always looked so pretty like that. You were trying to glare at him but it was difficult to combine it with holding back your upset.

He felt even guiltier than his dick hardened in his pants at the slap, the sting fired across his skin and a foreign rush ran through his body. New link -unlocked.

“Do it again,”

His voice lowered and he watched your eyes widen in confusion, the tension leaving them so a stray tear could finally fall and hang from your cheek.

“W-what?”

“Slap me again,” he replied quickly and firmly.

You’d tried to fight him but he easily walked you backwards until your legs hit a desk, a random one in your mind.

Gojo knew it wasn’t, he picked this desk particularly because this desk was the guy who was asking about you.

The whole spur of jealousy was what lead to this.

But he’d never admit that to you.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m cumming Go-fuck, fuck, fuckkk.”

Satoru grinned against your lace panties as he sucked on your clit through them whilst rolling his tongue.

“Yeah? Gonna leave a mess over this desk pretty? Think you should leave a lil’message for’em tomorrow.”

Your hips lifted but he followed, making sure to wrap his lips around your clit and suck, his thumbs massaging your hips trying to keep you in place. His blue eyes drinking in as you leaned your head back one hand gripping the chair until your knuckles turned white, your other hand gripping his hair and pushing him into you. Your head falling between the space of the desk and chair.

Your back arched from the desk and he couldn’t help but skim his hands up your sides to grip them, thumbs now massaging small circles just under your ribs as his fingers rested in the arch of your back. Your hips started to roll and he knew to soften up his tongue so you could ride out your orgasm better, easing you down from your high instead of letting it just slip away.

He watched your tits rising and felt your ribs contracting as you let out soft sighs at his almost uncharacteristically considerate actions. -his silent apology was being like this with you, slowly dragging your orgasm out by lightly rolling his tongue on your clit. - wanting you to remember how good he could make you feel, that it wasn’t all bad because he knew his behaviour would upset you again tomorrow.

He felt your hips give the first twitch of over stimulation and he backed off, placing a kiss to your clit before looking down at the gradual wet patch appearing as your hole clenched around nothing.

Gojo frowned, perking his lips to a pout realising your underwear was in the way ruining his plan, hands moving down quickly he gripped the sides of your panties and pulled hard.

The sound of fabric ripping caused you to shoot your head towards him wide eyed at his actions.

“The fuck are you doing? Gojo!!!”

Your hands scrambled to his but he slapped them away with one hand, the other stuffing your panties into his pocket.

Your legs over his shoulders kicked at his back in an attempt to straightened yourself up.

Swiftly he shifted, using a large hand to pin your hips down by pressing on your stomach and the other towards your dripping hole, he circled it with his thumb watching the clear cum slowly spilling from you.

“S’not messy enough,” he whined, whilst pushing his thumb in feeling your clench around him and hands on his head trying to push him away.

“Looks like we gotta get another outta ya!”

The next day went it’s usual course, he’d find you first thing in the morning with Geto beside him and he’d tease you like he meant it. He’d watch the heat creep over your cheeks because you always got flustered the day after anything happened between you both, it would disappear gradually until you got angry again.

Gojo sat at his desk man spreading as usual, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he leaned across the table, consumed by boredom already and first class hadn’t even started.

“The hell is this on my desk?”

Brilliant blue eyes side glancing at the very guy who was asking about you yesterday.

“Man, what is that? Someone spill their juice on it or somethin’?”

“-Yeah maybe! It’s kinda sticky and smells sweet.”

Oh you really were sweet, one of Gojo’s favourites sweets in fact and it made burying his face between your thighs so pleasant.

Something else he’d never admit to you.

Satoru leaned back in his seat, swinging his arm behind it and twisting so he could look at you sat at the back with your face in your hands.

Whipping his phone out his thumbs moves quickly on the screen to send you a text and he enjoyed watching your face fall reading it, heat rising to those cheeks in a dusty pink.

Turning to glare at him whilst throwing him the finger.

Satoru > I told ya! You taste sweet! :p

God you hated Satoru Gojo.

Part two > here

© pharix 2023 permission is not given to repost, translate or post anywhere else.

[anne-chloe]

“So Annoying”

Lando Norris x F!Reader

Summary : Lando irritates you a lot, but what if you realise those are the things that attract you the most?

Word Count : 2413

I am by no means an F1 fan, I only know of Lando because a good friend of mine is head over heels for him. She asked me to write this, and I originally wasn’t planning on publicly sharing it, but if she enjoyed it then I guess other people will too. I’m deeply sorry for any spelling or grammar errors, this wasn’t proof read at all. If Lando seems OOC in anyway, I apologise, I wrote this in roughly 1 hour and only did a quick research about him.

Enjoy!

You always dreaded race weekends.

Not for any particular reason other than the racer himself: Lando. He was charming enough as a person, always smiling and always cheerful, but he was the bane of your very existence.

“Mornin’,” Lando greeted, his waltz into the room making your eye twitch. He reached the mini fridge and picked himself a drink, and it was only once his back was turned that you stuck your tongue out.

Childish, sure, but could anyone blame you when he was so obnoxious?

Lando turned to face you, a slurping noise filling the room. You tried not to growl at the sound, and instead focused your mind on the social media post you had been re-reading for the past 5 minutes.

Your role was simple. While Lando was truly the star of the show, you worked behind the scenes as a PR despite your disdain for the racer. You ensured his publicity remained sparkly clean; you created social media posts to promote him as much as possible, and you helped, sometimes, to secure him for brand deals when possible.

Many people had questioned why you disliked Lando so much, and truthfully it was difficult to answer sometimes. He treated you and the rest of his PR team with respect, but there was only one thing that got on your nerves, and that was—

“Hey, personal assistant Y/N, are you listening to me?”

That.

You forced a smile and slowly lowered your phone. “Haven’t I asked you to not call me that?” You asked, a slight strain to your voice.

Lando had, at some point, sat on the sofa across from you. One leg was crossed over the other, and he looked to be comfy. His shoulders bounced as he shrugged, impartial to your request. “Probably,” he said, his lopsided, boyish smile returning, as usual whenever he pissed you off.

You unconsciously squeezed the sides of your phone to the point you thought it would shatter.

“What do you want?” You asked through gritted teeth, your smile feeling tight on your cheeks. You wondered if it was possible to tear muscles from faking a smile so much.

Lando recapped his drink and lifted the bottle so he could watch the liquid swirl around. For a brief moment, you felt like launching your phone at him and storming out, because he was obviously wasting your time on purpose. Then, he placed the bottle on the table and leaned back, his smile ever-so-bright.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

You groaned out loud. Lando’s eyes widened as you suddenly stood up.

“Huh? Where are you going?” Lando asked, watching as you stalked across the room and towards the door.

“To find my sanity,” you snapped, more harshly than you had intended. You reached out for the door, but paused with your blood boiling hot as Lando’s angelic laugh filled the room. You spun around on your heel, steam practically rising from your ears. “Why are you laughing?”

Lando tilted his head to the side, making him appear all the more innocent.

But he was far from innocent in annoying you.

“Because you’re so easy to wind up,” he teased, his smile reaching his eyes. “I’ve been told that you get annoyed by me, and I never noticed it before. So I guess it’s true, huh?”

You felt your face burn hot. Not only did Lando know how much he irritated you, but someone had openly told him as much. You tried to think back to who it could possibly be, but there were far too many culprits possible for doing something like that. Nothing could ever be kept a secret, not even secrets you’d never said aloud.

Though, you wondered if your irritation for Lando was even a secret. You weren’t the best at containing your emotions, and you had been told before that you were very much an open book.

You blinked yourself into a frown, your arms coming up to cross defensively over your chest. “Think what you want,” you muttered, “but don’t forget that I am the person in charge of your media representation.”

Lando’s smile fell from his face in an instant, and it was the first time you had ever witnessed him become so serious. “What do you mean by that?”

He seemed uncharacteristically nervous in that moment, and a spark of triumph warmed your chest. You slowly turned and pushed the door open, deciding that simple silence was the best answer for him.

Let him stew in his confusion.

Over the next few weeks, the hours went by in a blur. Interviews came and went, training flew by in the blink of an eye… and it all led up to the race that everyone had been anticipating.

Lando hadn’t spoken a word to you since you basically threatened to ruin his reputation. As much as you disliked Lando, you didn’t hate him enough to do something so cruel. Not only would you be tarnishing his golden reputation, but you’d also damage your own career permanently. And for the sake of what? Him annoying you? It wasn’t worth it.

You sat amongst the rest of Lando’s team, listening absentmindedly as the crew communicated with one another through headsets. The tension in the paddock was a mix of relaxation, excitement and nerves. While you disliked Lando, you were nervous for his performance.

As much as you never wanted to boost his already inflated ego, he was a brilliant racer. You were almost always present during his practice sessions, sometimes taking sneaky pictures or low quality videos for the PR page (of course, for the intentions of promoting Lando, and certainly not for your own personal benefit), and it always served as a reminder as to why you had chosen to represent Lando and the rest of the team.

You were present when Lando was offered, accepted and signed to McLaren. It was a huge moment for him, and certainly exciting. Like the rest of the team, you understood the high expectations for Lando and his future in racing. And his face when he signed contracts, his smile … he was ecstatic the entire time, humble, like he was caught up in a dream.

You could recall how his eyes twinkled when he met your reassuring gaze. His smooth, gentle voice as he greeted everybody with kindness, and when you introduced yourself as the PR for the first time, you could remember looking between his eyes and his lips, wondering how soft they would feel against your own—

—Your phone clattered to the floor.

The buzzing chatter in the paddock came to a halt as heads turned in your direction. You froze, words caught up in your throat before you snapped into reality and snatched your phone from the floor. You hastily checked for damage to the screen, and when you confirmed there was none, you smiled rather sheepishly to the rest of the crew.

“Sorry,” you quickly said, coughing to clear your throat. There was that familiar burning in your cheeks, and you coughed again before turning away. “I need a drink. And some fresh air. Excuse me.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You practically rushed out the door and away from the curious eyes of your colleagues.

Because what the fuck is wrong with you?

You stomped off in a random direction, unsure of where you should even go. Yes, you needed some fresh air, maybe some quiet from all the noise and buzzing excitement, but could you seriously trust yourself not to let your mind wander to something like that again?

You didn’t even know where that thought had come from. When you first met Lando, your first impression was certainly not about whether his lips were soft or not. They were not focused on his smooth, sultry voice that plagued your thoughts as often as they did. It was a civil first impression and nothing else.

But that was the catalyst.

The race ended with Lando coming in second. You weren’t present emotionally for the finish, you were too caught up in your mind to comprehend whatever was happening.

You couldn’t think straight. Not anymore. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess. Every memory you had of Lando suddenly changed, each of them focusing on small details that you shouldn’t have ever remembered. Rather than reminiscing his obnoxious, boisterous behaviour, you could only focus on his hands and slender fingers; his hair that he so often ran his fingers through, making it unintentionally messy; his eyes that sparkled whenever he was happy; the dimples in his cheeks when he smiled…

“You’re awfully quiet. Aren’t you going to join us and celebrate?”

You flinched violently as the man of your complicated thoughts appeared.

You nervously licked your lips and deliberately stared down at his shoes, not risking the chance of getting lost in his eyes. You didn’t want to find out what your thoughts were capable of anymore. They were too dangerous. “No… no, I’m not. I think I’m going to go home early, actually,” you muttered, hoping it would be enough to shoo Lando away.

But it wasn’t enough.

Lando’s hand appeared, and his fingers very gently grasped your chin. You gasped as he guided your head up, so you were now looking at him.

His head was tilted to the side, and for once he wasn’t smiling and seeming pleased with himself. If anything, he looked worried. His frown was deep, and his eyes were soft and caring as he stared, searching into yours for answers that you wouldn’t provide verbally.

Lando lifted his other hand and pressed the back of it to your forehead. He hummed and slowly nodded his head. “You do feel really warm, and your cheeks are super red.”

Fuck. You felt like turning and smacking your face against the nearest wall. Hopefully it would knock you out and send you to a life where none of this was happening.

“You must be sick. Let me walk you back to the hotel.” Lando let go of your chin and placed a hand on your shoulder, his fingers giving a firm squeeze that you guessed was meant as reassuring.

“That’s…” you stammered, your upper body jolting while your lower body felt like jelly. “That’s fine!” You gasped out, suddenly finding it impossible to speak coherently. “I can walk myself. You should—you should go and celebrate, uh, with everyone else—“

Lando snorted out a laugh. “And chance you dropping dead on your way back? I don’t think so. You might not like me very much, Y/N, but I actually enjoy having you as my personal assistant.”

You bit down on your lip. Hard.

Perhaps it was to stop you from screaming in frustration to the awful title he had given you, or maybe it was because you were so incredibly flustered by his hand still touching your shoulder. Either way, you couldn’t tell. The only thing you were certain of was the strange, godawful metallic taste filling your mouth.

You paused against Lando’s guiding push, your own hand reaching up to gently press against your mouth. You looked down at your skin, which was now smeared red with blood.

“Ouch?” Lando said, now staring wide eyed at the small trickle of blood trailing from your mouth. “What happened?”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, taking this chance to step away from him. You needed to create some distance or else you feared your next move would be to faint. Though, in second thoughts, that actually sounded like the best escape route away from Lando and his intoxicating smell of Dior Suavage, the signature waft of vanilla notes entangling the last of your senses and—

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” You spun away from Lando and covered your mouth with your hand again, applying pressure to the tear on your lips.

As if you were seriously drowning in his cologne…

“Let me look,” Lando said, stepping into your line of sight again. “The medic bay is still set up, we can go and—“

“I said it’s fine!” You hissed, swatting his hand away from your face. “Stop fussing!”

Lando rolled his eyes. “Stop being stubborn,” he argued, his hands grasping your shoulders and giving you a small shake. “It’s obviously not fine. Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because I—“ you froze, now noticing the genuine softness in his eyes. You opened your mouth to continue arguing again, but no sound came out, leaving you to look incredibly daft with your lips parted so wide. “I don’t— I just—“

Perhaps he wasn’t even aware that he was doing it, or I’m maybe he knew exactly what he was doing to you, but his hands slowly trailed down from your shoulders until they reached your hands. His fingers, calloused and not at all smooth, tangled with yours. You blinked rapidly, his eyes boring deep into yours in search of something.

And the feeling was magnetic. His hands fit so perfectly with yours, to the point you knew you would be devastated if he let go.

“You just what?” Lando asked, his voice dropping into a low, husky whisper.

There was no intelligible answer. You couldn’t conjure a single thought that would be suitable enough for the moment.

Slowly, Lando leaned in closer, as if he was blind and couldn’t see deep enough into your eyes. His nose was touching yours, and you held your breath in anticipation for what was to come next.

This was the closest he had ever been before. It was a situation you had never considered happening, because it shouldn’t have been happening. You found Lando annoying and unbearable; he was loud and always on the move, and yet…

Those were the qualities that kept you entertained, no matter how irksome they could get at times.

And before you could register what was happening, his lips pressed to yours. His hands let go of your hands and planted against your hips, holding you firmly in place. You were grateful for the anchor, because if he wasn’t holding you up then you feared you’d simply drop to the ground without the support.

You forgot everything else in that moment.

You forgot about the cut on your lip.

You forgot about the intention to return to the hotel room.

You forgot about every annoying thing about Lando.

But there was something you could only focus on.

And it was the softness of his lips against yours.

[aetherceuse]

I've read your posts about disliking Ultra SM but what are your thoughts on the Aether Foundation and Rainbow Rocket?

Hello anon, you asked a very normal question two months ago, and now I’m going to give a very deranged, not normal, ‘I have been dealing with the horrors of USUM for what feels like my entire life’ answer. / lighthearted.

LET ME START THIS OUT WITH: I love all of the characters involved, I am loudly and obnoxiously a fan of both sides in Pokémon, however:

The amount of criticism I have for the whole RR arc plays directly into the problems I have with the way that Lusamine’s character was assassinated in USUM. Beginning with the way that Lusamine was completely defanged and dethroned from being one of the most compelling antagonists in all of Pokémon, only to become the most mild, unappealing, borderline irritating presence in the entirety of Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon. It completely ruined all of the character growth that Lillie and Gladion experienced in the initial two games, and it also made the dynamic between Lusamine and Guzma a lot less compelling.

The fact that they trashed the entire Nihilego arc and ruined the entire Aether family story for the sake of shoehorning Necrozma into the plot, is something I will never, ever be over, and I believe that the decline in Pokémon antagonists began with Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon.

Anyways. They somehow make it worse with the entirety of the Rainbow Rocket plot. They further make Lusamine less remarkable and turn her into a damsel in distress, all for the sake of the nostalgia gauntlet that was the whole RR post-game. Honestly, in my opinion, there was no reason for that to happen at the Aether Foundation. You mean to tell me, that a group of megalomaniac men who all were WINNERS in their respective timelines, all decided that they didn’t have good enough resources for— whatever the fuck they wanted to continue doing, and had to go and storm Aether? And they managed to that simply by— having Faba hand over the keys.

It makes me want to throw my head through an entire wall and eat my own shoe.

I truly refuse to believe that the entirety of Aether would just surrender in a situation like that. It just made all of those characters look ridiculous. I’m so bitter and annoyed by it.

I’m also especially annoyed, because it isn’t as if Sun & Moon Lusamine and Aether as a whole were just standard, run-of-the-mill antagonists, this was a MAJOR organization that rivaled the other science-heavy syndicates in the games. They make it way too abundantly clear that Lusamine is almost like the opposite side of the coin to Giovanni. Aether made contact with Ultra Space. Aether captured Ultra Beasts AND designed the Beast Ball specifically to hold those beasts. Aether had the technology and brilliance to conduct the Type: Full & Beast Killer projects in order to create Type: Null and Silvally. The RKS System is an attempt to replicate ARCEUS. Aether didn’t even need to get Silph Co to work with them in order to accomplish this— Lusamine and Aether funded this on their own. And while the Beast Ball and Silvally aren’t exactly as impressive as the Master Ball and Mewtwo on paper, those are still major accomplishments that the majority of the world cannot claim.

They could had done something far more compelling and given respect to Lusamine’s character if they treated her and Aether as a symbolic competitor to Rocket. It would had spoken volumes to both organizations if there was an actual fight put up in order for Rainbow Rocket’s siege to be successful, because I know damn well my lady here wouldn’t just let a bunch of men roll up to the Aether Paradise and take it. She has UB’s for fuck’s sake.

I also still refuse to believe that somebody like Lysandre would willingly work alongside Giovanni, but, that’s a different rant for a different day. Love all these characters, but that whole entire plot was executed poorly.

And don’t even get me started on how it got even W O R S E in PokeMas. “Oh wow who could had leaked this sensitive information wow nobody in the foundation could had done that—“ Lusamine said as Faba was literally standing right there, the same Faba who had already done the same bullshit.

I hate it here. Lusamine is my OC now.

The TL;DR version: It could’ve been better.

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

4, 12, 19, 27 for the fic writer asks!

Yoooooo hey some slay questions! Here we go bois!

4- a story idea you haven’t written yet! So I have a good amount of random ideas just languishing in my notes, and if a creek mood ever strikes me, I have a film school au with them in mind! I think that would be fun lmao

12- a trope you’re really into right now so this is a constant with me and a surprise to literally nobody, but I LOVE a character getting taken care of!!! Wounded, sick, whatever man I just adore the tenderness of that shit, like there’s a reason I’m the Whumpshot Wizard and it’s bc I’m a sucker for patching someone up leading to confessions of feelings, or a partner who is well versed in their partner’s chronic pain and knows what to do, or the soft sweet reassurances as they hold a feverish loved one and remind them that they’re safe, or the protective fierceness of a person desperately trying to get their love to safety and figure out why they just collapsed, the gentle encouragement of urging a barely conscious partner to wake up the rest of the way, the concern of the recovery period, just FUCK dude I’m so soft for that shit!!!

19- the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic dude I’m gonna be so fr a lot of the time I just wing it for even my more involved aus but every once in a while I’ll actually fact check myself, and I went down SUCH a crazy rabbit hole learning the history of the Missoula Smokejumpers and smokejumping in general for And The Lightning Cracks The Sky, also I taught myself a little bit of lotr style elvish for How We Began (and I use that shit in the OJV too lmfao Stan and Kyle are fuckin dorks who whole ass speak elvish to each other)

27- your favorite part of the writing process ok I absolutely LOVE the buildup to the climax, like even more than the climax itself. Like writing the calm before the storm is such an ideal place to put tender moments; I’m gonna reference The Webs In The Rafters, chapter 16 when Butters and Kenny have their sweet moment at the pond like RIGHT before shit hits the fan. A lot of the time my fics start out as a specific scene I see in my head and build off of, and fleshing out character interactions is another one of my favorite parts, like for TWITR example, what is Cartman’s role in the group? How does Kenny react to learning more about the rest of the ranch hands? What is Kyle’s role in the gang? Who is closest to who? That kind of stuff, I love being able to try and convey personalities and relationships through the smallest interactions! Also, my favorite thing about posting on ao3 is just absolutely unhinged authors notes, like I LOVE busting out a new au with a “HELLO MOTHERS AND FUCKERS ITS TIME FOR ANOTHER PCE MULTICHAP!!!” Bc I’m insane and it’s fun plus I love coming up with a Question Of The Day for the end notes and seeing people’s answers! And ofc I love getting comments in general (also leaving comments lmao)

Thank you for asking these dude and apologies for the long winded answers I am Extremely Annoying and enjoy being obnoxious!

[heartsofminds]

Pink Stripes

Jake rolls his eyes. “I need to come over.”

“Is that how you talk to your hook-ups? Cause if so, I’m still not seeing the appeal.” or Jake Seresin’s upbringing shapes him into the best Navy pilot there is and also the best dad ever. 

i. 

There’s something about watching a stiff ceiling fan turn in the middle of a heat wave while it storms outside in July. 

The soft “swoosh” the panels make can be mistaken for the subtle breeze outside as the rain taps on the windows relentlessly. The sound is extremely reminiscent of the knock of an annoying younger sibling wanting access to your room; the softness due to their developing muscles and the persistence because they tend to have one-track minds. 

Stained glass windows of the Southern Baptist Church hide the dreariness outside but if you had been attending there long enough (which most of its patrons had been; newcomers and visitors were far and few between) the overcast was extremely obvious. 

Webster, Texas was the hottest it had ever been and this fact proved evident to sixteen-year-old Jacob Michael Seresin who was sitting in a church pew with slacks that are way too big around his waist and a white button-down that is way too starchy for his liking. The shirt is translucent around his armpits and the small of his back; the wife beater underneath sticking to his skin like a shitty temporary tattoo. 

So much for thanking God for the rain and the cooler weather it supposedly brings. 

Jake liked to think that he believed in God, that he was a good enough Christian that if he died today he would find himself in the line that got him a seat in Heaven. But he knows that he falls short in comparison to the people who he goes to church with. 

He doesn’t read his Bible the way his mother and father had wanted him to. He cursed quite a lot whenever his parents weren’t around. He was an asshole to his sisters more often than not. He gets distracted when he prays before bed; oftentimes floating off into Dreamland before he can say “amen.” 

Worst of all, he thinks, is that he can’t stay focused on the sermon to save his life. 

His MeeMaw always used to tell him that his mind was fast; that he was always thinking so much and so quickly that it was almost impossible for everyone else around him to keep up. So when his thoughts start to drift off into what he’s going to eat for lunch or what path to run will serve him best as the quarterback on Friday night or even how he can avoid his obnoxious little sisters once he returns home, he lets it slide because, after all, he does have Meemaw’s blessing. 

Right? 

His grandfather, the Pastor of the small church that his family had been attending since before he was born, reads off a verse from the Book of Philemon and Jake studies the people around him. 

He sees Miss Mary Lou who is well in her eighties with her church hat on and her little paper fan that supplies a placebo of cool air. She used to sit with him and his sisters in the nursery when they were younger and spoil them rotten with butterscotches and those strange strawberry candies that stores never seemed to sell. 

She still lays on her blue eyeshadow thick and her red lipstick even thicker and although it may look cheap and tacky and so grandma-ish to anyone else looking at her, it warms Jake’s heart; good childhood memories brandished in the bow of vacation Bible school and “Jesus Loves Me” sang softly to him whenever he was cradled in her lap. He often pitched fits after his mother would leave him in the nursery (call him a Momma’s boy because it’s simply the truth) and that was the only thing that could calm him down.

He sees Bria Grace McLeod sitting all prim and proper with her perfect blue sundress on and her perfect white cardigan hiding her exposed shoulders. Her perfect blonde hair sits with clear butterfly clips holding up the front two pieces and she looks so angelic, but Jake knows it’s all a facade. Just the night before she was on her knees for him in the corn field that all the teenagers in Webster hung out in. 

He was leaning against his truck and she was going to work on his cock; sloppy and amateur as all get out but who was Jake to complain? Bria Grace was a bit of a biter and he was scared that if he commented on it she would bite him intentionally, so he stayed quiet, busted in her mouth, and drove her home. 

He sees the way her face softens at the mentions of “living like the world” and how the “world” is littered with sex and homosexuality and abortions. The sensitivity on her face shows Jake that she’s feeling remorseful. Shameful. Dirty, even, for what she had done with him last night. 

Jake wants to feel bad for her, wants to push her butter yellow hair back behind her ears and tell her that it’s alright, but he knows that it won’t change anything. He was a horny boy and Bria Grace was a horny girl. She’ll be in his backseat with her legs pushed up to her chest come Friday night. She only feels guilty in the moment, but it’ll cease to exist once church lets out and she gabs with her friends on the landline about who she blew last night.

Guilt.

It’s quite a humorous thing, Jake thinks as his eyes find his father, the assistant Pastor of Webster First Baptist, sitting on the stage behind his grandfather at the pulpit. His suit coat is unbuttoned and fat bullets of sweat stream down his face. 

Call it a sixth sense or a superpower or a gift (as MeeMaw liked to call it) but it never took Jake longer than a few seconds to drink someone in and see how they were feeling. And if he had a dollar for every time his dad sat on that church stage and looked guilty as fuck, he would have enough money to shove up the asses of those fuckers who had good ole Texas oil money and never seemed to shut up about it.

Jake always found himself equal parts confused and angry at how hypocritical his father could be. When his dad wasn’t ignoring him and his sisters, he was belittling Jake for coming home late and drinking beer in the cornfields with his friends; telling him how disobedience is a sin and how if he truly gave a fuck about going to the Naval Academy, he wouldn’t put that shit into his body. 

And Jake used to always repent and feel guilty. His old man was right, he used to think, until he realized that his dad was nothing more than a cheater who was routinely moaning the name of his eldest daughter’s nineteen-year-old roommate behind his children’s mother’s back. 

How drinking underage was a sin but adultery was fair game never seemed to sit right with Jake, but he chalks it all down to the fact that he’s no Aristotle or God or whatever the hell is more powerful than God. He just figures that if his dad were as much of a Godly man as he claimed to be, he would know that wrong is wrong no matter what. 

Jake Seresin doesn’t claim to be a righteous Christian, but fucking your daughter’s barely legal friend unbeknownst to your wife has got to get you extra hell points than underage drinking with your friends, he would assume. 

He doesn’t quite know for sure, though. 

God is funny like that sometimes. 

The choir director sitting beside Jake and his family catches his gaze and sends the boy a tight-lipped smile. Jake doesn’t return it; just sends daggers his way before moving his eyes elsewhere. He tended to do that a lot, nowadays. His eyes often swam in the ocean of his surroundings only to be met with nothing than dryer than dry Webster, Texas. At least with the pouring rain around him, he can pretend like the town he resides in isn’t a shitty mock-up of the movie Holes. 

Jake feels his mother pinch his side subtly. The almond shape of her maroon-colored fingernails paints a stark contrast to the shiny gold of his grandmother’s pearl ring perched on her pointer finger. He tries to ignore the wedding band that shines brightly even in the dreariness of the church. He doesn’t need reminders of his father’s infidelity. 

“Your daddy wouldn’t be happy that you’re noddin’ off during church, Jakey,” she whispers in a sweet tone. Her mouth barely opens and she remains looking straight ahead at his grandpa with her Bible in her lap and a tissue clutched in her other hand. 

Jake freezes; his breath catching in his throat and his mouth going numb like it does when he’s had one too many shots. If his mom told his dad that he wasn’t paying attention in church today, he would surely be in for an earful of hurtful words later. 

He likes to pretend that he’s big and bad and that words don’t hurt but he’s come to realize a long time ago that he internalizes everything; every utterance, every look, every vocal fry embedded in his book of ways to make himself less of a nuisance. It’s a survival guide to help him not look like an idiot, and even though he’s the coolest guy in school, can have any girl he wants, and isn’t too bad on the eyes (It’s cocky to think that, but from the way he hears his sisters’ friends giggling down the hall from his room, he knows it’s true), his father’s approval is the only thing he truly cares about. 

He can never put it into words; can never explain how he hates his dad so much but wants to please him so badly. 

Dads are supposed to care. Dads are supposed to love you unconditionally. Dads are supposed to have a hard time showing emotion and that they care, but somehow will always have your back. 

And despite that being what the norm is and wishing for it while blowing out his candles on his cake every birthday up until this past year, his dad always made him feel small. Inadequate. Hard to be around. Downright un-fucking-lovable. 

Reverend John Marshall Seresin is a hometown hero; the town’s golden boy before he went off to the Naval Academy like his father and his grandfather and generations upon generations of Seresin men before him. He was a carbon copy of his father, Marshall John, and Marshall was a carbon copy of his father, John Michael.

And with faces that told the story of a legacy crafted decades and decades before Jake was even thought of (he’s not even sure he can even begin to fathom how many years of difference are between his great great great grandfather and he) invited the pressure. 

All Seresins were Texas born and raised with Navy blood running rampant through their veins. Jake’s father (and grandfather, and great grandfather, and great great grandfather, and every other son of a bitch who shared the same last name as him) was the star quarterback of Webster High turned Naval Academy graduate turned Rear Admiral turned Southern Baptist Preacher. 

Jake’s just not so sure that “turned cheating low-life who steps out on his wife and four kids to play House with his daughter’s college roommate” is a life achievement that everyone in his family shared as well. 

The cheating was something that Jake found out by accident; sneaking in hours after his curfew and walking by his dad’s shed on the way to crawl into his bedroom window with shrieks and moans from a voice that was certainly not his mom’s. And he tried to ignore it; tried not to let the idea that his dad may or may not have cheated on his mom escape his mind but he kept finding himself in the same situation every Friday evening when he was sneaking back in from getting lucky in the cornfield with his hookup for the night. 

He pieced together that the mistress was his sister’s college roommate (Natalie, he thinks her name is) during Christmas break a few months ago; the hickies she had on her neck were concealed to the untrained eye but noticeable to someone looking for clues. Her voice matched the one he had heard screaming in the shed for weeks and her frame matched what would have fit into the baby blue bra he had found stuffed in his dad’s toolbox. 

The realization had made him physically ill. Fuck them for making him miss out on MeeMaw’s Christmas ham. 

The worst part wasn’t the fact that his dad was a cheater or that his mom was oblivious. The worst part for Jake was knowing that he was the only one who knew, and as much as he liked to hold things over people’s heads or revel in the fact that he knew a secret that no one else was even slightly aware of and the burden weighs heavy in his chest. 

How long does he let it fester? How would he even go about telling his mom? Would she even believe him? Would his father skin him alive if he knew that his son knew everything about his affair? If his parents divorced, where would that leave his sisters? Him, even? 

The questions filled his mind like a twelve-foot pool, yet every time he thinks he has an answer, he’s diving into the shallow end and screwing himself over. He guesses his theoretical spinal injury is significantly better than all the drama that would ensue from the word about his father’s extramarital affair. 

If he could just keep it buried long enough, he would be fine. 

That’s how Seresins stayed afloat. 

That’s how all of Webster stayed afloat if he’s being honest. You let bygones be bygones and hope to God no one knows. 

But you know that you’ll be talked about ruthlessly by those sweet, old Southern ladies during their Wednesday night Bible studies because they tend to gossip and scheme and come up with scenarios that aren’t too far off from the truth. 

And they’ll call their kids and tell them and then said kids who are on the PTA make it school-wide gossip and before you know it, you’re the talk of the town in every hairdresser, barber shop, grocery convenience store, and small prayer group within a fifteen-mile radius, but it’s not like anyone really cares. 

Except they do. 

And they’re judgmental. 

And even though the downfall of his family hasn’t happened yet and if it did, it would be no one’s fault but his father’s, Jake doesn’t know if he could handle the aftermath. 

He knows he’s not ready to tuck his mom into bed after she cried so hard she blacked out. He knows he’s not ready to put every guy his little sisters bring home under the microscope with the prayer that they’ll be nothing like their shitty, cheating dad. He certainly isn’t ready for the freezer full of casseroles and the hushed whispers paired with the “bless their hearts” as he and his family walk by a group of women in the grocery store.  

The saying is sweet to an outsider, but it says all that Jake needs to know. 

“Well, aren’t they shit out of luck?” And he figures that at that point, he wouldn’t be able to do anything but agree. How lucky would he be to have to pick up the pieces of his parents’ messy divorce? How lucky would he be to have to scoop his sisters off the floor after being thrown away so carelessly by their sweet daddy who used to do anything for them? 

How lucky is he now to know something that no one but God knows, and feel like he has an atomic bomb strapped to his chest? 

Jake thinks the only lottery he’ll ever have the pleasure of winning is the shitty hand of cards he’s been dealt by being born a Seresin. 

Honor, courage, and commitment; “Go Navy” his ass. 

He feels his mother pinch the side of his thigh and a small puff of air signifying her annoyance in his ear. He can see her lips stretch into a thin line at the sight of her son ignoring her earlier request. 

Jake’s for sure in some deep shit with his father later. There’s no way his mom is going to let this slide. He can already envision his father’s glare from the rearview mirror on the way home from church; his dad’s ears bright pink from both the humidity outside and the pure rage that Jake seems to strike in him. 

His dad wouldn’t start yelling at him until he turned down the dirt road near Prickett Street where there were only longhorns, wheat, and longhorn shit for miles. Just miles upon miles of nothing; not even golden rod-colored paint marking the road for two lanes of traffic. 

John Marshall never liked for people to see him in any way that could be construed as negative. His dark side was a secret that was meant to be kept within the confines of their home (and his Chevy Tahoe, apparently). Jake’s scoldings often occurred on the drive home or in the sanctuary of his dad’s tool shed outside; outbursts of anger followed by apathy. 

His dad would damn near shun him after he finished giving him a stern talking to. The lack of attention, the lack of feeling like his dad even gives a shit that he has a son that wants to be loved and accepted by him; still makes Jake’s eyes water despite losing the ability to cry over his dad’s treatment years ago. 

There’s just something about a black hole of a heart that comes to mind when he cries; especially the skin-melting pain that was felt to rip a hole in the fabric of the universe (which in this case, is Jake Seresin’s heart). 

The lump in his throat makes him feel small again even though he stands six feet even and is the same height as his dad. It transports him back to the more than unfavorable moments in his life and his world is blacked out by flashbacks of his father’s disappointment. 

He’s six and being given the silent treatment after his first flag football game for not running the ball to the end zone. He’s ten and his dad lays into him about striking out during his travel baseball game despite hitting two home runs in the last three innings. 

He’s twelve and being told that he’s stupid; that he won’t amount to anything if he tried, and that he “Should’ve been a girl if you were gonna be this goddamn useless!”

Now he’s sixteen, sitting on the fear of being berated on the ride home later and trying to keep it all together. 

“And all of God’s people said.” 

“Amen!” 

The rush of people getting up to go to the back of the church can be heard and despite his entire family getting up, Jake remains frozen in place. He can’t move. He can’t breathe. His mind is moving faster than his body. 

MeeMaw waltzes past him. She puts her bony hand on his shoulder and squeezes it. 

“It’s okay to not want to get your hair wet, baby. Know you Seresin men spend so much time on it,” she teases, smile grazing her sunken in features and church hat perfectly placed on her head. 

Jake offers her a small chuckle, the apples of his cheeks rising and falling. “Is this the nice way of calling me conceited?” he asks, voice small but a teasing edge to it. 

MeeMaw laughs before pressing a kiss to his cheek. Her magenta lipstick is sure to leave a print on his face until he can use some of his sister’s makeup remover later. 

“No, it’s the Southern way of sayin’ it. Now, come help your MeeMaw to the car before I say something unkind to MaryLou about her eyeshadow.” 

Jake takes his grandma’s arm and catches his father’s gaze in passing before quickly averting his eyes elsewhere. His confidence dwindles significantly when he’s aware of his father’s presence. 

The fifteen-minute drive from the church to his home is always uneventful unless he was getting screamed, at which he’s sure is happening at some point.

He takes his seat between his two little sisters. If Anna Caroline was here, she would bully the youngest two to squeeze in the middle so she and Jake could have the two window seats. Being the oldest and the oldest sister seemed to always get you what you want. 

But with AC moving to college this past year and leaving him alone with two girls who could barely even be considered teenagers, Jake is outnumbered. Arguing with his little sisters is another losing battle he has to face regularly, and Jake thinks his time is better spent keeping his mouth shut rather than getting into screaming matches with people who had to look up at him to make eye contact. 

Sitting in the middle seat was torture though because Jake had a front row seat to his father’s eyes through the rearview mirror. Jake’s father is equally as introspective and knit-picky as his son. Jake’s entire personality is built around walking on eggshells around his dad. 

He wonders if in another life he would be less of an ass but quickly dismisses the thought. It’s hard to believe that his father can be nice to him written anywhere in his psyche; even a make-believe one. 

His mother sits with a scowl on her face. She’s made it clear that she’s upset with his father because he forgot to shut their bedroom window this morning like she had asked. There’s no way that with the storm being as harsh as it is that the carpet near the window is anything synonymous to dry. She also is pretty annoyed at Jake for not listening earlier and nodding off during the sermon. 

His mother usually handled him with grace. She knows her husband can be a lot and Jake is a momma’s boy to the max. But she does keep him in check and she’s not afraid to let his father deal with him if she has to. 

What she doesn’t know is how awful his father truly treats him. 

Jake will never say anything and his father sure as hell would never tell on himself. How he’s treated is their dirty little secret. 

“Your son wasn’t paying attention to the message today,” his mother speaks and Jake’s shoulders tighten at the sound of her voice. 

His dad has his right hand on the steering wheel and his left fiddling with the toothpick sticking out of the side of his teeth. “Hmm,” is all he says. His mom runs her fingers through her bleach blonde hair and she sighs. 

Her annoyance is obvious and he knows that she’ll go to their room and take a nap before they’re due back at the church for the evening service. “Are you even listening to me?” she whispers, turning her body to be closer to the passenger side door. 

His father shifts his stance, his right hand abandoning the wheel and resting on his mother’s thigh. “When have I ever ignored you, honey?” 

Jake has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He has to withhold a gag when his dad brings his mom’s knuckles up to his hand and kisses them. The only reason why the younger Seresin’s eyeballs aren’t looking at the tops of his occipital bones right now is the fact that his dad could see him. He doesn’t want to take the chance of his dad coming unglued on him.

All he can think about is how those lips were on another person; another woman (if a nineteen-year-old could even be considered that, of course) feeling the same facial feature in places way less holy and pure as his mom’s hands. 

He can hear the grunts and can see the subtle shaking of the tool shed in the backyard; the light beaming a soft yellow from some of the small holes in the wood and the indigo sky swallowing it like an abyss. 

Jake’s had his fair share of shitty feelings and, of course, evoking those shitty feelings onto other people but he knows for a fact that he could never live like this; the sneaking around and the lying. The crazed caution and the heavyweight in his chest of knowing that what he’s doing is wrong. Jake knows he’s a sinner, but he could never be a sinner like his father. And if he ever finds it within his poor, damaged, and disgusting soul to cheat on his wife one day? 

He’ll knock on hell’s door his damn self. 

Jake clenches his fists at his sides and grinds his teeth. He figures the best way to keep from violently outbursting and confessing his father’s sins for him is to tune out his surroundings. 

He focuses on the environment around him; how the pleather of the car seat feels against his church slacks, how his little sister’s elbow pokes into his ribs despite having all the room in the world near the window seat she so ruthlessly stripped him of. He focuses on the sound of small gravel stones being kicked up from the wheels of the car and flung to the side of the road. 

He thinks back to a time when this wasn’t his life; where he wasn’t the crypt keeper of secrets and things were fine and dandy and he didn’t have to worry about slouching or winning the football game or studying his ass off for his ASVAB and ACT so he could get into the Academy. He thinks back to when he was a kid and the harsh reality of life was banned from infiltrating his perfect bubble filled with Arthur reruns and lukewarm apple juice. 

Sunday afternoons were his favorite when he was little. His siblings would scatter around their house finding things to do and doing as they pleased. His parents would always take a nap; his mom on top of the duvet in their bedroom and curled up with a throw blanket and their dad passed out in the recliner, their family dog Chaps sitting at his feet and soft snores coming from both of them. 

He and AC would terrorize their little sisters; chasing them around outside with bugs and frogs in their hands. Sometimes when he wasn’t feeling like being a God-awful older brother he would bring out his baseball and play catch with them. He even taught them how to play Chess and Go-Fish. On the rare occasion when they begged hard enough, he would find himself in a ridiculous church hat of his MeeMaw’s that she “donated” to her granddaughters to play dress-up in, pinkie up and sipping imaginary tea on a small, pastel pink stool. 

Now Sunday afternoons give him the shakes. He knows that he has about fifteen minutes to hop in his truck and leave the house before his father came to find him and work his nerves. His brain doesn’t even process that his dad has pulled into the driveway of their home until his little sister, Maggie, closes the car door a little too hard. 

“God, almighty,” his mother sighs, shaking her head at her daughter’s roughness. 

The family treks inside and goes their separate ways. The creaky floorboards signify the movement in different spots in the house and Jake bolts to his room; taking off his church clothes at lightning speed and throwing on a sweatshirt and some shorts. He damn near breaks his neck running to the shoe rack by the front door with his keys in his hand before he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

Most people get that goose-pimpled feeling whenever they’re nervous or chilled beyond belief. Jake seemed to always get that feeling around his father; when it was just Jake, him, and God with no bystanders. 

The unthinkable always had a propensity to happen in settings like these. 

“Need you to come out back to the shed with me, son.”

Jake pushes his foot into his Nike. He feels frozen. 

“You not gonna say anything?” his father chides, loosening his tie and crumpling the object in his hand. Jake’s father meant business and he’s extremely curious to know what his deal is with him now. 

“Yes, sir,” Jake manages to speak and he hears the light tap of his father’s church shoes getting smaller and smaller as the distance between them widens. 

Jake pushes himself off of the floor, heart heavy with nerves and stomach tied in knots tighter than any Cub Scout leader could bear to manage. His feet feel like they’ve been forced into slabs of concrete as he grabs his rain jacket and heads to the Pandora's Box of secrets; his dad’s tool shed. 

His father is already in the back, the lightbulb sticking out of the ceiling lit and casting a golden hue across the small building. Jake can’t hear himself think. Moments like these, ones where it’s just him and his dad, send him into flight mode. 

His father stands with a tarnished yellow cloth in his hand; wiping down some part that was supposed to be put in MeeMaw’s car later this week. 

“Shut the door,” his father says, not once acknowledging Jake in the mere thirty seconds he had been standing in front of him. 

Jake nods and grips the handle of the shed with shaky hands. His mind is screaming at him to run and scolding him for not telling his mother he was going out back with his dad. He had noticed whenever he made a point to let his mother know where he was when he was to be alone with his dad that his father wasn’t nearly as harsh as he usually was. 

The silence is ominous; harrowing in the worst way possible. Jake almost has the nerve to speak up and ask what the hell his dad needed him here for, but alas, his mouth is dryer than dry and his words get caught in his throat. 

This can’t be good. This can’t be good. This cannot be good at all.

The frenzy of thoughts his mind sends him into is cut short by the slam of metal on the janky table that homes all of his father’s tools and “Honey, do” projects. 

“You wanna tell me why David McLeod is runnin’ round my fuckin’ church? Knockin’ on my goddamn door sayin’ that he caught my son bending his sweet daughter over in their front yard two nights ago?” his father’s voice booms. 

And there it is. 

Jake bites his lip to keep from laughing. His dad has quite the nerve when two nights ago, he caught him screwing AC’s roommate’s brains out. Who the hell is he to be screaming at him for enjoying himself? 

Jake shakes his head and continues to bite his lip; his eyebrows pent upwards to withhold the smart allecky comment he has brewing in his mouth. 

“You not gonna say anything, kid?” his father throws down the rag and stomps closer to his son, “I’m fucking talking to you!” 

Jake swallows before he lets his comment loose. He knows he shouldn’t; knows that disobeying your parents and talking back is a violation of the Ten Commandments or whatever (Baptist Christians are batshit crazy, he’s determined a long time ago). He knows he shouldn’t, but he does. 

“Just think it’s funny you keep saying your church when it’s Papaw’s.” 

John Marshall Seresin, does in fact, hate that answer. 

“Listen here and listen fucking good, kid,” his father spits, grabbing the shirt of his collar and pushing him up against the door. “You better not go ‘round here fucking that girl and lettin’ her daddy catch ya. They’re a bunch of low lives anyway.” 

The way his father is so easily ready to demean someone else; to talk down on them as if they amount to nothing yet be a smiling plastic figure in their faces come Sunday morning strikes a match in the flame that resides in Jake’s stomach. 

Jake shakes his head, a sarcastic laugh sitting on his lips and falling off his lips faster than he can register. 

“What’s so fuckin’ funny, Jakey?” his father sneers. 

And Jake knows that he should stop. He knows that speaking his mind isn’t the brightest idea he’s had. But Jake chalks it all down to the fact that he’s smart. Wise is something that he never claimed to be. 

“It’s just hilarious that you’re calling them low lives for what?” he pushes his father off of him before backing his old man into a corner, “Because they’re poor? Because they’re not “Navy” bred? David is a piece of work, but at least he’s not fucking his daughter’s friend.” 

John Marshall’s eyes widen the size of a full moon at his son’s admission of knowledge. He knew that someone had noticed and he had figured it was a matter of time until one of his children (preferably any of his children that weren’t Jake) would find out. 

“You don’t know jack shit, young man,” his father demands, face as bright red as the tomatoes in his mother’s garden. 

Jake is beyond terrified. He knows that he’s in for some deep shit and that his father’s words will cut deep. Despite his brain screaming at him to diffuse the situation, to walk with his tail between his legs and carry on as if nothing happened, he ignores it. 

Above all else, he’s angry. He’s angry that he lets his father talk to him the way that he does. He’s angry that his father gets a free pass to act however he wants with no one there to check him. He’s angry that his father will inevitably tear the family apart that Jake’s spent the better half of fifteen years attempting to keep together. 

So he doesn’t bite his tongue this time around. He doesn’t shy away from being the true smart-ass everyone in Webster knew him as. He rolls his shoulders back and clenches his fists at his sides. 

“What I do know is that this is awful and mom doesn’t deserve that,” he calmly speaks. He braces himself for his father’s touch bulldozing him through the wall or a punch to the gut. Jake’s dad very rarely put his hands on his son, but on the handful of occasions that he had, Jake always walked away with some kind of bruise that his mother would pester him about until it healed. 

The push or smack or punch doesn’t come and Jake almost relaxes before he jumps out of his skin at the sound of his father’s hands slamming on the metal table. 

“You’re just fucking stupid, aren’t ya?” His dad shakes his head and laughs, a deep chuckle coming from his belly as if Jake had just told him the funniest goddamn joke in the entire world. 

“Stupid enough to nod off during church. Stupid enough to fuck that no-good tramp. Wonder if you’re stupid enough to ruin your mama’s life, son,” he gripes. “If I go down, so does this whole family.” 

And Jake thinks that his father is wrong about a lot of things, but he has to give him credit where it’s due. The revelation would tear his family to absolute shreds. MeeMaw and Papaw would be judged for raising such an awful son. His mother would be laughed at behind her back with the embarrassment hanging over her like a raincloud. “How could she not have known?” being thrown around every hairdresser and nail salon in the area. AC would lose her mind, he’s sure. He can’t even be somewhat delusional with himself and think that she wouldn’t do anything slight of going fucking bananas. 

“But it’s your move, Ace. If I were you, I’d keep quiet. Especially if you want a shot of getting out of this hellhole like you told Bria Grace.”  His dad fixes the tools haphazardly on the table; trying to make it look as uniform as possible; as perfect as possible. Just like his family on the outside. 

His father walks to the door before stopping and turning to his son whose blond hair looks white in comparison to how pink his face is. “That bitch ain’t as good of a secret keeper as you thought she was. How the hell do you think David found out?” 

The door slams before Jake can even react and for the millionth time in his life, Jake feels small. All he can manage to do is hold his cries in until he starts to hiccup and the flow of his tears streaming down his face match the rainfall gracing dryer than dry Webster, Texas. 

So much for thanking God for the rain and the blessings it was supposed to bring. 

ii. 

Today is Jacob Seresin’s eighteenth birthday. 

Although he thoroughly believed that birthday wishes were a scam and that people treating you slightly better on your “special day” was bullshit, some part of him still enjoyed the fact that it was his birthday every year. 

He can’t decide if it’s the overwhelming amount of love his mom and sisters gift him on the morning of his birthday or if it’s because he’s one year closer to distancing himself from his father’s wrath. 

And as Jake’s alarm clock sounds and he’s formally shaken awake by his mom and sisters busting open his door, his heart aches for moments like these that he’ll miss once he moves out of the house. 

There’s just something about waking up on the morning of your birthday at home and having happy birthday sang to you before you can even blink the sleep out of your eyes. The small moments like these make his life not so much of a living hell and he can almost gaslight himself into not wanting to go so far away; to defer his acceptance into the Naval Academy and to stay at home for another year. 

His mom would always make her infamous banana walnut pancakes and pair it with an awful rendition of “Happy Birthday.” She would joke that God didn’t bless her with good vocal cords but did bless her with good cooking. And with one bite of her pancakes, Jake decides why he loves his birthday. 

Simply just because of his mom’s banana pancakes. 

He loved the cards his sisters would hand make him every year too. They would corral his bed and wait with their eyes wide open as if they hadn’t been born with eyelids to see how he reacted to their cards. AC’s always having some cartoonish drawing of him that was slightly offensive and Maggie and Rosie are always having words misspelled in a stew of comically large vowels and consonants. 

He can never figure out if they actually enjoy making him cards or if it’s some sick, twisted, girlish game that they play to determine which card he likes the most that year. 

Jake almost is a good brother and plays into it, before he decides that his job as a brother is to be annoying, and dutifully says that he loves them all equally even though they all know (him included) that he’s lying straight through his teeth. 

If he had to pick, he would always pick AC (though he does admit, Rosie has been giving her a run for her money as of late). 

And because of these festivities and because of the unconditional love his mom and sisters give him, he almost would be content staying in Webster for the rest of his life. 

He dreams of having a big house with a big dog and a big yard and a wrap-around porch down the street from his parents’ house. He dreams of Saturday night football being watched with his pretty wife and his precious babies and then those precious babies growing up and making him a grandpa and he and his wife growing old. 

The fantasy he creates in his head is almost perfect and he almost considers it until he waltzes into his kitchen to find his dad reading the paper in his pajamas with a solemn silence surrounding him like a plague. 

And it’s then that Jake realizes why he longed for this day since he was eleven and why the only college he applied to out of state was the Academy. 

He tries to tiptoe around his dad like an utter dumbass and he knows that he isn’t tiny or quiet in the slightest and when his plate and fork clatter in the sink louder than he anticipated, he’s met with the quick rustle of newspaper and the sunken in green eyes of his father peering back into his identical ones. 

His dad clears his throat before taking a sip of his coffee. Jake wonders if his dad is stalling if he was planning on avoiding his son just as he was planning on avoiding his dad today. 

“Anna Caroline is coming in tonight for your birthday dinner,” his father speaks barely above a whisper. 

Jake nods before turning on his heel to head back upstairs to get ready for school. “Noted, sir. Thank you.” 

His father offers a straight-lipped smile before turning his attention back to the paper. The creaks that shadow Jake’s movement toward the stairs seem louder than any fighter jet or rock concert even though they could barely be heard between Maggie and Rosie’s arguing and Chaps’s barking. 

“Happy eighteenth, Ace,” his father manages to say before dumping the rest of his coffee in the sink and resorting back to the master bedroom to get ready for the day. 

Jake just nods and feels an eerie sense of calm run up his arms. He just had a feeling; something in his gut telling him that something wasn’t right, that something really, really bad was set to happen but he boils it down to the Calculus test he had later today during fourth period. 

Only girls got gut feelings, he remembered AC saying to him once. So he shrugs and heads up to his room before hopping in his truck to make the ten-minute drive up the road to stroll into Webster High School.

Jake can’t shake that eerie feeling all day. It makes it hard to eat, to think, even to write. His hand shook horribly whenever he went to write the sign for a derivative during his math test and he erased the goddamn thing at least five times until he was sure one more fuck up would leave a hole in his paper.  

He ends up leaving the question blank. He has a ninety-seven percent in the class and already got into all the colleges he applied to anyway. It’s not like a measly three points is going to be the end of the world for him. 

Jake still feels the knots in his stomach as he hops into his truck to drive home after football practice and no matter what he does, he can’t exactly put his finger on what would make him feel like this. He almost has half the mind to whip out his cell phone and call AC to talk about it, but he knows that she’ll go into older sister mode once she hears any slight indication that he’s in the car and will go off about texting and driving and how immature her brother is even being eighteen years old today. 

He can practically see her caramel brown hair pulled up in a ponytail and a summer dress on her body while she shouts at him through the phone about any and every grievance she has ever had with him because once Anna Caroline gets started, she never stops. People who think that Jake is a firecracker have never been in the same room as AC because she was a goddamn nuclear bomb compared to him. 

He grins when he sees her white Jeep Cherokee in the gravel of their driveway with a sorority sticker embellishing the back window. 

Jake damn near sprints into the house to hug his older sister before he stops cold in his tracks and sees her. 

Anna Caroline brought her roommate home to celebrate Jake’s eighteenth birthday with his family, and it’s then when he determines that life could not fuck him forwards, backward, upside down, and right side up more than it currently is with his dad subtly trying to eye her tits and Jake trying to bite his tongue. 

The freckled, teeny, tiny strawberry blonde who was the owner of the light blue B cup bra Jake had found in his dad’s toolbox and probably the owner of a magenta thong he had found tucked in the driver’s pocket of his dad’s car a few weeks ago. 

And as she waves to Jake and gives him a slight hug and an even slighter, “Happy birthday,” attached to it, Jake decides that the girl is pretty. She’s certainly not a stranger as she’s been to the Seresin home a multitude of times since rooming with Anna Caroline freshman year of college. She’s sweet, friendly, and a tried and true friend of his sister’s. In another world, Jake thinks she would be his type, but only if that other world is one where she’s not fucking his married fifty-five-year-old father behind his eldest sister’s back. 

“Jakey!” Anna Caroline hollers, running towards her younger brother and wrapping her arms around his neck like a boa constrictor. Jake swears she does this shit on purpose; playing “nice” but torturing him so secretly that he could never say anything without being called a drama queen. 

He chuckles before forcibly unclasping her hands from cutting off his breathing. “Don’t choke me out. I’ll punch you in your throat if you do.”  

His mother gasps and hits his shoulder with a dishtowel. “Jacob Michael! That is no way to talk to a woman.” 

Jake and AC share a conniving grin before his dad clears his throat and starts his journey toward the dinner table. The soft squeak of the wooden oak chair sliding across the floor signifies that his father was ready to eat, which means everyone should be ready to eat. 

The awkward silence fills the gap of what should be a happy birthday; a day spent celebrating Jake and his last year at home and stories of his growing up to this point in his life. But it’s far from being about Jake at all, he realizes, as he catches his father’s gaze; his sea glass eyes throwing the stone in to the river of possibilities that Jake very much could blow the roof off of his house of secrets.

After his father blesses the food, a regal quietness plagues the table; the sounds of forks and knives on his mom’s good Chinaware mixed in with the quiet giggles of Rosie and Maggie and the eyes of Natalie who looks like she’s about to throw up at any second. 

And Jake wants to turn his brain off, wants to rid himself of that stupid skill he has of reading people like a goddamn People magazine headline, but he can’t. 

All it takes is one look and Jake sees in her what he sees in his dad every Sunday sitting behind his grandfather on the stage. 

Guilt. 

And if this was on one of those shitty sitcoms his sisters liked to watch on Wednesday nights after church and in between homework time and bedtime, he would almost laugh and plead with someone to change the channel. 

But it isn’t an episode of Gilmore Girls or One Tree Hill, and he can’t even fool himself to pretend like it is. The ten-pound heap of bricks of his father’s infidelity sits on his chest and ruins the ability for him to even imagine that completely. 

Jake is lost in his train of thought as he mindlessly chews on his steak before his arm is haphazardly knocked off the table by AC. His fork clatters on the ground and she sends him a shit-eating grin; one that older sisters only have the capability of sending with just the right amount of childishness but also holding an heir of authority. She holds in her giggle before answering their mother about her boyfriend she has back at A&M and Jake is sent shaking his head before lowering himself beneath the table cloth to retrieve his utensil. 

Although being tall was something that most certainly worked in his favor more often than not, Jake wishes his height didn’t make small things like this so difficult. He holds in a grunt as he gets down on the floor beneath the tablecloth and stretches as far as he can go to retrieve the fork that falls in between the chairs of his father and Natalie. 

His eyes catch the slight glimmer of his dad’s wedding ring and he can see his father’s hand rubbing Natalie’s bare knee. He sees his dad’s hand slide farther and farther up Natalie’s leg and Jake feels his face getting hot; the weight of the secret he had been keeping for two years now choking him. 

His head catches on the table with a loud thud and the dishes and silverware clank as a result. His mother gasps and his sisters laugh as he rubs his temple harshly, his fork gripped in his palm like a vice.

“Came out screamin’ and you’re still making a ruckus. What am I gonna do without you here next year?” his mom comments, her manicured fingers coming across the table to pinch his cheeks like how she used to when he was little. 

“Jump for joy and pray he never comes back,” Anna Caroline remarks, purposefully biting her fork and letting the metal scrape her teeth. She knows the sound grinds Jake’s gears like no other.

“You know, there was a time when you weren’t a bitch,” he says quietly, hoping that his mother and father don’t hear the curse word slip from his lips. As far as they’re concerned, he’s never smoked, drank, cursed, or had sex before in his life. 

His father straightens in his seat, his hand still hidden underneath the blue gingham table cloth covering the dinner table. He shoots his son a knowing look; one that has “Watch your mouth” written all over it. 

He cowers in his seat and tries to cover his uneasiness with a cough.

The table falls silent once again before his father decides to perk up and start a conversation. 

But the problem with that is that no conversation is ever truly a conversation with John Marshall. Every speaking point somehow turned into a lecture or a gloat or some kind of pointed remark that made you feel small inside, and Jake’s not sure how he got through the Naval Academy with an attitude like that or how he was so well-liked, but for some reason, he always made it work. 

“You ready for this week’s game, Ace?” he asks and Jake’s face pales because he knows that he’s soon to be met with confrontation. 

The pause before his answer is pregnant and as he opens his mouth to say something, his dad beats him to fill the air with his voice. 

“You and this delayed speech. Would think I was raisin’ a Helen Keller the way you go about ignoring adults.” 

Jake was told that he was a very calm and mellow baby and despite his asshole-ish nature that’s developed alongside his God complex the older he’s gotten, it still remains somewhat true. And he knows that what his father said wasn’t even the worst of things that have ever been said to him and he knows that he has no right to blow the lid off Webster, Texas’s new cover story (especially at his eighteenth birthday dinner over steak and potatoes), but something in Jake snaps. 

He thinks about not saying what he’s about to say; about not breaking the dam of tears that will flood his house, but he ignores the caution sign anyway and forces the comment out of his throat instead. 

“Yeah, well, at least you ain’t raisin’ a cheater.” 

He can see AC raise her brows at him in a “what the fuck” manner. His dad chokes on his water before clearing his throat. He sends his son an aggravated look before sighing and rubbing his temples with his hands. Natalie looks pale completely; her hazel eyes wide with guilt and fear as if she had seen God himself in front of her and turning her away from Heaven. 

His mother purses her lips before clutching her napkin in her hands. “What do you mean by that, Jakey?” 

And Jake really should stop. He knows that this is unfair. He knows that he’s being unreasonable. He knows that this will be the end, but he can’t bring himself to give any less of a fuck than he does right at this second. 

“Oh, you know. Just think it’s nice to know that you and your husband aren’t raising a guy who cheats on his wife and fucks his daughter’s roommate every Friday night, is all.” 

The silence around them crafts a bubble of disbelief. 

No one dares to say anything. No one dares to move. No one attempts to look anyone else in the eye. 

The world has officially stopped turning. 

The tears in his mother’s eyes freeze and create an ocean in her sockets. She sniffles before sliding her chair back and escaping quietly to the back bedroom. The door slams shut and click with a lock before Jake is really aware of what he had done. 

Natalie runs to the nearest bathroom, the sound of her retching into the toilet echoing through the house like a tornado siren. 

His dad kicks the kitchen table and he and his siblings jump at his action. His face is bright red and the veins encasing his temples bulge out like a warning. 

“Good job, Ace,” he says, patting his son's shoulder with the force of an anchor before grabbing his keys and speeding off from their driveway to God knows where.

His youngest sisters sit at the table shocked; not quite old enough to understand what Jake was implying with his words but knowing that whatever just occurred in front of them at their dining table was bad. AC shakes as she gets up to usher them to their room. 

One look at her pink ears and the hairs at the base of her neck sticking to her skin with angry perspiration makes Jake wish he could take it back; that he could hold the secret in for a few more years until it eventually came out. But what’s done is done, and he can’t even really believe the avalanche of what he had done with just a compound statement. 

He sits at the table in disbelief for what feels like hours before Anna Caroline rounds about the corner and places her hands on the chair furthest away from him. Her head is bowed as she sniffles, gray mascara tears running down her face and stopping at her chin. 

“Do you have any fucking clue what you just did?” she asks weakly, her voice nasally with sadness and betrayal. 

Jake shakes his head slightly. He’s never been good at being guilty. “It just came out.” 

Anna Caroline whips her head up, her face back to bright pink and her eyes narrowed as sharp as daggers. 

“It just came out? It just came out my ass! You fucking knew for two whole years,” she screams, stepping closer to him to where Jake can feel the blistering heat radiate off of her body, “Two whole fucking years and you didn’t think to tell me about it?” 

Now is Jake’s turn to be pissed off. “You weren’t fucking here! You went off to college and got to pretend like you only had a family when you weren’t too hungover to drive home!” His chest heaves up and down and he has to take deep breaths through his nose.  

Anna Caroline gets in his face; her anger is reminiscent of their father’s when he was really pissed off. “I know for a goddamn fact that you’re not calling me selfish when this whole fucking episode of yours just imploded our family from the inside out,” she spits, her forehead damn near touching Jake’s, “All you ever seem to fucking do is think about yourself, Jacob.” 

Jake pushes himself backward in his chair to create some space between himself and his sister. “Think about my- Anna Caroline, you were the first person I fucking thought of!” 

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, her nostrils flaring slightly to allow more air into her lungs before she explodes. “Obviously, you didn’t think enough because while you’re away at the Academy this summer, I’m gonna be sitting here in this hellhole with a fucking civil engineering degree playing Mommy Homemaker until our parents’ divorce is finalized.” 

Jake opens his mouth to shoot back a charged comment, but he closes it. He’s done enough damage tonight. 

“You were “thinking” about me, yeah. You were thinking about how somehow you were gonna make this my problem while you get to do fuck-all in Annapolis,” she accuses. 

“Why are you-” 

“And did you think about how unfair that was to mom? To Natalie? To our fucking little sisters?” she puts her hands on her hips as she paces back and forth near their kitchen table, “No and you know why? Because Jacob Seresin can’t stand having dirt on someone and not humiliating them for the sake of his own entertainment.” 

“AC it’s not even-” he starts, but his sister’s nuclear bomb-like anger beat him to it. 

The guilt-ridden expression Jake wears on his face makes Anna Caroline even angrier, as she moves toward him to push him back in his chair. 

“Just,” she shoves her finger in his chest, “Like. Dad.” And her palm lands flat on his chest before forcibly pushing him back farther in the oak seat than he had sat before. 

The wind is knocked out of his ribcage before he can even process what’s going on. She stomps her way up the staircase before pausing halfway and leaning down to scream at him once more. 

“You’re fucking dead to this family, Jacob,” she seethes, “And you’re fucking dead to me.” With that, she turns on her heel and like their mother hours before, slams the door of her childhood bedroom shut. 

Today is Jacob Michael Seresin’s eighteenth birthday, and is also the day he tore his family apart. 

iii. 

Jake Seresin always dreamed of being a dad, but he had never anticipated that he would become a father as instantaneously as he is right now. 

Jake is thirty-two years old and is a man who has had sex. A lot of sex, may he add, and being deployed and single as one of the world’s greatest naval aviators was a dangerous setup for him to limit the number of hook-ups he currently had tallied. 

There were some pretty great ones that he can recall and even though he was raised by great Southern women and with sisters, he can’t help but fall into the misogynistic trap that is the military every now and again, and he’ll find himself getting into the nitty gritty of who he last fucked with his friends after a couple of straight whiskeys at whichever bar was accessible to them at the time. 

And Jake’s not disgusting with it; never says anything demeaning but he’s sure that if the girl he had hooked up with heard how he was describing her flexibility or how she was able to give him some of the best head of his life, he knows her face would be flushed bright red. 

Although getting married and having kids is a dream of Jake’s, he thought that for his age and for his status, it was a pipe dream. 

That is until one fateful morning a full week and a half before he’s due to report back to Lemoore from sunny San Diego he hears a knock on his door. 

Jake gets up off the floor from doing his morning ab workout before he checks the clock on his stove. 

“6:21 AM,” it reads. 

And although the neighborhood he was staying in was filled to the brim with families that had young children and older people (who had certainly been awake for at least two hours now), he can’t think of anyone he had encountered that would knock on his door at this hour. 

He peeps through the peephole to see if he can catch a glimpse of a girl scout or a teenager who happened to accidentally hit his car with their bicycle on the way to school or something, but he’s met with the absence of a person on his front porch. 

He figures it must be a package he had forgotten he ordered or a newspaper that was to be delivered to the people next door, but his eyes damn near pop out of his skull once he peels the door open. 

There’s a little pink car seat with a baby that couldn’t have been more than five months old; purple nubby binky plunged in between her lips and a pink onesie adorning her slim torso. 

This can’t be one of those things; one of those plots to those TV shows where a guy fucks around and gets a girl pregnant and she leaves a baby at his doorstep when he’s least expecting it. He rubs his eyes ferociously with his hands to see if his knuckles would make the kid go away, but as he blinks away the white spots in his vision, the baby is still there. 

She blinks up at him with sea glass eyes and a face that looks just like his. Her tan skin and the soft caramel curls tell Jake who the counterpart of his creation would had to have been and his mind instantly flips back to a girl he had been casually seeing at USC a year ago. 

Her name was Talia (he thinks) and she was a graduate student who could’ve put any US Olympic gymnast to shame by how goddamn bendy she was, but alas, Jake wasn’t looking for anything serious and the distance between Lemoore and LA proved itself to be too far to keep anything sustainable besides a few quickies every couple of weeks. 

And while Jake was always careful and more than cautious with girls he was hooking up with, he can remember taking the riskier side a couple times with this chick which is why he’s looking at a tanned and curly-haired reincarnate of himself sitting in a goddamn baby carrier wondering how the hell she got dropped off at this dumbass’s doorstep and not someone who was capable of actually taking care of a kid. 

Beside her is a manila envelope with a brief note from Talia explaining how she couldn’t take care of her anymore, a birth certificate, a social security card, and a shot record. 

Jake can’t pretend like he isn’t somewhat surprised that for a girl who isn’t a day over twenty-three, she had all of these things together and was able to track him down and leave before he even noticed. 

Jake picks up the car seat and drops it into the doorway of his home before doing what any sensible person would do. He whips out his phone, scrolls through the millions of contacts he has, and starts to dial the kid’s mother. 

He almost grins to himself because he’s a genius and is calm, cool, and collected. He rehearses his lines for what he’ll tell her; that he’s about to get stationed somewhere in Florida and that he can’t take care of a baby by himself. He even puts a mental note in the back of his mind to meet with a lawyer about child support and setting that up before the dial tone sounds and all thoughts he has of this possibly working out the way he wants it to ends. 

“The number you are calling is no longer in service. Good-bye.” 

Oh shit. 

And the panic starts to kick in. He starts to pace back and forth before doing something he would’ve never thought to do ever in a million years before a few days prior. 

He dials Bradley Bradshaw’s phone number. 

“Please pick up. Please pick up. Please pick up.” 

Bradley answers his phone with a slight grunt signifying that he was just now rolling out of bed. “What the hell is it?” he asks, and it’s no secret that despite being called Rooster, Bradley was anything but a morning person. 

“Bradshaw, I have an SOS. I repeat, I have a fucking SOS,” Jake says, a sense of urgency plaguing his tone. 

Jake can hear bedsheets rustling on the other end of the line. “Jesus, Hangman. What did you do? Do you need bond money or something?” 

Jake rolls his eyes. “I need to come over.” 

“Is that how you talk to your hook-ups? Cause if so, I’m still not seeing the appeal.” 

“Bradshaw, you know that I would take you up on any opportunity to brag about my bangin’ sex life, but right now, I really need your fucking help,” he sighs, fixing his gaze back to the baby sitting in the carrier, “Can I please come over?” 

Bradley lets out a pensive sigh before finally giving Jake the answer he wants. “Sure. I’ll see you in ten.” 

Before Jake can thank him repeatedly, Bradley hangs up. 

At the sound of the dial tone, Jake pulls up a YouTube video on his phone about how to buckle in a car seat and he’s about eighty percent sure he did it wrong and is one hundred percent sure that he has no fucking idea what he’s doing at all, but he’s sliding into the front seat of his truck and racing down the street and around the corner to Bradley Bradshaw’s childhood home. 

He slams the door shut and grabs the baby with lightning speed, his fists banging on the door and almost knocking Bradley dead in the nose as he opens it with an irritated grunt. 

“Why are you knocking like the goddamn poli-” Bradley pauses, hand still on the door and eyebrows raised in disbelief, “What the fuck is that?” 

Jake rolls his eyes before pushing past the sandy-haired pilot and plopping down on his living room couch, the baby carrier taking a seat next to him. 

“It’s a baby, Bradshaw,” he rolls his eyes, “God, I thought you were smarter than this.” 

Bradley scoffs before closing the door and leaning on the wall in front of his living room. “Well I thought you were smarter than having raw sex with all your random hook-ups, but clearly I’m seeing evidence that you’re not.” 

Jake shakes his head and rakes his hands through his hair. ‘That’s so not the poin- I’m screwed here, Bradshaw!” 

Bradley lets out a slight laugh that he didn’t know he was holding in. “I mean, yeah. But you came to the right place. I love babies.” 

He makes his way over to the blond sitting on his couch and touches the car seat holding the baby and before he can move his hands down to the black plastic securing her chest, Jake slaps his hands away. 

“My baby,” he says and Bradley rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, but my house,” he retorts. 

“But my baby,” Jake reiterates and a purple binky is spit out and a loud wail fills the space of Rooster’s living room; her little voice so loud that it echoes. 

“Jesus, she’s definitely your kid,” Bradley jokes, “Loud as hell and doesn’t have any interest in shutting up just like her dad.” 

Jake takes her out of the carrier and cradles her to his chest, his finger holding the silicone pacifier to her lips before she takes it out of his grasp and continues sucking on it. 

Bradley watches in awe because in the past three days, he’s seen more character development in Hangman than he has in the past twelve years of knowing him. Bradley and Jake are snapped out of their own respective worlds at the sound of a knock on his door. 

“Who the hell did you invite over to my home?” he asks and Jake shrugs. 

“Well, I did text a few people about coming over here because I had news.” 

Bradley sighs before opening his front door to see the entire Dagger Squad before him and stepping aside to let them in without a greeting. 

“What the fuck!” they all yell in unison, and Jake doesn’t even look up because he’s too busy staring into the eyes of a little girl whom he had fallen in love with in only fifteen minutes. 

Jake Seresin was certainly not ready to be a dad when he woke up this morning, but he feels more than ready now. 

[notsocreativewriting]

Dabi x F!reader

Summary: You fuck up your car and need a mechanic to fix it, unfortunately the tow truck driver gets to touchy by fortunately a handsome, mysterious villain saves you and helps

Warning: Cat calling and sexual harassment towards the reader (not from Dabi) , reallyyy rough sex (and writing {☞ﾟヮﾟ}☞) , spanking, oral (both m! and f! receiving), temperature play that leads to burn marks ,and Shigaraki fans I'm sorry.

Maybe a Part 2 later and leave a request!

It was a long day at work, your eyes feel heavy and your constant yawns aren't making this feeling better. You walk through the near empty parking lot in your bland work uniform, you always felt uneasy walking to your car at night. Once in your car you take a deep breath and try to get the stress off your shoulders, you begin to drive home and try to forget the day.

You sit patiently at the lights but the people behind you aren't. The pickup truck behind honks and revs obnoxiously, you rub your head in frustration and open your window. Without a second thought you throw your arm out and give him the bird. The light turns green and you drive off, the truck begins to drive next to you and yelling at you. You concentrate on the road blocking out the asshole. He begins driving closer and closer and slowly tries to run you off the road, you speed up and get in front of him. He hits the back of your car and you throw your head forward. You stop your car and the douchbag drives around you and laughs with his sour old laugh. You quickly get out of your car and go to see the damage, the back of your car is totaled and you pull at your hair in frustration.

"ARGHHH" you yell in anger.

You storm back to your seat and lean over to get your phone and call a tow truck. Once you explain the situation a truck is there shortly, an older man jumps out of the truck and begins to hook up your car.

"Thank you so much" you say while hugging yourself trying to keep yourself warm.

"No problem, let's take you to the nearest mechanic beautiful" he smirks and looks at you like how a dog looks at a piece of meat

He tries to help you into the truck but you swat him away like an annoying fly, after having a quick look at your chest he closes the passenger side door and walk around the front of a truck with an irritating smile. You rub your forehead in frustration and let out a painful long sigh.

The tow truck guy climbs into the truck and starts up the engine while making eye contact with your chest. The drive felt like it lasted a decade and you felt so incredibly uncomfortable when the man kept grazing the side of your thigh.

"The place is right up here around the corner but I gotta stop for a second" the man said through a grin.

"Ok..." you mumble while he pulls over and turns off the engine.

The man suddenly grabs your hand and pulls you forward. You use your other hand to try and push yourself away but he easily overpowers you. He grabs the sides of your face in one hand and whispers "you're so pretty". You freeze in fear and he slowly unbuttons your work shirt and takes it off you.

"please...don't" you whine, he continues and kisses you neck aggressively leaving bruises. He grasped your boob and squeezed so hard that it hurt and made you wince in pain.

"Awww did honey not like that?" the man tautened, one of his hands went up your skirt and moved your panties to the side. You kicked him the stomach which only seemed to egg him on.

"Now that's not very nice...gotta tame this little whore" he whispered into your ear while holding your ankles forcing you to stop moving.

You closed your eyes preparing for the worst when suddenly the driver side door swung open and the predator was dragged out. You closed your legs and looked over the seat and saw the guy being beaten to near death by a stranger.

Your hero gets to his feet and shoots his memorizing light blue eyes. The black mask across his nose, mouth and chin makes him mysterious and curiosity fills your head, his white hair roots turn black and it's mangled and dirty. Every inch of his body was covered with dark clothing, the black long coat reaching his knees covering his arms and torso, the black gloves covered in blood from the creep, the black jeans with rips and tears, the big black combat boots, and the black fabric wrapped around his neck. He's hiding something

"You ok?" he said bluntly offering his hand to help you out of the truck.

You say nothing, you can't process through your brain what is happening.

"You need a ride?" the stiff man offers.

Suddenly police lights turn on right next to you and the man snatches your wrist and drags you towards his van on the other side of the street.

"Freeze!!" the police screamed but the stranger doesn't stop moving and practically throws you into the rough black van and jumps into the driver seat. He speeds off instantly which makes you fumble and fall in the back.

He escapes the officer and pulls into an ally way. He gets out and slides open the van door, he sits across from you and crosses his legs.

"So...can I drop you off somewhere?" he hesitantly asks.

"Why did you drag you with me?" you bluntly ask.

"Well...If I didn't-...you could have-...I don't know, I just wasn't thinking" he mumbles going through excuses that you wouldn't have fallen for.

You stare at him with annoyance but you can't stay mad at someone who helped you. At that moment you realized that your shirt is still in the truck so you cover your chest with your arms

"I'm Dabi, you can leave or stay at my place, I don't mind" he says

"Can you drop me home?" you ask while hugging your legs to your chest, trying to hide your bra from Dabi.

"Alright, come sit up the front" he says while sliding the door and opening the passenger door for you.

You slide out and sit in the passenger seat. He walks around the front and sits in the passenger seat, your eyes watch him while and walks quickly across.

"Wait a second" Dabi takes off his jacket and the T-shirt under it "Wear this" he offers his shirt and you hesitantly grab it and put it on, it still showed a lot of cleavage due to the deep v-line but was still better than just a bra

You guide him to your house but your rudely welcomed to police cars parked in front of your house with their lights on. You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose, what do you do now? Dabi casually continuous drive and parks around the corner.

"You can stay at my house if you need" Dabi announces staring blankly ahead.

You pause but eventually say "Thank you" quietly.

Dabi drives towards his house and after sometime you reach a quiet street and he pulls over and parks on the side of the road.

"Ok my roommates are kind of weird, just don't yell or run like an idiot" he makes clear while putting his jacket back on.

You nod and climb out the car and walk behind Dabi. You walk down a small alley and down some stairs leading to a 'bar'. Dabi knocks in an abnormal pattern and the door swings open and you hear, "Dabi! Why were gone for so long?!" a raspy broken voice from inside yells

"Shut up Shiggy! Shit happened and I'm late!" Dabi hells back, his voice only slightly clearer.

You both walk in and you see a bar with three people at it, a teenage girl with blonde moon buns and knee high socks, a young man with pastel blue hair and rough and flaky skin, and finally a purple and black fog that's nicely dressed.

"What the fuck it that!?" the blue haired boy screamed while pointing aggressively at you.

"Well she needed somewhere to stay and she's had a fucked up night so leave her alone" Dabi calmly says with a tone of annoyance

Dabi walks up to the bar and the black fog instantly pours him a drink. The blonde girl jumps off her stool and runs over to you like a little girl.

"Hi! I'm Toga Himiko Toga! What's your name?" she cheerfully asks.

"Oh, I'm Y/N, it's nice meeting you" you say with caution realizing you blindly walked into the League of Villains hideout.

She takes your hand and leads you to the bar.

You sit between Toga and Dabi while the other boy sits further down with a clear drink in his hand.

"What happen?" Toga asks with a concern tone.

"Oh well, first a drunk asshole hits and totals my car then the tow truck guy hits on me and tries to have sex with me no matter what I did and now I can't go home cause police are waiting for me there" you say in one breath then awkwardly smile with stress.

"That fucking sucks. Now get out" the boy across the bar mumbles.

"Tomura!" the fog yells which makes you jump.

"I apologize for Tomura Shigaraki, I'm Kurogiri" you stare at the smoke and nod.

"I'm going to bed" Shigaraki mumbles then drags himself up the stairs.

After sometime Toga and Kurogiri also leave for bed.

Dabi takes off his mask and takes a large gulp of his tan drink.

You stare at the scar covering his lower face and the two under his eyes. Thin pieces of metal keeping him together, the purple burn scars making him more mysterious.

He smirks at your staring.

"You can ask about them" he says while taking off more of his clothing.

"They're so cool!" you say while reaching your hand out and touching below one of his eye scars. You finally come out of your anxious mood.

He raises his eyebrow and looks confused, "cool?" he questions.

"of course, it shows how strong you are. Only good people get such weird scars". Both of you hands are now touching his face but not actually touching the burn scars.

"I'm not a good person" he mumbles while grabbing your hands and moving them to your lap.

You knew what he meant because you've seen news reports and articles on what he does to the hero world. He's still your hero.

You pause and think before saying "You were just born to be in a different world"

Dabi looks at you and instantly looks away with a blush on his face

He's now wearing the same black pants and nothing else.

"You look tired, I'll show you the place you'll sleep" he says and leads you to his room while still holding your hand.

He opens his door and shows a mostly empty room with a bed, a wardrobe, a couch and a tv mounted on the wall. He turns on the tv and switches over to the news, they're mid way through a report about well known villain Dabi beating a man to near death and working with suspect Y/N L/N.

"Dammit" you mumble while watching the dash cam video from the police car

"I guess you'll stay here a lot longer than planned" Dabi says and walks to the wardrobe

"You can sleep on the bed with me" he mumbles while pulling out a pair of boxers. "Here, wear these, I can't imagine that skirt is comfortable"

"with you?" you question and grab the boxers

"Aw you scared?" he snickers and looks down at you

"fine" you mumble, realizing you don't want to sleep on the gross looking couch

He stands at the door while waiting for you to change and when you yell "I'm dressed" he walks in. Seeing you dressed in his clothes that show a lot of your legs and chest makes him blush.

Covering his face he bluntly says "get in the bed"

You do exactly that like you're hypnotize, the instate your head hits the pillow you become really tired. His body slides in next to yours and you both sleep facing each other while in the single bed.

You've been staying with the LOV for a month now, Shigaraki is becoming more and more snappy with you and is demanding you to do chores for him.

one morning you wake up alone in the room, you pull yourself from the bed and open the door wearing a pair of black leggings and a pastel pink t-shirt with white elephants printed on the bottom.

"Dabi?" you yell down the hall.

"I'm over here doll!" Dabi yells back from a couple of rooms down the hall, doll being the new nickname he gave you which you didn't mind.

You follow his voice and get welcomed with the smell of bacon. Once you walk into the kitchen you bump into Kurogiri who is walking to the dining room with food for everyone.

"Sorry Y/N" he says before rushing past to the dining room

"Hey" Dabi says and opens the fridge and stares into it. "Go eat with everyone else, I have to go do something for Shiggy"

"Oh ok, when will you be back?" you ask and lean into the doorway, you still feel pretty tired from last night.

"Later" he closes the fridge and pats your head while walking past you. He's already out of your sight before you can say anything.

"Hey Y/N! Come eat with us!" Toga yells and you hesitantly drag yourself towards the dining room.

After eating and talking with Toga you sat and waited at the bar for hours just waiting.

Once it reached 4pm and Dabi still wasn't back you decided to get yourself a drink. While behind the bar and crouched Dabi and Shigaraki storm in already arguing.

"You have to kill her. She's seen where we are." Shigaraki demanded

You stay crouched and Dabi responds back with "she can become one of us, the police think she already does".

"Just kill her" Shigaraki demanded once again

"Fine" Dabi mumbled

Shivers went up your spine realizing Dabi is going to kill you.

Both Dabi and Shigaraki left the room, you're not sure where they went but you do know that you need to leave. You jump over the bar and run for the door, you continue running up the stairs and towards the street.

"Where you going so quickly?" you hear behind you.

You turn around and become welcomed with Dabi faces merely inches away from yours. He had a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, you stumble and fall backwards from panic. He helps you back up and holds your hand while walking to his van again. Once both of you are in the van he breaks the silence instantly.

"I'm not going to kill you, I'm gonna get you out of here" he stares into your eyes, his eyes are magical and you can't help but be drawn to them, you can't help but be drawn to him.

"I have a small house on the other side of town you will stay at until I think it's safe"

"Why?" you ask with tears pricking the corner of your eyes

"I don't know, I just need too" he responds

After a long moment of just looking at each other he begins to drive off and you both just sit silently for an hour or so until you reach Dabi's home.

When Dabi pulls into a driveway of a nice house you are honestly surprised, you were expecting something more rough. You both walk in and it appears to be a normal family home.

"Dabi?" you ask

"yeah" he mumbles

"are you going to stay with me?"

you feel so vulnerable right now, he can read ever emotion on your face.

"of course doll" he says clearly and pats your head

You and Dabi spend days together, you watch movies and played board games and got closer and closer both emotionally and physically.

Dabi enjoyed holding your hand cause you didn't judge him on his scars or the people he works for, all he wanted to do was look after you. He would leave and come back with clothes and food.

You both are sitting on a soft grey generic couch and Dabi has headphones and you are just sitting in his lap and thinking about how you lost and gained so much on the last couple month and a half.

"Hey Y/N?" Dabi breaks your concentrating

"Yeah" you groan.

He grabs your chin softly and brings your forehead to his, you don't resist.

"Something wrong?" you question

Dabi dragged his lips across yours, kissing you slowly and passionately. You lean into him more kissing him back.

Dabi breaks the kiss and says "Nothings wrong" in a hushed tone.

You smile and whisper back "want me to make dinner?"

"of course, we haven't eaten all day" he laughed

You laughed back and got off him and walk to the kitchen. Dabi watches you walk away sighing in pleasure from you both kissing for the first time.

After making your favorite dinner you bring Dabi and yourself a plate and you both eat and talk.

"I'm gonna go back tomorrow morning" he announces

"What?" you question with heartbreak in your voice

"Shiggy is starting to question me, I gotta go back"

You both finish eating in silence and you go to wash the dishes, while washing a plate Dabi walks up behind you and hugs your waist and bury his head in your neck.

"I'm sorry" he whispers

"It's fine, I just want to be around you all the time at the moment" you whisper back

"I'll come back tomorrow afternoon, I promise"

"Ok"

You've finished washing the dishes and Dabi is kissing your neck with an evil smirk.

"Dabiii" you whine in a playful tone, he's now spun you around and is sucking your neck more aggressively

"I love you" he mumbles into your neck

You grab his cheeks and kiss him gently. You melt into each other, devouring the shared passion and lust.

"Lets go to bed" he growls into you lips and grabs your ass with both hands

You yelp from the sudden roughness and he takes the chance to slide his tongue into your mouth. He pulls you off the floor and you wrap your legs around his hips, he carries you towards the bad you've been sleeping in while still kissing you roughly.

He throws you onto the bed and you watch him remove his shirt and throws it on the floor.

"Take your shirt off" he demands while standing on the next the bed

You take your shirt off and since you weren't wearing a bra your tits bounce when you fall back onto the mattress

"Fucking sexy" he mumbles and pinches one of your nipples and climbs on you.

You flinch from the pain and pleasure, a long groan leaving your lips. Something triggers in Dabi and he suddenly flips you over to your stomach and put his chest flush to your back.

"I wanna fuck you so bad" he groans and rubs his erection against your ass.

"Then do it" you moan back and rubbing your palm into his forearm.

He rips his boxer that you're wearing off you and unbuckles his belt and undoes his zipper and button, he pulls his pants and boxers just far enough for his cock to spring free. His girth was average but the length was incredible, he has a piercing through his head and a another one further down his shaft. You tingle in excitement when he lines himself up with your entrance.

"I can't wait another minute" he mumbles while sliding his cock into your cunt, the cold metal adding to the pleasure.

You moan loudly when he sets a rough and quick pace, he grabs your hair and pulling making you arch your back. Then he suddenly slaps you across the ass and grips onto your hips.

"Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck" Dabi moans and his eyes roll into the back of his head from the pleasure, your walls so tight around him. His quirk starting to activate in his hands and making your skin burn, you love the sensation.

With a even louder moan the knot inside of you breaks making you squeeze around him, the sensation making Dabi also cum all inside you.

"Sorry" he sighs "I was suppose to pull out" he pulls out watching a mix of your cum and his slip out of you, he flips you over to your back and sticks his head in between your legs.

"Get ready" he growls into your cunt before dragging his tongue across your slit.

The overstimulation makes you shake and moan uncontrollably, you cum numerous times on his tongue numerous times before he sat up with a smirk across his face.

He sits on the edge of the bed and you sit up and rub his shoulders, kissing his neck. He smirks and kisses you forehead and holding his hand over yours.

"Want another round?" you ask.

"How could I say no" he smirks

You climb off the bed and kneel in front of him and take his hard dick in your mouth. He rubs your temples and slightly thrusts into your mouth. You groan around him when he hits a certain spot in your throat, Dabi smirks and stands up. He aggressively thrusts into your mouth and smiling down at you and all you can do it gag around him. He thrusts and laughs until he cums down your throat.

He picks you up and thrusts into you in one go, he walks over to the wall and fucks you until you don't remember your own name, his laughs filling your head while cums in you again.

After numerous rounds you and Dabi take a bath together and finally fall asleep in the bed.

Your POV:

You wake up alone in the bed, you climb out of bed and put on an oversize shirt that's of course Dabi's and some panties.

You stumble around the house and find a note that says

'I'll be back at 4, Love you' - Dabi

You sigh and grin at the messy handwriting then put it on the coffee table.

You scroll through your movie options and finally settle and watch your favorite movie and wait for Dabi.

After a little while you hear the door open and you run up to it.

Dabi's POV:

He's finally parked in front of the bar and knocks on the door with the same pattern from before, Toga welcomes him with a hug and Dabi shoves her off.

"Where were you? You were gone for days" Toga questioned

"Just spending time with family" Dabi responds

"Shiggy is out right now, he said he'll be back at 5" Kurogiri announces

"Well I have to go at 3 so what does he need me to do?" Dabi growls in annoyance

"He said for you to wait for him" Kurogiri calmly says

"I won't" Dabi says with a stern glare

"Alright" Kurogiri shakes his head in disappointment and disappears into the floor

"Sorry about Y/N" Toga says quietly thinking that Dabi killed you.

"Yeah" Dabi mumbles thinking of you

"Wanna drink and talk about it?" Toga offers

"Yeah" he mumbles and making himself a drink

After a long day of sitting quietly and drinking with Toga, Dabi finally gets back in his van and drives home, excited to see you again but he'll never admit he missed you even though you've only been separated for a couple of hours.

Dabi pulls into the driveway and opens the door and surprised that you didn't welcome him home.

"Look at what you did" Dabi hears a different voice whisper down the hall

Dabi freezes when he sees you tied in a chair with blood dripping down your head and his boss standing menacingly behind you, a smile across his face.

"Dabi it was a simple job, kill the girl" Shigaraki yells down the hall

"Shiggy" Dabi whispers and holding his fists by his sides

"Too bad that you got close" Shigaraki snickers "I'll make you a deal Dabi, I won't kill her if she kills someone"

"She can't, that's so fucked up!" Dabi yells and blue fire begins forming in his hands. "She won't tell anyone! She'll stay here and help where she can!"

"Fine, she can stay only if I get to use her" Shigaraki smirks and his eyes full of evil

You look up at Shigaraki with tears in your eyes from just the thought of him touching you. You then look at Dabi watching blue ember surround him as his anger over takes him.

"Fine" you yell making Shigaraki smile wide and Dabi calm down and give you the face of shock and betrayal.

"Aw thanks baby girl" Shigaraki snickers and grabs your chin with his index finger and thumb, kissing your lips gently and you force yourself to kiss back. "You're lucky that you're pretty" he flicks your forehead and walks past Dabi

"Bye baby girl, bye Dabi" Shigaraki walks out of the house.

When Dabi hears the door close he runs over to you and burns the rope off you, you fall into his chest in tears and he hugs you tight. He is never letting you out of his sight again.

The End

[helloalycia]

the new recruit [two] // wanda maximoff

summary: the pranks seem to continue between you and wanda, and the team aren't exactly a fan, trying everything to make things right between you.

warning/s: swearing, mention of fighting, i think that's it?

author's note: it’s so nice to see you’re all loving this so far! It gets better each chapter, honestly 😂 anyway, enjoy!!

one | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | masterlist | wattpad

I was minding my own business, preparing a homemade pizza and catching up with Thor in the kitchen when I saw Wanda next.

She walked in, expression hardening when she saw me, and simply ignored my presence the best she could whilst heading to her cupboard to get some snacks.

"Good afternoon, Wanda!" Thor exclaimed cheerfully, looking over my shoulder to smile at the Sokovian. "How are you doing?"

"Good afternoon," she returned, and it was strange hearing her voice soft and kind, unlike whenever she spoke to me. "I'm doing well. Just having a day off today."

"I see. Well, don't let me interrupt. As you were."

Wanda didn't respond and I continued to roll out my dough for my pizza when Thor spoke up again, this time with surprise.

"Wanda, I think you have something green in your hair," he said, and when I looked up, I saw his face contorted into one of utter confusion.

A foolish smile appeared on my lips as I glanced at the brunette, watching how she subconsciously reached for the front of her hair, running a hand through it. She seemed embarrassed by Thor's observation before her gaze fell to me. Clearly my amusement was pissing her off, as she used her free hand and wiggled her fingers, red wisps of energy floating off them.

My own hands froze around the tube of tomato paste I was holding, unable to break free from the obnoxious red shackles of energy I was beginning to despise.

Smile fading, I tensed my jaw. "Stop it."

A smirk tugged at her lips, eyes bright red with both power and mirth. "Not a chance."

I glared at her, trying very hard to escape her powers and let go of the tube, but I couldn't. It was as if she was stood beside me herself, hands gripping mine and preventing me from moving.

"Wanda–"

"Witch, remember?" she teased, referring to my comment from yesterday.

I gritted my teeth. "Let go."

"That's gonna be a firm no," she said with a shrug, her annoying accent grating my ears.

Thor seemed very confused as he looked between us. "Erm, Wanda, I'm not sure–"

"Let go!" I shouted, attempting to move again, but she was infuriating as she merely stood there, wiggling her fingers like it took no effort on her part at all. I wanted to slap that stupid smirk off her face.

"Fine," she finally spoke, before halting her fingers.

I flinched when the last of her power squeezed the tube, making the tomato paste squirt all over my face and shirt.

"It's not nice, is it?" she asked, and I looked up to see her smirk replaced with a scowl.

Clenching my jaw, I watched as she stormed off, leaving me pissed off and full of frustration. Oh, she could have this one because I knew I'd get her back. Powers or not, she'd regret being a bitch to me for no reason.

"What just happened?" Thor asked suddenly, and I almost forgot he was sat there until he did.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I began to grab some kitchen roll and clean myself up. "Nothing. Just Wanda being a bitch."

"You shouldn't talk about women in that matter, you know," Thor said respectfully.

"Whatever..." I finished cleaning myself up before adding toppings to my pizza.

He sighed sympathetically. "It's an adjustment period, I know. But Wanda isn't that bad. She's just been through some bad stuff."

I furrowed my brows, pausing. "Thor, what are you talking about?"

He quirked a brow. "The whole HYDRA indoctrinating thing?"

My eyes widened. "What?!"

"Where do you think we got her from?"

Still shocked, I spluttered out, "I don't know, I didn't– the streets or something? She's HYDRA?!"

"Was," he corrected with a chuckle. "She was fighting with Ultron before switching sides."

My fists clenched with frustration at this newfound news. Since I'd never got my formal introduction to Wanda, I'd never actually learned of how the Avengers recruited her. But I'd never expected her to have been working with HYDRA.

"You know what? That makes sense," I said bitterly. "Once a villain, always a villain."

Thor frowned. "Y/N, that's not what I meant."

"Doesn't matter," I mumbled, before continuing to make my pizza.

"You just need time," he assured me. "She'll grow on you."

I bit my tongue to refrain from making a comment. Time? I doubted time would solve things between us. If anything, I was certain it would make things worse.

—

It seemed my assumption was correct, as time went on and Wanda and I's only relationship with each other was to make each other's lives a living hell, apparently.

If her mere presence wasn't pissing me off, her sarky attitude was. She was everywhere I went – when I ate, when I was watching TV, when I trained – and I couldn't seem to escape her. The pranks only worsened, starting off small and bothersome and growing elaborate and annoying. I knew that all it would take was for me to be the bigger person and stop, but I couldn't help it. She brought out the worst in me – a streak of anger and bitterness I didn't know I had in me.

What annoyed me even further was that she seemed to get along with everyone else except me. And they all had such wonderful things to say about her, too! "Oh, Wanda was excellent in training today", "Wanda nailed the mission last week", "Wanda told me this hilarious joke today" – I couldn't ignore her even if I tried to.

The others didn't seem to understand the irritation I harboured for her. Everybody took their turn in trying to convince me to give her a chance and cut her some slack, but I refused. I tried to apologise to her, but she started it by throwing that damn bottle at my head! No way I was giving her a chance, and they knew that. So, they merely let our petty arguments play out, attempting to ignore it the best they could.

The pranks, as I said, never stopped. If anything, I was getting quite creative with them.

One time, I snuck into the witch's bedroom and put some tape at the end of her faucet in her bathroom so that when she used it, it would spray directly at her. A harmless prank but amusing nonetheless.

Steve and I were chatting in the living room when she stormed in, hair, face and shirt dripping wet. Though her expression was one of anger, I couldn't help the stifled grin from appearing on my lips.

"D'you have a nice shower, Maxi-pad?" I asked, appreciating the way her eyes flickered red as they met mine. A familiar look, one I was getting used to and definitely enjoying seeing.

Her next words were in Russian, of which I understood most of it because of my fluency in the language as an agent. Let's just say there were a lot of swear words involved – she was quite creative, I'd give her that.

"Woah, Wanda, stop!" Steve intervened, sending me a warning stare before looking back to her. "What happened?"

I covered my mouth with my hand, trying very hard not to laugh as she explained.

"This durak (fool) taped my faucet and made me make a mess!" she exclaimed with a glare directed my way.

"Only because you filled my boxing gloves with ketchup!" I retorted, not wanting to look like it was uncalled for.

"Because you dyed all of my socks pink in the washing machine!" she shouted back.

"Because you glued me to my seat at dinner!"

She proceeded to yell back things I'd done to her over the past few months, as did I, and Steve tried to get us to stop but he was no match for our hatred for one another. Until, finally, he slammed his hand on the coffee table and startled us both, bringing our argument to a halt.

"I don't know what the hell has got you both like this, but you need to cut it out!" he ordered firmly, looking between us like a father scolding their child. "You're acting like children and it's not good for the team!"

I swallowed hard, crossing my arms with annoyance. Wanda rolled her eyes and looked the other way. Neither of us said anything.

"We have a meeting and I don't want this brought in," Steve continued, before nodding to the door. "Briefing room. Now."

I grumbled under my breath about how he was being unfair and bossy for no reason, but Steve ignored me and glared me into submission. Wanda quickened her pace so we wouldn't fall into step, heading to the briefing room. I reluctantly followed after as Steve watched us both with disapproval.

The others were already present, chatting across the table as they waited for Steve, Wanda and I to join them. Upon seeing Wanda's state and the expressions on Steve and I's faces, they seemed to notice something was up. Nobody commented though, and Wanda and I took seats furthest away from each other as Steve took to the front of the room to begin the meeting.

It was another mission that we were being prepped for and I was listening to everything Steve was saying, trying to forget about outside distractions (such as the green-eyed girl sat at the end of the table opposite me. But then I picked up my glass of water to drink and it refused to go into my mouth. I furrowed my brows, trying to sip it, and that's when I noticed the red wisps of energy surrounding my glass.

Naturally, my eyes found Wanda and I saw her looking at Steve with all of her attention, but the smirk on her lips was present. From here, I could see the red in her eyes, not that I had any doubts that it wasn't her. Only she would try to piss me off like this.

After several futile attempts to somehow surpass her power and take a damn sip of water, I put it down and crossed my arms to contain my frustration. The last thing I wanted was to make a fuss in the middle of the meeting, not when Steve was already angry at us both.

Finally, when the meeting came to an end, we all stood up to leave and I made sure to fall into step with Wanda before subtly putting out my foot before her. She didn't notice and ended up tripping over, tumbling straight into Clint who ended up bumping into Nat and making her hit the door suddenly.

The red-headed assassin tightened her jaw as she slowly turned around, staring daggers at Clint.

"Hey, wasn't me," he said simply, raising his hands.

"Shoot, Natasha, I am so sorry," Wanda apologised quickly, her accent stronger with emotion. "Completely my fault."

I snickered to myself over Nat's shoulder, and Wanda merely glanced my way with a hard stare before looking back to Nat apologetically. I didn't stay any longer to see what would happen, but the satisfaction it brought me definitely made it worth it.

That was only one of the earlier stages of our unspoken prank wars. It only got worse from there, to the rest of the team's discomfort, I'm sure.

One time, I'd just come back from training and headed back to my room to have a shower and freshen up. Of course, as soon as I opened the door, all of my furniture was floating upside down on the ceiling. It took me a second to register what I was looking at.

My bed was pressed to the ceiling, the pillows and duvet having fallen to the floor from being hung upside down. My wardrobes and chest drawers were up there, too, my clothes having fallen out as the drawers fell open. Even my plants were hanging upside down, some of the soil having made a mess on my carpet. And it was all being held up there by an obnoxious red energy.

"Wanda!" I screamed, letting my sweat towel and water bottle fall to the floor as I turned to give her a piece of my mind.

She was standing in the hallway, one hand raised to my bedroom with red energy flowing from it, and the other resting by her side casually. An entertained smile was on her face as she watched me stalk towards her angrily.

"You're such a bitch!" I shouted, but before I could get close to her, she suddenly raised her other hand, freezing me in place.

I tried to move, but a red aura was wrapped around me, preventing me from going any further. I groaned loudly, fixing my glare on her. Her powers made this whole prank war unfair – she used them whenever she had the chance and I'd gotten sick of them pretty quickly.

"Let me go!"

She scrunched her nose up and shook her head. "No, I don't think I will."

"Wanda–"

"You know, you're quite cute when you're angry," she said, tilting her head, red eyes sparkling with mischief. "You get all hot and bothered. Your eyebrows get all creased. And your lips curl up like– well, like that."

I squeezed my fists together, each word she uttered sending a strike of fury through me. She was clearly aware of the effect she had on me as her eyes looked me up and down once more, admiring the frozen state she had me in, before letting go. Her other hand lowered slowly and I could only imagine my furniture in my room had done the same, though I'd definitely have a lot of stuff to clean up.

"You're insufferable," I told her through gritted teeth.

Her smile faded into a bitter frown. "And you're a snake."

"Ugh!" I turned around and headed back to my room, unable to deal with her any longer.

As I brainstormed ways to get her back, her last words came to mind and that's when the most genius idea came to mind. She thought I was a snake, right? So, I'd be a snake.

It wasn't difficult for me to find a guy who let me rent a snake for the day. It was New York – crazier things had been done. So, a few days later, I rented a snake and left it in her shower just before she came back from training. It was no magical powers like hers, but it would certainly leave an impact.

"Hiss, hiss, bitch," I mumbled contently, eyeing the snake that was now curled around her shower head.

After shutting the shower curtain so she couldn't see it, I left her room and headed into the hall so I wasn't close enough to raise suspicion to Wanda, but still in the vicinity to appreciate the result of my work when it came. Natasha found me standing there and began to talk to me about some mission reports when I heard the high-pitched scream that could only belong to Wanda.

Nat turned around with confusion as I bit my lip to contain my grin, looking in the direction of Wanda's room.

"Three," I began to count down, "two, one, and–"

"You!" she yelled, eyes finding mine before stomping towards me with an accusatory finger. "I can't believe you'd put a snake in my shower!"

To make this whole thing even better than it already was, she was wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around her body, hair left out and feet bare, like she was literally about to step in the shower. Oh, what a sight it was.

"Ty takoy pridurok bez prichiny! odnazhdy ty poluchish' vozmezdiye, i ya ne mogu dozhdat'sya, chtoby uvidet' eto! (You're such a dick for no reason! One day you will get your comeuppance and I cannot wait to see it!)" she continued to shout, this time in Russian. She did that a lot when she was angry, I noticed. That and her accent would be thicker than usual, despite the clear attempts at sounding more American, per Nat's training.

"I believe it was you who said I'm a snake," I reminded her. "I was only living up to your word, Maxi–"

"Don't call me Maxi-pad!" she cut me off with a scowl.

I chuckled, it sounding funnier when it was her who said it.

"Wanda, I'll help you sort it, c'mon," Nat interjected, resting her hands on the brunette's shoulders to guide her back to her room. She glanced over her shoulder to me, glaring with the same disapproval Steve gave me regularly – why was everybody on Wanda's side? What was so damn special about Wanda that I seemed to be the only one getting blamed here? "Don't move," she ordered. "I'm gonna give you your snake back."

I sighed, watching her take Wanda back to her room, before returning a minute later with a snake in her hands. She pulled a face of disgust as she held it back to me, myself gladly accepting it.

"Where the hell d'you even get a snake anyway?" she asked curiously.

I shrugged as I rested the snake on my shoulders. "I know a guy."

Nat eyed me suspiciously. "Don't you think you're going a little too hard on Wanda? You're so mean to her, and for what? She's actually really sweet."

I rolled my eyes. "She's most definitely not. She's a bi–" Nat's eyes narrowed before I could finish, so I amended my comment. "Witch. I was gonna say witch. Because she is!"

Nat crossed her arms, not believing me. "Mhm. I heard that your first day meeting her never went too well. But that happened a few months ago... can't you just get over it and move on?"

I nodded in agreement. "Oh, I will. When she does."

Nat sighed, massaging her head. "Right, never mind. I don't get paid enough to deal with this." She turned to leave, calling out, "Don't forget we have training in an hour."

"I won't!"

—

As the pranks worsened and my hatred for Wanda increased, I could tell the rest of the team were getting fed up. It was obvious when they would give me that same reproachful glance every time I did or said something to Wanda that I wouldn't usually do or say to them.

Despite how much anger she brought out in me, I did appreciate the motivation for my creativity. Each prank she threw my way, I'd counter with an equal, if not harsher, one that left her with angry red eyes and clenched fists. The best sight in my life right now.

My favourite prank was definitely when Tony threw a party and I managed to stick a note on Wanda's back without her realising. It read 'ask me about my rash' and for most of the night, I followed her around from a distance, giggling to myself every time somebody would ask her about her nonexistent rash and make her appear very confused. Sadly, that prank was short-lived when Clint tore it from her back and whisper-shouted at me to behave.

God knew why he cared so much about her anyway. Why any of them did. If she was HYDRA before this, what was so different now? Okay, so she had powers and was apparently caring, so what? Her personality sucked and she was too rude for her own good. At least to me. Whenever she spoke to the others, she sounded like their best friend and it agitated me. Why couldn't they see what I saw in her?

It eventually got to a point where Steve and Nat in particular couldn't take our fussing and fighting any longer and forced us to air out our grievances another way. A healthy fight would clear the air, according to Steve, and Nat was on board if it meant we'd finally stop arguing.

So, one sunny afternoon, I found myself stood before Wanda outside of the compound dressed in my training gear. Steve and Nat watched on the sidelines, hoping this would be the start of something better. It was hard to believe them when I got into a fighting stance and saw the face of the person I hated most staring back at me.

"Remember, it's just sparring, so please don't kill each other," Nat warned, and it was probably for the best.

I rolled my eyes and watched Wanda get into a similar fighting stance. As soon as Nat gave the go-ahead, I moved in for the first punch. It started off alright and Wanda had clearly been trained well since arriving here, as she was able to keep up with everything I was throwing her way. It was just like a normal sparring match I'd have with any other agents during training and I figured it might actually work.

But at the end of the day, I was the most experienced with hand-to-hand combat between Wanda and I. So, it was easy for me to get the upper hand and land some strikes that were clearly pissing her off. She seemed to take it personally as when I landed yet another strike to her forearm, she groaned loudly and spread her hands out in front of her. Without warning, red energy shot out from them both, blasting me backwards and onto the grass with a thud.

I winced at the impact and felt anger course through me at being subjected to Wanda's stupid powers yet again. Before I could protest what just happened, Steve spoke up first.

"No powers, Wanda," he told her sternly. "You can't always rely on them in a fight, so you should learn to do without."

Wanda rolled her eyes as I stood up. Clenching my jaw, I moved to grab my water bottle and she did the same. When I took a sip though, I immediately spat it out because it tasted like salt.

Laughter came from Wanda as Steve and Nat facepalmed. I held back a smile as she took a satisfied sip from her own bottle, only to spit it out like I had.

"Not a fan of salt?" I asked rhetorically, already feeling much better.

"Really?!" Nat exclaimed with disbelief, before Wanda could reply. "Salt in each other's water? C'mon!"

"Forget the water, just get back to sparring," Steve added with a wave of his hand. "And no more powers."

A permanent scowl was fixed on my face as I took my position opposite Wanda again. Her obnoxious face was taunting me without trying. Stupid ponytail. Stupid powers. Stupid witch.

She made the first move this time, going in for a punch at my face which I dodged with ease. Hand-to-hand combat was my specialty – the thing I was best at whilst working for S.H.I.E.L.D. – and I was usually so good at handling my emotions, enough to not let them dictate my actions. But as proven many times, Wanda brought out the worst in me.

Like a poisonous gas, she clouded my mind, jumbled everything up, made me dizzy and unfocused. My hatred for her ran deeper than met the eye, so my game was off and she was proving to be a bit more difficult than I expected. Any other time, person or mood and I could have easily pinned her to the ground in seconds. But she was getting on my every nerve, her smirk driving me up the wall and her aura pissing me off to no ends.

So focused on my anger for her, I failed to jump up when she slid her leg beneath me, knocking me to the ground and straddling me in seconds. A grunt escaped my lips when my body slammed to the grass, her annoying body keeping me to the ground. Before she could pin my arms, too, I used my leg to take her off balance and flipped her off me like I'd done many times before. Her glare was deathly when she sat up, seeing me do the same. But before I could make a move to attack, she flung out her hand, eyes glowing red.

"What the fuck?!" I shouted as she used her powers to levitate me into the air.

I felt weightless, and not in a good way. Wanda's smirk returned and I returned her glare, hating that she was such a sore loser.

"Nat, this isn't fair!" I said to the redhead below.

"Wanda, what did I just say?" Nat asked with an impatient sigh. "Put her down."

Wanda clenched her jaw, looking to Nat and Steve. "Why shouldn't I use my powers? I have them for a reason!"

"Why shouldn't I use my powers? I have them for a reason," I mimicked in a whiny tone.

Red eyes, and not from her powers, met mine before she dropped her hand to the side, giving me no warning. I groaned as my body hit the grass again like a rag doll. An infinite amount of curse words ran through my mind as I frustratedly ripped a clump of grass from the earth before throwing it Wanda's way.

Wanda dodged the grass and flipped me off as I began to sit up. Nat and Steve seemed fed up as they saw our interaction.

"Forget it," Steve said with an unhappy shake of his head. "You're both acting childish. Very immature."

"Maybe I just don't want to work with somebody who can't seem to play nice," I said to him, motioning to Wanda.

She tightened her fists. "Oh, I play nice. Just not with you."

I turned to stare at her fully. "It's called a team for a reason. Maybe if you pulled your head out of your arse, you'd understand why you're supposed to work with me."

"What makes you think I'd want to work with somebody so rude and mouthy?"

"Says you?! Prancing around with your stupid powers and annoying voice? And don't even get me started on this whole gothic vibe you've got going on. News flash, Maxi-pad – being a goth is a phase and you might wanna grow out of it."

"Stop calling me Maxi-pad!"

"Enough!" Natasha shouted, interrupting our back and forth. Her voice was firm as she said, "Forget it! Forget all of this! If you aren't going to be friends, then you can at least be civil! That means no more stupid pranks and practical jokes. If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything!"

"Looks like I won't be speaking much," I mumbled, crossing my arms.

"Thank God for all of us," Wanda said with a dry smile.

I pressed my lips together to contain my great need to punch her in the face. I dreamed of that. Regularly.

"Back inside," Natasha ordered authoritatively. "Now."

With a subtle eye roll, I grabbed my things before heading back inside. Wanda did the same and I figured I could at least listen to Nat and Steve about this. Not talking to Wanda unless absolutely necessary would be easy, right?

—

"Basement is now clear," Clint reported through comms.

"So is the downstairs lobby," Sam added.

"So are the labs," Natasha confirmed. "Y/N, have you cleared hangar one?"

I glanced around at the several unconscious bodies surrounding me before speaking into my earpiece. "Hangar one is clear."

"And Wanda?" Nat asked. "Hangar two good?"

Unusually, there was no response from the Sokovian.

"Wanda?" Nat repeated. "Is hangar two clear?"

Again, no response. I sighed to myself, knowing what was coming.

"Y/N, you're the closest to her position," Nat began. "Go check on her whilst we finish up here. We'll meet you outside on the runway."

"If I must," I answered with fake joy, not wanting to piss off her or Steve.

Ever since they'd lectured Wanda and I on our behaviour, we'd avoided each other as much as possible, the pranks coming to an end. Obviously when we did speak, it wasn't pleasant, but that was mostly reduced to the occasional snark. Nowadays, it was easier to avoid conversation altogether.

"Be nice," Nat warned.

I rolled my eyes, glad she wasn't there to see, and ran to the second hangar to check on the silent witch. Admittedly, I was a little worried to whether she was okay. I wasn't a monster, okay? She was still a member of this team and I knew she was still adjusting to the job. If she was hurt, I'd definitely feel bad about it.

When I entered, I immediately spotted her leaning against a crate, barely conscious and with a bloody mess staining the crate on the spot behind her head. Well, shit, that wasn't good. There was also a HYDRA agent, it appeared, standing over her and making a move to cuff her hands together. It made sense – no movement in her hands made her no threat – but she wasn't his for the taking.

In one swift move, I tossed a throwing knife in his back and saw him freeze at the impact.

"Nobody catches Maxi-pad off guard except me!" I shouted, and used his confusion to knock him out in one quick punch.

He was down in seconds and I smiled contently before letting my gaze fall to Wanda. Bending down, I reached out to touch her head, hoping to see if the blood was from a serious injury. Despite her half-conscious state, she pulled away and tried to shove me off her.

"Fuck off," she muttered, but it came out slurred and her eyes were scrunched shut painfully.

I ignored her and rested a hand on her neck, tilting her head forward gently and seeing a small graze on the back of her head, hence the blood. Trying to hide my relief, I spoke into my earpiece.

"She's okay," I let everyone know. "Just a mild concussion. We'll meet you outside."

"Copy that," Steve's voice came through. "Good job, Y/L/N."

I let go of Wanda's neck and quirked a brow. "Can you walk? And don't lie."

Her eyes opened, green eyes dazed but still full of hatred for me. That was good, I guess. She was well enough to want to kill me.

"Yes," she answered bitterly, before pushing herself off the ground too quickly. The rush must have gotten to her as she immediately fell back down, groaning when her body hit the floor.

I stood up and looked over her, chuckling to myself. Wanda Maximoff struggling to be the crime-fighting superhero she'd trained so hard to be was definitely my favourite sight. Almost as good as her bubbling with anger when I'd piss her off.

"Y/N, help her," Nat's voice came through my ear, pulling me from my amusement.

How she knew I wasn't was beyond me, but I sighed nonetheless and leaned down to help Wanda up. She struggled against me at first, but she was still dizzy and eventually let me lean her weight on me so we could go to the quinjet waiting outside. By the time we got there, everybody was already waiting inside for us.

"You can let go now," Wanda said as soon as we stepped foot onboard, shoving me off her and reaching out to balance on the chair.

I smiled sourly. "I believe the words are thank you. You know, for saving you from getting kidnapped by some HYDRA agent who managed to knock you on your arse in seconds?"

Her eyes met mine, beginning to glow red, and I braced myself for yet another subjection to her stupid powers, but Natasha stepped between us before anything could happen.

"Stop it," she ordered Wanda. "You're going to make your concussion worse." She looked to me next. "And you. Stop being a pain in the arse for one second, yeah?"

"How are you still sticking up for her right now?!" I asked with disbelief. "I did everything right for a change! She's the one being unreasonable!"

Nat silenced me with a glare to which I sighed loudly before heading to a different side of the plane, wanting to be as far away as possible from both of them. Even when I behaved, I was in the wrong. Sure made sense.

[amjustagirl]

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her. 

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance 

Wordcount: 7.8k 

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics. 

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!). 

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time. 

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out. 

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter. 

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball. 

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party. 

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.   

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back. 

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air. 

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory. 

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head. 

Why on earth did he agree to this again? 

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’ 

His glare softens by a fraction. 

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting. 

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here. 

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down. 

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’ 

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’ 

‘Hm.’ 

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’ 

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews)  when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey. 

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively. 

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender. 

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’ 

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’ 

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree - 

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek. 

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest. 

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness. 

Then he takes a breath. 

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end . 

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands. 

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn. 

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts. 

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders. 

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even  worse . 

Much, much worse. 

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand. 

He ends up face planting directly into her chest. 

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – , 

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.  

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt. 

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.  

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed. 

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.  

He takes her hand with a rare smile. 

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband. 

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees. 

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough. 

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product. 

He appreciates that. 

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal. 

He likes that. 

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify. 

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.  

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules. 

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer. 

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls. 

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently. 

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings. 

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.   

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together. 

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes.  He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so  I  know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’ 

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ 

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb. 

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. 

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’  on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread  the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way. 

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod. 

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other. 

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north. 

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself. 

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant. 

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night. 

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands. 

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence. 

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’ 

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify. 

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’ 

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘ 

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle. 

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind. 

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’. 

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze. 

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before. 

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze. 

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant. 

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways. 

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day. 

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on. 

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially. 

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’ 

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.  

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time. 

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands. 

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.  

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss. 

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her. 

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain. 

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars. 

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’ 

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up. 

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer. 

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air. 

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands. 

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look. 

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either. 

He finds himself wondering about them. 

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text. 

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?  

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two? 

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion. 

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’. 

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.  

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him? 

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers. 

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card. 

Oikawa Tooru . 

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’ 

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further. 

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’ 

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer. 

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’   

He blinks. That was unexpected. 

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’ 

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance. 

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt. 

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb. 

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’. 

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’ 

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined. 

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache. 

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’. 

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘ 

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance. 

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause. 

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.  

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her. 

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground. 

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales. 

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’. 

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.    

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because  you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him. 

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips. 

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips. 

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no  – it’s always going to point towards her. 

They move in together after that. 

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards. 

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.  

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife. 

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.  

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while. 

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep. 

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much. 

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh  - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.  

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’ 

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold. 

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning. 

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob. 

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly. 

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other. 

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell. 

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’ 

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes. 

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way. 

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back. 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’. 

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them. 

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.  

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in - 

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their  genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place. 

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open. 

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’. 

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.  

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal. 

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat. 

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath. 

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.   

He waits. 

Then his phone buzzes. 

Ah. 

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back  home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.  

“Omi?” 

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first. 

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind. 

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.  

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what  I  want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’. 

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.  

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’ 

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles. 

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.  

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date. 

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again. 

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two. 

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.  

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more. 

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party. 

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association. 

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread. 

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name. 

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make. 

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’. 

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake. 

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out -  pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead. 

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability. 

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’ 

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.   

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud. 

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.  

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser. 

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist: 

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius​ (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

[kteabug]

3 minutes to fall in love

Summary: Sakusa and Komori make a deal: if Sakusa has an awful time at the frat’s speed dating event, he’ll buy his cousin pickled plums for the whole year. But what happens when the obnoxious blonde he keeps seeing around campus sits in front of him? 

Pairing: Sakusa x Atsumu

Word Count: 2464

Warnings: Fluff. ‘Loud frat bro’ Atsumu meets ‘the bags under my eyes are voids’ Sakusa. 

A/N: part of @bakuroo-writings​ ‘speed dating’ collab. (I’m so sorry this is exceptionally late)

Monday

Dark bags hang underneath Sakusa Kiyoomi’s eyes, evidence of yet another all nighter for the Architecture major. He yawns into the crook of his arm, trying to balance his concept design model in his non-dominant hand. The task had been to create a vibrant design using mixed-use development and It had taken a bit longer than the raven-haired man had thought it would due to a snag in his original design plan. The only thing he wants is to safely get his model into the classroom and firmly on the desk which should’ve been possible since he’s only a mere fifteen steps from the classroom when someone slams into him, knocking him down.

All he sees is a blur of blonde before hearing the thump of his project landing upside down on the tile flooring, part of Sakusa’s soul leaves his body. He stands up, brushing his hands against each other, thankful for the black mask concealing the dead glare he’s shooting at the other man, mumbling to himself that murder is illegal. The blonde stands up first, offering his hand which Sakusa completely ignores, pushing himself up before wiping his hands on his pants. Sakusa’s chest tightens when he picks up his model, somehow it only has minimal damage that’d easily be fixable, but all he can think of is all the work he put into it. Quickly, he brushes by the blonde, his shoulder hitting his without much thought as he storms into his nearby classroom.

** “Please, Kiyoomi.” Komori pleads with his cousin as they walk across the campus towards their dorm. On Friday, the fraternity he’s pledging is hosting a speed dating event and it was part of his job as a potential member to try to get people to come.

“Chances of me meeting someone there are slim.”

“No need to be such a pessimist. Miracles happen everyday.”

“I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist.”

They start to cross the quad, a pretty central location on campus where most outdoor events are held or where clubs will pass out flyers since it has the most foot traffic. Sakusa pulls out his wallet to get out his keycard, quickly going up the three steps to the building door as Komori waves to a few of the frat members sitting out there.

Sakusa swipes his card, pulling the door open just as Komori’s attention switches back to his cousin. They walk up the two flights of stairs to their floor, the only sound is the echo of their footsteps in the stairwell.

“Let’s make a deal, eh?”

Sakusa stops, slightly pivoting to face Komori, “a deal?”

“If you go and have a fun time, maybe even meet someone,” he smirks, nudging Sakusa’s arm, “I won’t invite you to another frat event…this year.”

“And if I have a miserable time?”

“If you go and have a truly awful time, I’ll buy you picked plums for the whole semester.”

“Make it the whole year and we have a deal.”

* * Wednesday

Sakusa takes a sip from his water bottle, glancing over the notes he took from last night’s reading assignment. He’s not a huge fan of eating in the cafeteria: it gets too crowded, people talk too loudly, and it’s overall an unpleasant experience.

“SHOYO!”

Sakusa pauses from gathering his things to leave, shuttering as a cold chill runs down his spine as the familiar voice echoes through the room. He shakes his head, trying to understand how someone could be so willingly obnoxious or did he not know how annoying he was being? That wasn’t possible, right?

His dark eyes flicker back over to the other side of the dining hall, disgustingly curious about the blonde although he isn’t sure why exactly. He watches as the energetic ginger talks to Atsumu animatedly, seemingly using his hands more than words. He sees how personable the frat guy seems and notices that even though he shines brightly on his own, he gets even brighter around others.

** Curly black hair catches Atsumu’s eye for what feels like the tenth time in the last few days. He’s not sure why, but recently when he sees him he can’t help but watch him. This random student has completely captured the blonde’s attention, mind often wandering to what he’s doing and sometimes even whose he’s with. It’s a new concept for Atsumu, usually he’s the one others can’t stop thinking about, yet here he is being driven mad by a man he doesn't even know. 

At first glance, he thought this mystery guy was a loner, but then he’d see Komori with him more often than not. He’s thought of walking over and just casually striking up conversation like he’s done several times before with others, but something always holds him back and he gets the feeling like maybe that’s just not the approach he should take with him. It’s all frustrating to Atsumu, not understanding what makes this raven-haired stranger so different, so captivating to the blonde.

* * Friday

Sakusa looks at his reflection once more, making sure there’s no lint on his peacoat. He might not entirely want to go, but that didn’t mean he would show up dressed poorly. He twirls one of his curls around his fingers, hoping to stop it from falling in his eyes before heading out the door.

Komori knows the look on his cousin’s face before their eyes even meet. Punctuality isn’t something the fraternity is known for, leaving an annoyed Sakusa. It’s 7:30pm, thirty minutes after the advertised start time before someone finally makes an announcement.

“We just want to thank everyone for coming out tonight. All proceeds from tonight will be donated to XX charity.” Meian’s voice commands the room, the scattered conversations silenced almost instantly. He continues explaining the whole event, that each round will last for three minutes before a bell will sound and those sitting on the inner side of the table will move to the left.

** ‘What’s your major?’

‘Where are you from?’

‘What’s your dream job?’

‘What do you do for fun?’

Sakusa has been asked and has answered those questions at least five times each and he’s just not sure he can handle answering another one again. He’s trying to remember the name of the person seated in front of him, but he can’t because in his opinion it isn’t worth remembering, he doesn’t plan on talking to them again.

“Buildings, like we’re always gonna need them so you don’t have to worry about work, ya know?”

Before he has to answer, the bell rings and Sakusa has never been so thankful for such an annoying sound. He can’t take it anymore, completely over the mind numbing conversations, wondering just how anyone could find someone they wanted to date in such an environment. He lets out a deep breath, knowing Komori will be upset with him leaving before it’s even half over, but he just can’t stay.

“Wait wait wait! I haven’t even asked you a generic question yet.”

When he looks up, he’s face to face with the unsavory blonde, causing his eye to twitch. “I’m already at my limit of generic questions. Sorry.”

“C’mon, how much could you lose in just three minutes?” Atsumu tries his signature smile, quickly realizing the raven-haired man in front of him isn’t going to put up with his bullshit, instantly intriguing the blonde. “Okay, okay. How ‘bout a minute and a half?”

For an uncomfortable amount of time (like 30 seconds) Atsumu just stares at Sakusa, causing him to shift in his seat a few times. He’s once again about to get up when the blonde loudly breaks the silence between them.

“You’re the guy with that cardboard house thingie!” His voice carries through the room, getting a few glances from others.

“It’s called a concept design model and you rudely knocked it out of my hand.” He raises an eyebrow, shocked to see the blonde look so dejected at his comment.

Atsumu rubs the back of his neck, a nervous smile on his lips. “I’m really sorry about that. I hope you didn’t get a bad grade.”

Sakusa quietly explains that his professor witnessed the whole thing and let him fix it and bring it back at the end of the day. Silence falls over them again after Atsumu informs him that it would’ve bothered him if he had gotten a low mark because of him. When he starts to get up, Sakusa, for reasons unknown, stops him.

“It’d mess up the flow if we didn’t wait until the bell rang.” He mentally chastises himself, why was he trying to spend more time with someone he doesn’t even like? What was so fascinating about someone who is vastly different from him on an almost fundamental level?

“I’m Miya Atsumu.” He awkwardly extends a hand across the table, “but I just go by Atsumu.”

“Nice to meet you, Atsumu.”

The blonde swallows thickly, heart ramming into his ribs at the sound of his name coming from Sakusa’s tongue and he wants to hate how sweet it sounds, but he can’t. He tilts his head to read the name tag stuck to Sakusa’s turtleneck, “did you play any sports in high school, Sakusa?”

“Oh, uhm, volleyball. Did you?”

Atsumu’s eyes light up, Sakusa can now see the orange that highlights the brown of his eyes. He starts gushing about playing volleyball since he was a kid with his twin brother, taking time to brag about his former high school captain and how a few of his old teammates are playing for professional teams. The corner of Sakusa’s lips turn up, thoroughly enjoying the way Atsumu’s face is full of pride as he talks about the others in his life, causing the realization that maybe the blonde isn’t as self-centered as he’s assumed.

Their conversation becomes effortless, even answering the mundane generic questions feels exciting because it means they get to learn more about the man sitting across the table. Though Health and Physical Education seems like the obvious choice for what a blonde frat boy would major in, the reason surprises Sakusa. He assumes it’s because most people assume it’s an easy degree or get it so they’ll at least have a degree but Atsumu informs him it’s because even though he has aspirations to go pro in volleyball, if it didn’t work out being a PE teacher in an elementary school would be pretty cool too.

Sakusa feels his chest tighten when the bell finally rings, yet Atsumu doesn’t even stir. He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow in the process. “Aren’t you going to move to the next table?”

“Nah. I’m pretty content right here.” Atsumu smirks, the tips of Sakusa’s ears turn bright pink. He gets a dirty look from the girl who is meant to replace him when he simply points to the table next to theirs.

Atsumu keeps that up for five more turns, upsetting whoever wants to take his place but Sakusa really doesn’t mind. Somehow it starts to feel like they’ve known each other for years rather than just roughly 20 minutes. Sakusa learns that Atsumu spends his summers volunteering at his hometown’s community center, helping coach volleyball and during breaks he works at his brother’s restaurant. Atsumu learns that Sakusa doesn’t really go back home, opting to stay on campus either helping TA summer courses or working with his advisor to find internships. Sakusa turns bright red when Atsumu mentions needing to thank Komori for being the reason they got to meet.

“Miya! What are you doing?” Meian appears behind the blonde, who now resembles a scolded puppy causing Sakusa to chuckle.

“I’m…just getting to know my peers.”

“I’m sorry if he bothered you.” Meian shakes his head, pulling Atsumu by the back of his shirt away from the table, muttering something about how he was supposed to be helping, not slacking off.

** Atsumu quickly jogs back to the room where they were holding the event, having been sent on an errand to get something across campus. He’s out of breath, but tries scanning around the room for Sakusa, only to feel his heart sink when he can’t.

“Hey, did you see where Sakusa went?” He asks a few of the people left lingering, all looking at him like he’s lost his mind.

“The guy you were talking to instead of helping out?” Meian asks and Atsumu holds back an eyeroll as he nods, “oh he left a while ago. Didn’t you get his number?”

“He must be special to knock you off your game.” Hinata says, noticing how defeated the comment leaves Atsumu who clearly forgot to ask.

“Too bad break starts tomorrow and he’ll probably forget about you.”  Inunaki remarks, sticking his tongue out at his frat brother who looks like he’s about to pass out.

* * Two weeks later

Sakusa lets out another yawn, still annoyed that not only had his alarm not gone off on time, but that he somehow ran out of staples and needed to have his research paper stapled before turning it in. For some reason this professor refused anything that wasn’t stapled, as if that made it unreadable suddenly.

Just as gets ready to open the building door, he hears a shout before someone crashes into his side, scattering his paper across the sidewalk, scraping the heel of his palm. When he glances to the side, he sees a poof of blonde hair and flushed red cheeks, reaching out for Sakusa’s hand.

“Sorry, sorry.” Atsumu starts gathering the sheets of paper before anyone can step on them. He takes a deep breath, slightly pulling the stack away from Sakusa when he reaches out for them. “Go out with me. A date.”

Sakusa knits his eyebrows together, still trying to process what just happened and not freak out on the pathetic state of his research paper. “Huh?”

He shakes his head, “I mean, will you go on a date with me?”

The blonde starts rambling about not being able to find him after the event and Komori wasn’t answering his phone all break so he couldn’t ask for his number. Sakusa laughs a bit louder than usual, mostly from the lack of sleep but also the insanity this encounter was. He tells Atsumu that he had to go home during their break last week, unplanned and he smirks when he sees Atsumu’s shoulders relax.

“I’ll go on one condition.” Sakusa watches Atsumu’s eyes light up again, looking a bit like a golden retriever, “if you promise to stop sabotaging my assignments.”

“I can definitely do that.” He nearly drops the research paper trying to pass Sakusa his phone, getting an annoyed look from the raven-haired man. “Starting now, I swear.”

[leviiattacks]

cashier levi was SO GOOD could you maybe write a drabble sort of thing about levi explaining why he likes reader or idk?????:?/?:? something cute i love cashier levi ☹️☹️☹️☹️

author note :: cashier levi has garnered many other cashier levi enthusiasts so here we have another addition to the cashier levi universe :-) if you’d like to read the original here it is!

word count :: 1k

“contact info? yeah the customer service helpline is listed on our website.”

“i meant could i get YOUR number?”

this woman who’s been flirting with levi for god knows how long is getting on your nerves. not because you’re jealous but you have things to do!!! people to talk to!!! netflix to catch up on!!!

she looks up at levi fluttering her lashes but he only purses his lips feeling the same annoyance as you

“when i am at work i am but a pawn used by ackermart ltd! if you wish to contact us please contact the customer service helpline.” he recites feigning an air of cordiality

“no i mean i am interested in YOU.” she really is incredibly persistent

levi huffs clearly seeing this is going nowhere

“how much will you pay me?” he asks

you’re just standing there waiting for her to get this over and done with so you can purchase your pastries from the store bakery and go

“payment????” her response has you biting back a laugh. she probably didn’t expect that

“well yes. i am an asset to this company. you can’t steal me away without upping my salary.”

“you know what–” she starts up burning in simmering anger

“fuck me? yeah i figured. have a nice day!” levi offers her a displeased smile before gesturing towards the exit

without a second to spare she storms out and it’s safe to say you don’t think you’ll see her swing by ackermart any time soon

levi turns to you and shrugs “people who flirt with cashiers are so odd??? go to a club, flirt with someone who isn’t working.”

you blink feeling confused because well, you and levi are literally in this weird inbetween of “hey i have a crush on you” and “when do we actually date...?”

and the reason for that is literally because you started throwing subtle hints at him and flirted whilst he was at work.

it’s probably the sad distant look in your eyes that makes him realise but levi soon notices the implications of what he’s said and takes back his statement.

“oh no, not you though peaches. that rule doesn’t apply to people i like.”

you feel your cheeks flaring up and look away. maybe you’re annoying, or maybe you’re just a HUGE bet amongst the staff members

you frown thinking of levi and all of the part timers gathered around a table plotting how to make you fall for him just for the fun of it

no... sasha is way too nice and would never let that happen. you’re just overthinking stuff because you’re now feeling insecure.

“oh yeah i know that.” you mumble. he scans your box of croissants then moves onto a jar of nutella all the while glancing up to observe your facial expressions

“hey, are you seriously thinking that i hate talking to you or something?” he asks. to be honest he does seem completely bewildered by that idea.

when he says that you jump back completely surprised that he’s somehow pieced together your thoughts.

you turn around even though you know no customers are around to eavesdrop. you always come in right before closing (don’t worry you’re never obnoxiously late or anything)

“yeah because i don’t know what even made me different that you wanted to reciprocate. this is really dumb to worry about but it felt weird that’s all.”

levi hums and crosses his arms over his chest. staring up at the ceiling he thinks hard for a moment.

“i liked you already so when you started flirting with me i reciprocated. who wouldn’t?”

“who wouldn’t reciprocate or who wouldn’t flirt with me?” you question, it’s not really relevant but you’d like to know

“both.”

“WAIT A SECOND.” you’re in disbelief, his words only sink in now

“YOU CRUSHED ON ME BEFORE I CRUSHED ON YOU?? NO WAY WHY??” you’re leaning over the cash register face directly in front of levi’s

you’re beaming and he thinks this is probably the most confident he’s ever seen you around him. you’re pretty bad at maintaining eye contact but now you’re intently looking right at him and wOWW were your eyes always this pretty??

“i, well. before i started manning the cashier i saw you around and you were really sweet.”

“elaborate.”

you’re going to need him to elaborate because you can’t remember doing anything out of the ordinary.

“you offered to help stack the shelves when jean fell off the step ladder.” he pauses thinking again and digs through his memory

“and when you paid for someone else’s shopping and took items out of your own basket so you’d be able to do it. i don’t know okay you were just WARM.”

“warm?!?!” you ask now standing on your tiptoes leaning even further into him. your heart is BACKFLIPPING right now

“you make people happy.” levi’s now broken eye contact and looks to the side, it’s not because he’s uncomfortable he really just has no clue what to do when your hot breath is fanning onto his cheeks and you’re this close to him

“okay i feel better now!!” throwing your arms around his neck you awkwardly hug him, the cash register jabs into your side slightly but you take the pain, levi’s really good at hugging actually AND if anyone’s warm it’s him!!! not you!!!

you stay like that and he pats your back. you’ve never been this close to him and you find that he smells of mint. it suits him.

but of course connie has to interrupt as per usual!!!

“LOVEBIRDS AT TILL NUMBER FOUR I REPEAT!! LOVEBIRDS AT TILL NUMBER FOUR!!” his voice blares through the speakers and levi tries to escape your embrace most probably wanting to take mic privileges away from him

“let’s stay like this for a bit” you whisper into his neck and he stops moving and sighs choosing to give in.

“fine.” he mutters.

“but only because you asked.” levi draws circles into your back with his index finger and you know what? whatever you and levi are doesn’t matter in this moment. there’s absolutely no need to rush and label things yet

and if you had to choose a label to give him it would be warm

levi is officially your warm person

and you’re his :-)

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

So, I listened to the three episodes of a radio show that Daniel Kitson hosted in the middle of the night in Australia in 2009, because yesterday I had 15 hours in the car that’s what I decided I wanted to do. He played music, some of which I quite liked and some of which I found rather annoying. I like lots of independently made music, but the specific sound associated with the term “indie rock” often seems sort of obnoxious to me. It often strikes me too hard as something that thinks they’re deep because they aren’t pop music but there’s barely anything actually there. It feels like a cop-out, saying it’s not supposed to sound musically beautiful, we added this vague distortion on purpose. That just makes me want to tell them that people created soundproof recording studios for a reason, you don’t have to record in a wind tunnel, you can make it sound better than that. Unless of course you’re just not that musically talented and don’t trust it to sound good on its own.

As soon as I wrote that I realized that just several days ago I said I loved the way David O’Doherty’s fourth album was recorded in his car and you can hear the storm pick up around him as it goes along. But in that case, the musical talent actually isn’t the point. All due respect to DO’D, but no one is listening to that because he has a beautiful singing voice and plays an instrument really well. The music is just a tool to enhance the comedy. And even aside from that comedy, I’ve enjoyed some purely musical albums that were recorded outside a studio. My favourite Corb Lund album was recorded in his cabin with almost no production added, and includes lovely acoustic versions of the songs that are basically just him and his guitar and nothing else. But crucially, it also sounds like good music. What I hate is when people create that under-produced effect artificially, ironically via extra production, like that adds to the music in some way. Just sort of half-singing half-talking about a girl they used to like over some strange-sounding noise because having an interesting melody is too mainstream.

There was no reason for that rant and it has nothing to do with the rest of this post, and the real reason why I don’t like anything labeled “indie rock” is just that when folk festivals want to appeal to the youths they bring in “indie rock” as though that’s a suitable substitute for folk music, which it fucking isn’t. Listening to several hours of that radio show involved some songs that annoyed me for how much they were like that kind of thing that I dislike, but I realize that is my fault for listening to a music and comedy radio show curated by a guy who has made it clear that indie music is his thing.

I listened to it anyway, because it also had some songs that I really liked and have written down so I can look them up, but I was mainly listening for the comedy. Daniel Kitson did some of his own material and some just talking with the crowd, and he brought on various comedians to do short sets live and played some more comedy on CDs. The shows were recorded to a live audience between midnight and 2 AM, which doesn’t seem like a way to get an audience at their best, and that the effects of that were fairly clear. On all three shows, but especially on the first one, the audience was mainly subdued to the point of at least mild awkwardness, but would occasionally half-heartedly say stuff and that was even more awkward.

The actual reason I wanted to write this post was that he brought on Tim Vine about halfway through the first show, to do about eight minutes. I’m not a huge fan of Tim Vine, the one-liner stuff is not my favourite as a general rule (a rule with a number of exceptions, like the rule of me disliking indie rock), and I sometimes just find him a bit annoying. But I actually thought that if you like this sort of thing, which clearly many people do because Tim Vine and other comedians like that have plenty of fans, the jokes he did on that radio show were pretty good. Even I laughed at his bookmark bit, and for some reason I really liked the bacon sandwich joke.

But it did not go over well. That crowd was a bit off anyway, but Tim Vine got an even worse reception from them than the rest of the show did. I think they just didn’t really know what to make of him, which is understandable. I guess these Australians were not familiar with Tim Vine and his schtick, and it’s pretty different from what they were expecting for people who had come to see Daniel Kitson tell stories and play indie rock.

As the set went on, I found it interesting just because I realized I don’t often see or hear those “bad gigs” that all comedians reference all the time. I know they must happen, but those aren’t the ones that get recorded and put on the internet. So when I hear comedians tell a laughing and highly entertained crowd about the time they told their jokes and no one laughed, I don’t think they’re lying or anything but I don’t really know what they’re talking about. Hearing this Tim Vine thing is sort of an interesting way for me to say, “Oh I see, that’s what it sounds like when that happens.”

I actually have heard things like this before, because I used to go to comedy clubs a lot when I was in my early twenties, and my brother was in his first few years of performing stand-up, and I’d go see him. At those shows, there would be plenty of times when a comedian would find they weren’t getting the response they wanted, and then they’d deal with that in various ways. Some ignored it. Some awkwardly referenced it and let it go. Some tried to argue with the audience (a move that is funny when it's actually a joke and they’re doing it for comedy, and is just really fucking awkward when they actually are upset at the audience and they think this tactic will somehow make it better). Some changed their material to see if something else would work better. Generally, the headliners did this better than the middlers and the middlers did it better than the openers, because I get the impression that the ability to respond well in that circumstance is pretty directly tied to experience.

So I’ve seen that before, but it’s rare that I’ll see how it happens with a properly famous comedian, far ahead of the people in my local comedy clubs. You can hear Tim Vine flounder more and more as he goes along and keeps not getting the laughs he wants. It’s especially noticeable with his style, because his jokes last about eight seconds each, so even few seconds he gets a new chance, and you can hear him hope this one will go better and then it doesn’t. So he starts acknowledging it a bit, but that still doesn’t help.

I mean, it wasn’t even that bad. The audience was laughing a bit, it wasn’t total silence. It just wasn’t great, and it was enough to fluster him. This might be a bit of a silly thing to say, and it might be over-analysis of something that actually means nothing, but as a coach of a sport team with a psychology degree, I found it interesting when near the end, he forgot part of his joke. Because throughout the set, I could feel the tension build, and it felt like watching a match in my sport that’s going badly. Watching an athlete keep making mistakes, and then trying other things, but those don’t go well either. If they do that for long enough, it is a real psychological phenomenon that tunnel vision will set in. Their peripheral vision will physically narrow, they’ll start missing things they would otherwise have seen, because of the way their brain is scrambling to keep up. They’ll try something they’ve done properly a thousand times, but they’ll leave out an aspect of it that they know very well. As a coach, a huge part of my job is helping athletes learn how to mentally handle bad situations so that doesn’t start happening.

I’m pretty sure when Tim Vine forgot that kangaroo joke, I was straight-up watching the equivalent of that phenomenon, and I find it genuinely interesting that that works in a similar way in such a different context. He tried to recover for a while, threw a few different things at the wall, a couple of them stuck a little, and then he got the hell out of there. By the end, I very much felt like I’d just watched an athlete in a match where everything went wrong, they get to the last thirty seconds and just try to survive, and then they’re relieved to be able to just get the hell off the mat and probably out of the gym altogether to kick a wall in the hallway. I don’t even need to think of it as a coach – I’ve been that athlete out there with everyone looking at me, suddenly going from executing my own plan to someone who has written this off and just wants to have people stop looking at me so I can be mad about it.

Even the terminology’s the same. While listening to that Tim Vine segment, I kept thinking “Oh God the man is dying, someone put him out of his misery.” At the end, I thought, “Well, that’s it, Tim Vine has died.” The night before this car journey, I was at my friend’s house with a few other coaches, watching videos from some of last year’s tournaments. When someone went down hard, I would say, “Oh shit he killed that guy.” When someone had a terrible match, I’d say, “Well, [athlete who lost] is dead now. He died in that match and now he’s dead.” That probably just says something about my own lack of creativity with ways to express that things are going badly, but after I finished listening to Tim Vine, I did laugh a little when I realized my way of describing it used the exact same words that I’d been using to describe athletes the night before.

I found it interesting. Normally the comedians I see are so in control, because normally I’m seeing things that went well enough to be recorded and edited and put online. I like seeing the stuff that hasn’t been through that process. I completely understand why the comedians don’t want that to happen. I understand why they don’t want their bad gigs and unpolished material on the internet, just like when I had a terrible match I used to desperately hope that the guy who records matches and puts them on YouTube had not caught that one.

I can also see why it’s not even just about comedians’ egos or perfectionism; having some control over what gets preserved makes comedy better. If every time they do a show they have to worry that if it goes badly it’ll be out there forever, they won’t take risks or try new stuff. I realize it took me a little while to get to the theme of this post, but to be clear, the theme is ways in which people doing comedy remind me of my experiences in sports. And to come back to that theme, it’s like how during non-pandemic times, we go to tournaments nearly every weekend for most months of the year to just get lots of matches. We tell the athletes that most of these don’t matter, that I’d rather see them try something they haven’t perfected and fuck it up than win the tournament with the same stuff they were doing last year. Because you’ll never get better if you don’t do lots of unimportant matches where it’s fine if it all goes wrong, so when you get to the championships you’ve worked out the problems. You try it once, you see why it didn’t work, you fix that in practice, you try it in the next competition and find new flaws, fix them, repeat and hope to God it’s in decent condition by the time you get to stuff that matters. As far as I can tell that’s basically what they do in comedy, except replace “practice” with “sitting in their house writing stuff”. In either case, no one gets better if they think it really matters every time so they’re too self-conscious to try stuff they don’t already know will work.

I can understand why this means comedians should be able to do most of their shows with the knowledge that no one is recording it, so they get to control which ones get recorded and go online and be attached to their name forever. And that is why I feel a little bit guilty if I listen to a bootleg from a comedy show, which I am currently doing with a couple of old Daniel Kitson shows I found online. My defense is that I’m not the one making that worse. I would never go to a live show and record it. I’m not distributing the files. I just found them, they’d be there whether I downloaded them or not. I think it’s a decent justification.

The connection between live comedy and other parts of life, other ways that people are all working on getting better at something and sometimes it goes well and sometimes it doesn’t, is something I’ve thought about a few times this week. On this Comedian’s Comedian podcast I’ve been listening to, the host Stuart Goldsmith made an offhanded comment that stuck with me, that, “We’ve all been in the finals of competitions with people who are millionaires now.” Referring to how you can have a crop of people who were all nominated for the Newcomer Award or something like that at the Edinburgh Festival in one year, and ten years later some of those nominees are doing pretty well and some have gone nowhere and some are hugely famous. And it makes you realize how much it really doesn’t fucking matter which one of them won that particular award ten years ago.

I don’t even have some psychological point to make about that, it was just a very familiar and accurate observation that I’ve never heard someone quite put into words before. One of the most successful women in the country at my sport used to be in my category at tournaments when we were both fairly new, and one time we got into the finals together at some regional competition, and I did in fact beat her. Every time she racks up some new major accomplishment, I think, “Yeah but I pinned her in 2007.”

The first main training partner – meaning a teammate that I worked with at almost every practice – I ever had won a gold medal at the Olympics in 2016. I watched her do it and said, “Yeah, pretty sure she got there because of all those days in 2005 that I pushed her on [I’d started to write the name of the moves we used to do together but no one will know what I’m talking about so just imagine generic sports move that were definitely not the ones that won her the Olympics].” I mean, obviously I didn’t really watch her win the Olympics while saying that. I watched her win the Olympics on a choppy livestream with tears in my eyes as time ran down and I realized which way it would go, and when the final buzzer sounded I threw my arms around friend and shouted things. I said the stuff about how her and I were in the same place in 2005 later in the night, after we’d had about eight shots of whiskey in her honour. One might think that that sort of thing is why she won the Olympics and I didn't, but to be fair, I've been out with several Olympians before and it's amazing how much they can drink.

I wonder if that’s what it’s like for comedians who watch some people go a lot farther than others. I guess it’s like that with anything, sports or art but even just working in any job. I’ve never had a job where I care that much about advancement in this way; I’ve just had things to pay the bills while I mainly revolve my life around this sport. So I don’t know what it’s like to be really competitive in a career, but I assume it’s like this. I guess everything I've said in this post is basically obvious and like that for everyone, but it's a few connections I hadn't specifically made before.

Well, those are my thoughts. Disjointed thoughts I had during a long road trip yesterday, while listening to a bunch of different things on my phone. I’m going to go look at an ocean now, because the result of that car journey is I’m in a place where I can do that.

[numinous-vagary]

Anonymous asked:

They don't know why it's affecting them like this, but their heart hurts. Ven was starting to get close with another healer, the both of them teasing and flirting with each other. And as Perredh compares that to how Ven has always gotten pissed at them or vice versa, it feels as if their heart is being torn out, thrown to the ground and stomped into dust. Dark thoughts echo in their head, reminiscent of an old relationship they'd had before coming to the arena and transitioning. Ven was happy with someone else. All Perredh did was annoy him. He deserved someone that didn't do that. Perredh didn't deserve any of that happiness.

The healer avoided the fighter for days. They hardly left their room, instead curling up in their small bed and staring at the wall. One stormy night, the banging on their door surprises them, but they don't move to open it or even speak to whoever's on the other side. They just remain there, curled up under the covers and trying to ignore the stinging in their eyes. ;; @nomadiisms​

Ven couldn’t exactly be considered ‘friendly’ per se, but he could- in the right light- seem charismatic and likeable in an ‘lovable asshole’ kind of way. So, for every two people who found him obnoxious, another one or two found him.. quite tolerable.

But more often then not, rather then true friendship, vens relationships with those he ‘got along with’ tended more towards flirationships and ‘friendly’ rivalries. This new healer was the former. In truth, he felt very little for them- positive or negative- and just enjoyed the passing casual flirtations and comments for what they were, nothing different then flirting with the occasional cute fan... So it didn’t cross his mind that anyone else might see it as more then that.

However, it only took till the second day of Perredh avoiding him for him to notice something was off. he found himself confused, and irritated- where they sick? did they just not want to talk to him anymore? and if the latter, what the fuck had he done to piss off the little deerling this time?

He decided at first he decided, in annoyance, that if they had a problem with him they could just fucking deal with it- and he’d talk to them when they finally calmed down. But as days went on, his irritation grew.. and he found himself on edge, worried even, and angry with himself over the fact that he kept THINKING about them.

Ven debated checking up on them, but every time he convinced himself it was a bad idea- until the storm moved in that night, and he found himself both worried for them and.. afraid. Rain was fine, nice even- but the cracks of thunder and flashes in the sky had his nerves shot. He wouldn’t say it was a phobia, but he was certainly a little put off by storms..

Despite himself, he crept from his room and darted rather hurriedly to theirs- banging on the door harder then intended. When he heard no response, he shifted heavily on the spot- grumbling uncomfortably. “..bambi? y’ in there?” He calls, a bit awkwardly.

[adhdeancas]

Dean Winchester (and the script leaks last night) possessed me to write this.

Dean happens upon Chuck's latest book: Carry On. Except it ends differently than it really went, and the ending? It's really fucking bad.

tw: suicide mention, transphobia (quickly shut the fuck down) 

Dean doesn’t make a habit of going to bookstores. Not because he hates books, contrary to what Sam might think; he just prefers to buy used books. There’s something comforting about a book that has already been worn and read over and over, that already shows how much the previous owner loved it. Plus, y’know, big corporations are evil and all that. And Dean only allows himself to overlook that when his stomach or his wallet wins over his hatred of the shitty mass-produced products. 

This time it was Jack who won; he’s obsessed with this new fantasy series and the new book just came out, so there’s no way he can hunt it down on Ebay. He makes his way to the fantasy and sci-fi section, eyes roaming over the displays of new releases, and his eye catches on something that turns his blood cold. 

“Supernatural: Carry On, The Final Book of the Winchesters’ Epic Journey” takes up a whole table, the generic and overly serious cover jeering out at him. 

He storms over to the display, anger covering up for the way his body feels light as a feather and like lead all at once, and picks up a book. “Why is Sam always fucking shirtless?” he mutters, the only thought that allows itself from the mess inside his head to his mouth. 

“Book sales.” A voice behind him says. He turns to see a teenager with their arms crossed over their work polo, pierced lip fixed into a customer-unfriendly frown.

“People want to see that?”

They snort, a small grin turning up the corner of their lips. It reminds Dean of Cas. “No. But that’s what advertisers think all ‘women’ want,” They use air quotes. 

He raises an eyebrow and asks. “Women?”

They shrug and uncross their arms, leaning back against the display table behind them. Their nametag says Jadyn. “Supernatural’s biggest block of readers is queer. I’d go out on a limb and say a lot of those the marketers think of as ‘women’ aren’t, or if they are, they aren’t itching to see Sam’s six pack.” Jadyn smirks. 

Dean takes a second to digest that, then grins down at the book, thinking past Sam’s apparently badly-received nudity now. “So how’d they like it?” he asks, waving the book a bit and looking up at Jadyn. Apparently they know a lot about the fans of the books, and for once, he’s proud of the way the story ended. 

Jadyn’s face sets into all hard lines. “Most people fucking hated it.” they say bluntly, then, probably remembering that he’s a customer, correct. “Sorry. I mean, it got some good reviews, mostly from people who like Wincest, but beyond that, it had some problematic plot points.”

Dean winces at the reminder of the ship between him and his brother, then scrunches his whole face together in confusion. “Wait, what? Why?” Why would Wincest fans like it? What was problematic about their end?

Jadyn shifts from foot to foot. “I don’t wanna spoil anything for you-”

“I don’t care about spoilers, just give me the short version.” Dean says quickly. A quiet panic is rising in him, and suddenly he has a horrible feeling that he’s not holding the truth in his hands anymore. 

“Uh, okay… Well, the most obvious thing is the bury-your-gays thing, then there’s the fact that it completely contradicted the rest of the lore. And it was ableist, misogynistic, and messed up, like, every character’s arc.” they take a breath, clearly worked up by it. “Even if they changed any of the details too, it was all built on Dean’s death, and that’s just bullshit. Sorry.” they apologize again, apparently mistaking Dean’s stricken expression to be in reaction to their rant and swearing. 

“No, nah, you’re… you’re okay. Uh, thanks.” he waves a hand and wanders away from them, only remembering Jack’s book when he’s almost to the register. He manages to make his way back and find the damn thing, but he’s still in a fog when he gets to the register. 

“Did anyone help you in the store today?”

“Huh?” he looks up and meets the middle-aged cashier’s gaze for the first time. Brent, from the nametag, looks at him impatiently. “Oh, yeah, uh… Jadyn. Jadyn helped me.” Brent scoffs and starts typing with a shake of the head. “Uh, is there a problem?” Dean asks, a little annoyed at this cashier’s unnecessary attitude. He usually doesn’t care if an employee’s rude, because they have to deal with assholes all the time and honestly Dean isn’t much better, but this one gives him a bad feeling. 

“No, no, sorry. It’s just - “Jadyn’s” got this idea that he’s a girl. Makes everybody call him that name now too. Just-” Brent shakes his head. “I mean, you get it. Their generation, everybody wants to be special.”

Dean glares. “No, I don’t get it, Brent.” He says through gritted teeth. “Seems to me like Jadyn probably deals with enough assholes like you that her asking for a little basic decency is the exact opposite of special. Sounds pretty normal, actually.” He can see the fear creep into Brent’s eyes, and he knows the cashier is reacting to the murderous look in his eyes more than his actual words. 

Brent hands Dean his bag of books with a quiet, “Here you go.”

Dean snatches it away. “Oh, Brent?” he checks over his shoulder to make sure they’re alone and then leans across the counter into Brent’s space. “You should find a new job, one where you don’t have to interact with other people. At least until you learn how to stop being a piece of shit.” He starts to ease away but thinks better about it. “And if you think that’s a suggestion, it’s not. My husband likes this book coming out next month that I’ll need to buy, and if I see you here when I come, well… it would be really embarrassing for you to tell all your little friends that you got your ass beat by a ‘special’ guy, huh?” He pats Brent on the cheek condescendingly and leaves with a huff. 

Damn transphobes. 

He only remembers the book once he’s back in Baby, and he takes the time to drive out of town before he pulls over to read it. It’s an old abandoned church, the cross long since fallen from the roof and the doors hanging off their hinges. He sits on the steps just because being in Baby seems claustrophobic for once in his life, and going back to the bunker to look at this is just… not happening.

Dean only skims the beginning to see that it starts the same. The ground erupting with bodies, hell spitting out its most-conveniently placed nasties, Rowena sacrificing herself, Cas leaving. His throat closes up at that, at Chuck’s description of Cas’s heartbroken expression as he climbs the stairs of the bunker. He clears his throat and skips to the end, right past Cas’s death that he doesn’t have the time to think about right now, past them defeating Chuck and then stops. He goes back a few pages, trying to find the disconnect. 

The story’s different.

After Jack takes on God’s power, in the book, he’s totally fine. Not almost vibrating out of his skin or anything, not crying like the three year old he is because he’s scared. Not like it really happened. He just smiles and leaves him and Sam, and they let him go. 

Dean scoffs, skimming over the story as it just gets more ridiculous. 

In the book, he doesn’t even try to save Cas. They barely even mention him. And they never mention Eileen, either. In fact, Dean notes disbelievingly, practically the only characters in the last few chapters are him and Sam. They’re hunting again.

“What, is Chuck trying to keep the series going?” he whispers to himself, anger flaring through him. They let Chuck live, and he decided to write obnoxious fanfiction about them? He’s gonna kill that shameless little fucker. For real, this time. He deserves it.

In the book, Sam and Dean torture some vampire mime, and they enjoy it. Dean cringes; this is really what Chuck thinks of them. Then they tussle with more vamps in a barn and- 

Dean’s brain stops working. He rereads the scene again and again. 

“There’s something in my… something in my back. It feels like it’s right through me.” 

Dean Winchester dies in a dirty barn, on a piece of freaking rebar. 

More than that, Dean realizes on his fourth read-through. This Dean? He tried to drag out his speech, Dean can tell by the way he pauses for fucking drama. He would never do that. He would never talk to Sam for fifteen hellish minutes when he could be trying. Trying to live, so he can actually get his life back on track, get his family back. No, he made that speech stalling. He made that speech so Sam wouldn’t try to save him. 

“You gotta admit, I had one helluva ride.” He was strangely calm.

Chuck made him kill himself.

Dean reads the rest of the book through blurry eyes, reading an ambiguous and nothing-ending, one where he’s somehow happy to be dead and driving around in heaven alone while Sam raises a kid into hunting and cries about Dean decades after he’s died. Eileen isn’t mentioned. Cas is mentioned once, and Bizzarro-Dean doesn’t even think about seeing him, apparently. The whole book ends with a hug between him and Sam, both dead. Both alone. 

Dean rips the ending up. He tears through the stupid paper covering and keeps ripping the pages up until they’re the size of confetti. His lower lip wobbles. He throws the whole thing against the side of the building, and it tumbles through the broken doorway and drops into a pile of dust and dirt. “That isn’t the fucking ending.” he grounds out, knocking his hand against the flimsy handrail. It gives a little under his fist and he kicks at it. “That isn’t the fucking ending!”

He’s having a panic attack. Again. He tries to take deep breaths, but they’re gulping, too big, they’re making him panic more. He scrambles back to Baby and grabs his phone, presses the first number on his favorites list and waits for him to answer on speaker phone.

“Hey Dean, what’s up?” Sam sounds like he’s been laughing. There are voices in the background, and Dean tries to convince himself one of them is Eileen. 

“Hey Sammy.” he chokes out, trying to sound normal. “You busy?”

There’s a pause, and then the sounds in the background. “Nah, Rowena’s just over.” he says casually. 

“So those voices in the background were-”

“Rowena and Eileen, yeah. They’re trying to convince me we need to go to Mexico. For the beaches.” A smile in his voice. Dean lets out a sigh of relief.  What’s up, Dean? You need something?” The smile drops, and Sam’s worried. 

Sam’s okay. Sam’s okay. “No, nah. Hey, you heard from Donna lately?” Dean just needs to triple-check.

“Uh, no, not since Sunday dinner… Dean, you okay?”

“Yeah, she just- she hasn’t been answering my texts. Just wanted to make sure.” Dean lies quickly. His breathing is still uneven, but his body is settling into uneven shakes. 

Sam sounds skeptical. “Yeah, well, she did tell us it’s been pretty busy at work lately. Y’know, everybody going out for the first time with COVID, getting stupid. Plus, y’know, nowhere’s drowning in EMTs right now.”

“Right. Yeah.” Dean takes a deep breath, a distant memory of Donna talking about that coming back to him.

“Pretty sure you were setting up a D&D session with Charlie while she was talking about that,” Sam laughs. Dean knows he means it as a subtle jab, but there’s too much relief flooding through him to care. Still, a string is pulled taut in him, and Sam can’t fix that completely.

“Gotta go, Sam,” Dean hangs up before Sam can say anything else, and goes to his next contact. It rings for far too long, and Dean’s heartbeat picks back up to thundering.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean breathes out. “Cas, you know I love you, right?” He needs to test all the bounds of this, to make sure, just to make sure. Make sure Chuck isn’t still fucking with him. Because apparently, Chuck won’t let him be queer. Not in his story. Not out loud.

He can hear Cas’s eyebrow raise through the phone, and his chest is overcome with stupid fondness. “I would be a little worried if you didn’t.”

Dean grins widely. “Like, romantically. I’m in love with you. Because you’re the love of my life and I’m bisexual.” He says it all like it’s a checklist, like he expects some cosmic being to slap a hand over his mouth before he gets each next phrase out.

“Yes, Dean. We’ve been married almost two months.” Cas is smiling. It happens everytime he talks about their wedding. Dean adores it. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, now it is.” His whole body relaxes, still vibrating with leftover panic, but satisfied. “I got Jack’s book.”

“Oh, good. He’ll be so pleased.” Cas pauses. “Dean, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dean eases off the ground and sends a last look at the dilapidated church before climbing into Baby. “Just- read a bad book. I’ll tell you about it later. When I get home.”

[marjorie189]

Australia

Hey ya’ll so this Ryland Storms Imagine was written less than a year ago with @alltimecalvinhood. We had planned to create an imagines book for Ryland on Wattpad but she unfortunately went MIA. I decided to post this imagine because it’s way too good to just have it saved away on a doc without being read, but full credits also go to @alltimecalvinhood alongside myself! 

This was going to have a part 2 but I wouldn’t want to continue this without @alltimecalvinhood​ since it was our planned imagine, so I wouldn't want to take credit for something we both worked on! 

Enjoy you guys❤️

-

You were sleeping when you felt your phone vibrate a couple times under your pillow. You smiled in your sleep knowing it was Ryland‘s good morning texts.

You slid your hand under your pillow trying to get your phone, your eyes still shut wishing you could be sleeping. Once your phone was disconnected you slowly opened your eyes, catching a glimpse of his messages.

Your heart fluttered as you saw his contact:

Ryland🥵🤩💦❤️❤️

You grinned knowing he missed you.

You opened them up.

Messages:

You smiled at how adorable he was. His whole “bad boy/player” image on tiktok and on the vlogs wasn’t accurate when it comes to you.

His whole act changes when he’s with you. You always tease him and call him a simp.

Like The Ryland Storms acting all soft, sending good morning texts, acting all desperate for attention. Who?

You and Ryland were exclusive but not official. At least not yet.

You both acted all lovey dovey with each other and weren’t afraid to show it. The fans loved it. You just never put a label on it.

Not that you guys didn’t want to have the “boyfriend & girlfriend” title, it’s just that you both are getting to flirtatiously know each other. You both were going with the flow, and it has been going great.

You chuckled at him calling you Shawty. Him trying to act all bad boy like, to impress you. You decided to play along with his name calling. You jokingly called him daddy.

You laughed and quickly got up. You headed to the restroom to brush your teeth and face.

You then walk to your closet and choose a simple outfit to go to the Hype House in.

Outfit:

Hair: 

Makeup: 

Once you were done you checked your phone and decided to look at twitter before you left to meet Ryland.

You were looking at tweets when you came across a fan edit of you and Ryland.

Click to see edit! 

You smiled as you watched and retweeted it.

You then clicked on Ryland’s twitter and saw his most recent tweet.

You smiled at the thought of going to Australia with him. You checked the comments and what you saw made you feel some type of way.

It was a comment from Indiana Massara.

“What the fuck?” You whispered to yourself.

You didn’t want to overreact just yet but it seemed like she was trying to get at Ryland.

You checked her account and her latest tweet made you gasp angrily and laugh dryly.

How could she have the audacity to tweet that she wanted to travel to Australia with someone “special” right after Ryland tweets that he wants to go to Australia. It’s not a coincidence, especially since she commented on his tweet.

This got you pretty heated. You got your car keys and headed to the Hype House.

Car:

The whole car ride you were heated by the thought of Indiana making moves on Ryland. Everyone knows that you and him are exclusive, so why would she even cross those boundaries. You rolled your eyes and gripped on the steering wheel tightly.

After about a few minutes you pulled up to the Hype House. You pulled up to the driveway and parked next to Thomas’s new Tesla.

You walked in and saw Avani, Tony, and Ondreaz sitting in the living room.

They all turned when they heard the door open.

“Y/N!” They all said in unison with wide smiles, when they saw you.

“Hiii!” You say happily smiling at them but then it vanished.

“Why aren’t you running up to see your lover boy? I’m sure he’s waiting for you in his room.” Tony smiled at you from the couches.

You walked up to them and sat next to Tony. Avani and Ondre being on the other couch.

“Yeah for reals!” Avani laughed. “The first thing you do is go upstairs to see him. Why are you here?” She joked.

Ondreaz laughed causing them all to laugh.

“Woww. Thanks. I feel so welcomed.” You laughed. “It’s just that I saw some tweets and it just got me mad” You say.

Ondreaz furrowed his eyebrow. “What do you mean? You okay?” He says.

“Yeah I’m fine. It’s just annoying.” You huffed rolling your eyes.

“Well come on show us.” Tony nudged you.

You sighed and pulled up the tweets.

Avani and Ondre sat on the same couch as you and Tony to see them.

You showed them Ryland’s tweet about Australia.

“Okay and do you not want him going to Australia?” Ondreaz laughed.

“You’re dumb. Noo!” You laughed rolling your eyes.

“Ohhh. I see.” Avani says, noticing Indiana’s comment.

“What?” Tony and Ondreaz say immediately looking over at Avani. They both looked confused as can be.

You laughed at their faces.

“Look at the comments.” She sassily says rolling her eyes at them. “I swear boys are so dumb!” She says annoyed.

You laugh agreeing.

They both looked at her comment.

“Okay what if she’s just being friendly?” Tony asked looking at you.

You and Avani faced each other and gave each other a what the fuck face.

“Okay clearly you know nothing about how girls act.” Avani says sarcastically.

“Okay okay what he means is what if she was just commenting on a friend's tweet? Like it’s a possibility. But I get how you see it. You can also see her as trying to flirt with Ryland.” Ondreaz added.

“Yeah thank you! No need to be mean!” Tony said, feeling offended.

You smiled at him and gave him a hug.

You both laughed.

“I totally agree with you Ondre. At first I was like what the fuck, but I didn’t want to overreact. Yet. So I looked further into it.” You say.

“Notice how she says yet.” Tony laughed.

“Hahaha so funny!” You said sarcastically at him. “But look, there's more.” You say going into her account.

You showed them her tweet.

“It can’t just be a coincidence. Like it just can’t.” You say sighing.

“Yeahh that whole traveling to Australia with someone special kinda seems suspicious since it’s right after Ryland’s tweet.” Ondreaz realized.

“Yeah what the fuck. Like she comments on his tweet saying how she “coincidently” knows people there and then makes a tweet on her own claiming how she wants to go with someone special. That’s just a big no!” Avani said.

“Exactly! So I’m kind of just trippin about it. Like I know Ryland and I aren’t “boyfriend and girlfriend” but it’s still like what the fuck you know.” I sighed leaning into the couch, sadly.

“Aww come over here!” Tony said embracing you into his arms. He placed you on his chest.

“Yeah you guys aren’t ‘girlfriend and boyfriend’ but you guys are clearly a thing and clearly talking. Literally everyone fucking knows that. So she’s literally just chasing clout, and hoping to get some spotlight.” Avani spoke.

“Yeah honestly I lost my respect for her. She seemed cool like she’s come by the house a few times. But you’re our girl and it ain’t cool what she’s doing.” Ondre said.

Tony nodded.

“Have you talked to him?” Tony said, looking down at you laying your head on his chest.

“Noooo. Definitely not stalling here, talking to you guys.” You say looking down.

“Okay you gotta go. Just talk to him.” Ondreaz said.

“Ughhhh fine.” You say standing up from Tony’s embrace. Tony frowned looking at you.

You laughed. “We can cuddle later.” You giggle.

“That's if you’re not cuddling with Ryland.” He said crossing his arms.

“You’re dumb. He’s gonna beat you up if you take me away from him especially if we’re cuddling.” You say walking towards the stairs.

“You know what I’m gonna dm this girl and tell her to keep commenting and flirting with Ryland so you can be sad and talk to us more and so we can cuddle. I miss my best friend!” He obnoxiously said.

“Oh my god possessive much!” Avani laughed.

You laughed at them and reached the top of the stairs. You went towards the direction of Ryland’s room.

Upon reaching the door to his room, you take a deep breath composing yourself. You then knock on the door sternly, ready to get this over with.

The door opened immediately, revealing Ryland’s smiling face. He looked like a little kid in a candy shop, what a simp.

“Sup Shawtyyy” He says trying to play it cool, but you could see right through him. You couldn’t help but smirk at the name but you then gave him a small glare, knowing you had business to handle. So you walked past him into the room. “Baby, what is it?” He says, sounding concerned.

“I’m mad!” You say in a baby tone, crossing your arms looking down at the ground.

“What why? But first tell me why you took soooo long. I was gonna die of getting so anxious to see your pretty face!” He exaggeratedly says.

You chuckle. “Well I’ve been here for the past 30 minutes just talking to Avani, Tony, and Ondre.”

He gasps loudly. “So you’re telling me that for the past hour and a half you’ve been with clown girl, helicopter, and Tony Lopez’s brother??” He loudly says, pretending to be offended.

“You’re so meann.” You say slightly shoving him as you giggle.

“We could have already eaten breakfast together and cuddled as we watched Outer Banks or gone out for a swim.” He says shaking his head pretending to be mad.

“I’m sorry Ry but Indiana was flirting with you!” You blurt out out exasperated, whipping out the tweets on your phone. Ryland looks down at the phone in your hand and suddenly bursts out into laughter.

You pout at him and cross your arms, acting like a child,

“Babeeee, it’s not funnyyyyy.” You say looking up at him with puppy dog eyes and a frown. He stops laughing and looks at you with a look of fondness across his face. He places a hand on your shoulder in a reassuring way and comes closer.

“Shawty, you’re adorable when you act all jealous.” He says and places a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look into his eyes. You feel butterflies filling your stomach at the words, but stand your ground.

“Are you going to go to Australia with her? Huh?” You say grumpily with a raised eyebrow, wanting to know what his answer would be. And he laughs once again.

“Y/N I wouldn’t go to Australia with anyone else in the world but you.” Your heart melts and you look at him waiting for him to say more. “I didn’t even respond to her tweet because you’re the only girl I want.” You smile widely at him and jump into his arms.

“Aww baby!” You say giving him a soft look. “That’s so sweet!” You say and give him a kiss on the cheek. He gives you a devilish grin and throws you on the bed. He stands towering above you.

“Now will the only girl in the world do me the honor of being my official, one and only...shawty.” He begins the sentence off serious, but he cracks a grin at the end. You can’t help but roll your eyes at his goofiness. You get on your knees on the bed so that you’re the same height as Ryland’s chest.

“Hmm...I don’t know.” You pause acting like you’re thinking. “Will you take me to Australia?” You joke with him.

He scoffs, “Already got the plane tickets booked.” He says back, jokingly. You throw your arms around his waist. In a swift movement you were on top of him as he was beneath you on the bed.

“Then yes. I will do you the honor of being your one and only shawty.” You smile warmly as you hang on tightly to him. Your hands wrapped around his neck and your face inches away from his. His hands placed on your hips.

“Perfect.” He whispers as he warmly looks into your eyes. He then trails them down to your lips. He smiles up at you and slowly places his lips on yours.

You closed your eyes, savoring the moment. Both lips were in sync. Both lips fit perfectly as if they were meant for one another. You both slowly pulled away from the kiss and intimately looked into each others eyes, like there was no other,

Ryland slowly sat up on the bed causing you to be on top of his lap. He took your legs and wrapped them around him. He put his arms around your lower back and pushed you closer to him, causing your inner thighs to be as close as possible to his body.

You smirked at his dirty actions and laughed, shaking your head.

He smirked back at you and smashed his lips onto yours. Before the kiss can turn into a makeout session you laugh into the kiss and he starts tickling you making you squirm out of his lap and onto the bed. He takes advantage of that and quickly hops on top of you, keeping you captured underneath him.

“Now let’s talk about those kisses.” He said referring to your texts from earlier.

“NOOO!” You giggle trying to get out from under him.

“You can’t escape me and my kisses.” He says pucking out his lips.

“HELPPP!” You yell out laughing.

“No ones gonna help you. The doors locked!” He devilshy said looking down at you.

“Nooo.” You yell loudly closing your eyes. You then hit his arms trying to get out from under him.

He then smirked, getting an idea in his head.

“I know how to fix this behavior!” He says seductively. He lifted one of his arms from towering over you and slowly pulled down the zipper from your Zappa jacket. Exposing your small shirt that tightly held your breasts together.

He threw the jacket at the door and his eyes lit up, looking at your boobs. He licked his lips at the sight of them from under the tight small shirt. He soon came out of his trance and went back to his plan.

He dove his head into the side of your neck and you gasped at the exhilarating feeling of his lips sucking on your neck.

“Fuckkk Ryland.” You moaned quietly. Your hips moving up to his body, wrapping your legs around his waist coming into contact with his hard bulge.

You decided to cause some friction with the two of you. You rubbed on his hard member with your wet one.

You felt Ryland stiffen up and hold in his breath. You continuously swifted your hips to his member wanting him to show the pleasure you’ve caused him. Two can play at that game.

He gave up and let out a loud moan and immediately put his hands to your hips directing the pace of your actions.

You both moaned out as the pleasure immensed with Ryland taking control and fastening your hip movements. He added onto the pleasure as he rode through the fabric. You closed your eyes and let your head fall to the bed. You pulled his curly hair not wanting to let out any more moans. You didn’t want anyone hearing you two.

“Okay okay.” You whispered, putting your hand on his chest, insinuating for him to stop. He slowly stopped and you both caught your breath.

“Fuck that was amazing!” You say pecking his lips.

“Damn this was only dry humping. And yet it was so great. I can’t imagine what it’s like to actually have sex with you.” He says looking down into your eyes.

You smiled blushing at him.

“I didn’t wanna stop but I don’t wanna rush things.” You say.

“No I totally get it. Officially getting together and having sex within the same time is a little crazy.” He laughs.

You giggle and nod.

“It’ll be so worth it. But breakfast?” You ask him as your eyes lit up with the thought of food.

“It will be as long as you don't make me wait till marriage.” He says curiosity roaming in his head.

You laugh. “I wouldn’t be able to stand that long of a wait. And plus you’re horny alllll the time.” You say laughing.

“You wanted breakfast right?” He says trying to change the subject and trying not to laugh at his hornyness.

“No no. We’re not changing the subject.” You laugh hitting him. “You literally posted a tiktok saying you were horny.”

“Okayy Okayy! Maybe sometimes.” He says not making eye contact.

“Literally all the time!” You say pushing him.

He laughs knowing you were right, showing his perfect top row of white teeth.

“Whatever. But now I get to satisfy my hornyness with you.” He says placing a kiss on your lips.

“Oh does that mean imma be booty called everyday?” You say with a stern look on your face.

“Oh don’t even act like you don’t feel the same way. I know you want me.” He says confidently as he looks you up and down.

“Crepes?” You say smiling.

“Oh look who’s changing the subject now with breakfast!” He says with an eyebrow raised.

-

Authors Note: Since this imagine was written less than a year ago, Tony and Ondreaz Lopez were written on this imagine before they got cancelled. So if you don’t support them then imagine somebody else :) thank you all for understanding💜