#silver springs state park

[feral-soup]

It's the most wonderful time of the year (when the manatees seek shallow water)!

#manatees #sea cow #Okala State Park #Silver Spring

[deannagrimstead]

#silver #spring #state park #creek #nature #ecology #hydrology #trees and forests

[hastyprovocateur]

Coaches Don't Play

(Coach! Abby x Soccer mom! Reader)

Summary- reader is a single mom determined to keep her act right for the sake of her son, but when his new, crushingly gorgeous coach enters the frame, she might have to ask herself some hard questions.

Word count- 12k

Cw- fluff, sexual content (ripping clothes, tribbing), mature themes (guilt, separation, divorce, single-parent struggles, mentions of domestic violence, sexual harassment, puritanism, homophobia, all-boys Christian school)

Reader desc- reader is a mom and has a name+surname, named son/ is not heavy on physical description)

Pickup at Noon

“The person you're calling is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone." Still radio silence on the coach’s end. You clicked your phone shut, tossing it into your lap as you white-knuckled the steering wheel. The light took an eternity to turn green. The school office line was already busy. A school zone sign stuck out like an accusatory finger as you drove out finally. The minimal outline of the mother and child, hand-in-hand, appeared to mock you; what with your relationship with your only son on the rocks.

How did I forget… how did I forget… you chanted under your breath as a by-passer yelled at you for cutting him before. It was elevator music at this point. Whether it’ll compound with the verbal lashing at the office from Bill, your boss, making after-school pickup an n circle of hell, you’d find out at night. When the day crushed your temples; threatened to split your skull open like a clam. It was all this, going on grave-ward.

You pulled into the school parking in your messy Civic. The passenger seat sat piled with manilas, cigarette boxes, and empty coffee to-go’s. A wrapped sub sandwich remained half-eaten from a couple mornings back. Running breakfast situation. You shoved whatever you could in the glove box, throwing the rest in the back before grabbing your handbag. Your panty hose shifted as you got out the car. Itchy seam on soft skin.

Throwing a frustrated glance around the parking lot, you adjusted yourself, lint-picking your pencil skirt for insurance. Tilting the cracked side-view mirror up, you wiped the lipstick overlining the bow of your lip, scraped the smudge of mascara below an eye, smoothed a loose lock down the side of your face.

Zion City had a spare handful of private elementary schools offering football, your son’s sport of choice. His father’s, more like. Things used to be different. There was a 5-year plan. House with a picket fence. In sickness and health. Us and ours. A silver lining.

Now you looked at pieces of it on the floor, asking if there was anything at all. Yes, he was protective… he loved you. He wanted all of you. And he did until there was very little of you left. It started with slamming doors, screaming at night. A slap. It can’t be true. You’d pray like a stuck record, beg to wake up with your eyes open. But you didn’t until one morning as you faced a mirror. Gash in cheek. Staring down blood in the sink.

The preppy, Saints-associated, all-boys private school was very much for European wonder. Pointed arches, ribbed vault ceilings, and glass stained windows supplying the hefty tuition fee. Fielding the entire cost of your son’s education tempted you every day to transfer him. You wanted to pick up the shambles, cut losses, and move across state. But your heart couldn’t bear to crush him with more changes than you’d already dealt him.

He needed his friends, the old house, neighbors they’d grown with. The skewed swing you put together one day in the spring. Besides… the school fields were immaculate in all their green splendor. You had to admit as you ran across the side of the building, down to the back. Heels clicking on concrete, you arrived a perfect mess at the stairs leading into the third block. “I’m so sorry I got late… I had this work… thing” words go amiss from your tongue as you see your son sitting with a blonde stranger, watching her flip a quarter.

He laughed, the dimples sinking into his chubby cheeks after Lord knew how long. She had him enthralled, her tall frame lay sprawled back on the stairs, elbows propping her up as she smoothly danced the coin over her fingers, hiding it in her palm. Her conversation came easy, long ponytail punctuating her animated facial expressions. You shifted on your heels, legs squirming ever so slightly.

“Dylan, honey…” you called out, hand outstretched, waving to get his attention. She noticed you first, beaming brightly at you in the late noon sun, straightening up with respectful poise. Pocketing the quarter. You noticed her broad shoulders, filling out her inky jacket all too well. “Think your mom’s here, bud” she slapped her thighs veiled in sweatpants, yellow whistle jostling in the middle of her chest. His face fell at the mention of you, betraying your already broken heart, but you concealed it.

“Hey, churro pop!” You tried to greet him, but he acted like you hadn't, numbly getting to his feet, putting his backpack on. All traces of joy from seconds ago were now dissolved. The young woman gauged the switch in energy, eyes flitting between mother and son. “I’m Anderson… the new Coach” she interjected, cordially extending a hand. It dwarfed yours, calloused fingers shrouding your hand before giving it a firm shake.

It made your dainty gold wristwatch tinkle from the motion. You stared up at her blue eyes, the spattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose, high cheekbones. Youth spelled evident on her plump, pink lips. You felt a hitch in your throat as you ran a conscious hand up your blouse, closing the topmost button you’d carelessly left open all day. Your brain wracked.

“Oh” it clicked “That’s why Coach Carlson wasn’t... picking up… I tried to get through” You ran out of breath immediately. Strain hid below your tongue, sat like weight on your chest. Deflating you. You lowered your eyes, letting your exhaustion have its moment. “Yeah, it’s been a couple weeks” the young coach informed you, idly punching her open palm with the other fist “He moved to St George. To his daughter's”

Dylan bristled before you even spoke. “Baby, you never told me” You brought it up gently, except it landed like an axe. Maybe he did? You thought as his eyes deadened; face overcast with a shadow. He shook his head, storming towards the car, leaving you stranded with the new coach. You watched his little figure turn the corner and remember the skip in his step when he first started school. Head bobbing and his backpack swinging behind him.

The accusatory fingers returned. They weren’t in your face, but they filled your skull, fighting out your chest.

“He’s… mad at me” you muttered

“He’s just 9”

You gravely turned to the young woman “I missed his game.” “No, you didn’t” she shook her head, assuring sincerely “It was just practice round. Interschool got postponed by 2 weeks.” That simmered a quickly flooding guilt inside you, defusing something about to blow up. You exhaled in relief, spluttering as you wrung your hands “I promise I-I never miss his big matches. Rarely weekend practice. I do reach school on time. Just when, sometimes I rush in from work. I always leave a message for Carlson, then call Dylan from the office to make sure he’s-”

“Hey” Anderson’s eyes softened as she touched your arm, dragging the back of her knuckles down to your elbow “It’s okay” she assured you. Your shoulders dropped at the physical contact, melting the pent-up tension stiffening them like resin. You glanced at her hand and back up at her, brows scrunching above your doe eyes. A sudden proximity, forlorn depths in your gaze. Anderson dropped her hand upon realising, pocketing it as you rubbed your arms consciously. “I don’t mind staying back for a bit… Mrs Hendricks” her voice trickled slow. Deep.

“Angela” you managed a small smile, adjusting the handle on your purse as you shift your weight on one heel, part of your conscious focused on your son. “I’m…” “Divorced?” the new coach affirmed, seemingly aware of the family dynamics. “Separated. In the process of… divorce” you gave a brusque nod, pause weighing the air. With pretenses aside, you brought up your biggest concern “Is he okay?”. The coach drew a long breath, calm despite the choppy domestic matter she faced “Dylan’s our star goalie. A straight A student” she shrugged, smiling to comfort “He’s just struggling the way any child would.” “It’s… not just that” your whisper carried dead weight, grief.

“Mrs-” Anderson raised a finger to her lips to correct herself “Angela, I might be too young to understand marriage and children but I do see that you’re a great mom. I’m sure you’re trying your best.” You pursed your lip, lest you burst out into tears. Her voice touched a part too deep and wounded. You managed a grateful nod, pressing the back of your hand to your throat to push the lump down “I should… get back” you turned to leave, ankles struggling to hold up in your heels.

“Hey” she called after you, jogging to catch up and placing an innocuous hand on your back, causing a shift so mild, you barely felt it. “Why don’t you save my number?” she suggested, a touch of pink in her cheeks “I can keep you posted about important dates. For pickup or if you’d like to talk about Dylan.” “Oh” you blinked nervously, fumbling for your phone “sure’ you handed it out, flipping it open for her.

Anderson pored over the screen with focus as she fed her number in, handing it back “Put that in as Abigail. No! Just Abby.” “Abby” you echoed as you save the contact, hanging back ever so slightly to let your arm touch graze against hers. It felt like you were milking the moment, having felt nothing all this while only to come to feel something so strong. “Also” the coach bowed her head close, passing on a secret “I could be wrong but I think I accidentally unhooked your bra just now.” You swiftly averted your eyes, feeling up your back and realizing that the ends had indeed, come apart, leaving your breasts unsupported.

“Fuck” you cursed softly. Though Abby bit her lip apologetically, she barely masked the satisfaction. “I’ll… fix it later” you felt blood rush to your face, beating a hasty retreat. “Take care, Angie!” Abby called after you. A hand in pocket, other throwing the whistle around her neck triumphantly.

Later that evening

You double-checked the latch on your bedroom door, standing before your vanity mirror in your lace gown. It had been ages since it meant anything at all. To adorn yourself in the sheer silk and be slowly unraveled. It had been ages since you’d been touched tenderly, explored, and laid open like pages of a book, fingers running along every line. All that remained was a wretched mass left behind from a loveless marriage. You gulped as you pushed the strap down to expose your breasts.

They’d lost their former perkiness, sitting heavy and low. Milky blue veins and pale stretch marks ran around them like cracks of thunder. You cupped them gently, trying to remember what it felt like with your eyes closed. In sudden colorful musing, you imagined them being replaced by the young coach’s rough, warm hands. Running up your ribs and cupping you. The size of them perfect for her large palms. Tracing them gently as your nipples edged into her touch.

The stairs creaked as Dylan headed down to the kitchen, and you snapped out of it. You pressed the heel of your hand to your reddened face, and the mirror reflected your shame as you threw a robe over the gown, securing the cord tight.

Dinner across the four-seater was gravely somber. You served yourself a scarce portion of the pasta salad after doling heaps for Dylan, watching him spoon some into his mouth before moving to have some yourself. “Good?” you asked softly as he dug in with more spoonfuls, and he shrugged “It’s how it always is.” You fought the immediate woe upon seeing his disinterest. It was a losing battle. “Must be always good, then” you laughed a hollow laugh. Only for him to exhale, followed by an equally nonchalant “whatever.”

Painstaking silence ensued, and you struggled to push each morsel down your throat. A sip of water lubricated your words. “Your new coach is quite cute” you remarked after doing the mental gymnastics to bring up something he liked. “Yeah… she’s cool” Dylan responded after a while. “She said your interschool is in a couple weeks” you scratched the cheap synthetic tablecloth “Are you nervous?”.

“Don’t act like you know soccer” he snapped. Your jaw dropped with a sharp exhale, and you tried to cover it with a nervous laugh “What?” you grazed your chest “I… know soccer. I take you to all your games, we practiced when you were a baby, I was cheering on you when you won last season!”. He turned sour “Not like dad used to do” “Well, he’s not here now, is he!” you snapped back, regretting the moment it left your lips.

He stared at you, steeling his gaze as his soul turned away from you. He quietly got up, abandoning the half-eaten plate of food before leaving the room. “Dylan!” you call after him “Honey! I didn’t-”. It didn’t seem to matter. You couldn’t bring his father back for him, and he’d never let you forget that that he left. You could move wherever and so would the sinkhole he left in the house. One no amount of love can fill. You bit your tongue to distract yourself from the welling tears in your eyes, pushing your plate away.

Bedtime

Before bed, you checked your phone. It was chalked with the usual messages. Work, network service company info, local businesses, and scammers trying their luck. You’d long stopped receiving follow-up messages from fellow moms. Friends had faded in the process of tearing apart from your husband. He’d been the life of the party, rousing gatherings and infusing them with slapstick jokes. Always the funny guy. Which made you the shadowy outcast, the bad cop, the one to blame when things went awry.

Hence, why Abby’s message made your chest stiffen slightly. Butterflies tickled your ribs as you looked it over and over. She’d just sent herself a “<3” from your phone, perhaps making sure she saved your number as well. It doesn’t mean anything; you told yourself. As you moved to shut your phone, it burst into the sparkly digital ringtone you’d set ages ago. “Abby” it read on the caller id.

You clicked accept in a daze, realizing with the static-y blare of air on the other end that she was genuinely talking to you. “Hey, Angie!” her voice hit better than bourbon, running down your spine. “Good evening, coach…” you reply in wisps of words, breath irregular “Sorry… Abby”

“Is now a bad time? I know it’s late…”

“No, it’s alright”

“Cool” she bought a deep pause, seeming unsure of what to say next “… I just wanted to ask if… you and Dylan are doing okay.” You bit your lip, well-versed with standard answers “Yeah! He ate his dinner. Took care of his laundry. He’s doing his homework before bed” you counted off your imaginary fingers, hoping it was convincing enough.

“And you?” Abby furthered, taking you by surprise.

“Me?”

“What about you? How’re you?”

“I’m…” you fiddled with the hem of your nightie, fingering a hole in the lace “okay.” “Angie” Abby uttered, the faint sound of a TV in the back, match commentary in progression. You heard her suck air into her lungs for courage “You can talk to me, you know.” You pressed your thighs close, the tenor in her voice more penetrative to the senses than anything. It was scary how eager she had you over a phone call, fighting thoughts of how you’d be if she was close.

“There’s nothing to say. I really am… okay” you assured her despite the ever-present urge to unburden your whole heart “I’m sorry if I had you worry” you laughed for effect.

Abby chuckled in reply, clicking her tongue. Tough crowd, you heard her mutter under her breath. She cleared her throat “Can I see you in my office? Tomorrow?” she asked. You pressed a hand to your warm forehead, feeling yourself flush “Y-yeah… I suppose I can” you stammered nervously, to which Abby promised “Don’t worry, I just want to help.”

Next Day at the school office

You consciously bounced a knee in your cold chair, watching a handful of parents milling around the main office. You wondered what they’d been called in for. Failing calc? Smoking on campus? Jerking off into the teacher’s pigeonhole? You knew for a fact that some of them deserved it. The leather strap of your shoe dug in your ankle, compelling you to adjust the little gold buckle. A pair of white sneakers came to a halt near you, familiar ones. You peered up at the new coach. She smiled down at you, holding a hand out for you to hold. Her eyes inconspicuously flit towards your cleavage, and you blushed, sliding a hand up your chest. “Need help with that?” she asked softly, kneeling by your undone heel strap.

“No… it’s okay” you discouraged her but she gently moved your hand aside, feeding the leather into the buckle and securing it. “I’m quite handy with silly kid’s shoes, I’ll have you know” she tilted her head; hand wrapped around the underside of your shoe. “Women’s heels too?” you chuckled, shrouding the shiver from the way her hand grazed your ankle, how she knelt before you. Abby shrugged, smiling “New notch on my belt.” You headed through to the sports department. The trainer’s office was located on the opposite side of the building facing the field. “Like they didn’t know where it was going to be” Abby joked as she held the office door open for you, the metal plate outside still reading “Carlson.”

You looked at the partly disordered space, a fresh box of trophies and certificates in one, everything smelt like rubber. There stood a photo frame boasting of a grainy photo of a little girl with a braid, hoisted on the shoulders of a man. Dad and daughter. “They don’t pay me much, if you’re wondering” Abby joked, and you turned to her, smiling “They make me pay a lot.” “Well, thanks to you… I don’t have to share” she boasted, shaking her head.

The photograph lingered at your periphery, but you let the questions go for the meantime. “Thank you for meeting with me…” you said, a tone more serious, as she pulled a chair away from her desk for you, watching you settle down in it. “Me?” Abby frowned, leaning back against the side of the table, not too far from you “I should be thanking you. I know your work can be hard to get away from”

“It’s okay. I do need to get more involved. I barely attend PTA meetings” You confessed, eliciting a concerned nod of acknowledgment from Abby, “Those… are quite the spectacle”

“Parents can be passionate” you shrugged

“There was a petition to make the campus segway friendly”

“I… wasn’t part of that” you stifled a laugh

“Lucky you” Abby crossed her arms, her slight movements drawing your eye to her zipper glinting halfway down her chest, urging you to drag it all the way down. See what’s hiding beneath. You shook your head, placing your palms face down on your lap “Hey… I… really hope Dylan isn’t misbehaving or giving you a hard time”

Keeping it to the point there, Angie.

“Not at all!” coach denied swiftly, making you wonder what the issue was “He’s giving his all to practice and school. Which is why I was concerned… he seems stressed.”

“Oh…” your gaze fell to your lap as Abby craned her neck low, inquisitive. “Has he said something at home? Anything about the upcoming competition?”.

You fiddled with the hem of your skirt, stretching the pause out till it hurt your chest “Soccer season was always w-when… his dad would be home the most. At all his matches. They’d go on little hikes, drives, eat at his favorite diner, he’d buy him anything he asked for” you stretched your lips in a twisted smile “The house would be full.” Abby knit her brows, inching close to gently touch your shoulder as you fought the urge to start bawling. “He just misses his dad” her warm fingers slid down your back, almost breaking the dam holding it all back “a-and I don’t know what to do.”

Abby wordlessly pulled you against her front, your hands shakily wrapping around her waist as you steadied your breath. A tear still squeezed through, quickly bleeding into her jacket. “It’s okay” Abby rubbed your back, lightly combing your hair “You weren’t supposed to be doing it alone. It's not fair.”

You clutched your fingers deeper into her back, cinching at her shape through the loose athletic wear. Her fingers tickled the back of your neck, compelling you to pull away, peering up at her face. With your sweet lips rosied and wide eyes misty. Abby’s breath visibly hitched, chest falling still as she brought her hand towards your face, resting a thumb on your cheek, brushing your bottom lip. “No” you uttered breathlessly, curling into the chair.

Abby flew back into her desk, fingers digging into the wooden edge, visibly shaken as she drew jagged breaths. You covered your face in shame, breath hot against your palms “I’m so sorry.” “No, please” Abby brushed the air “You don’t have to apologize for anything.” “I’m sorry I…” you compose yourself, chin pinned to your shoulder “I can’t. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression and I don’t know why I just did that-”

“Hey, hey” Abby gathered your shaking hands as your guts twisted into knots “Hey… Nothing happened…” she asserted; blue eyes wide with her words firm “Nothing happened.”

You screwed your eyes close as you felt her hands shield yours, the weight of the emotion crushing your senses. “Yeah…” you collected yourself “you’re right” you consciously slip your hands out of her grip, clutching the arms of your chair “Nothing happened.”

Abby stared at the ground, idly punching her palm and letting the clock ticking on the wall swallow the whole incident. You strengthened your resolve, nodding “I’ll try and make things right with Dylan… I was planning on attending his weekend practice, anyway” you shrugged “I can fit in some stuff.”

“Sounds good” Abby remarked “don’t worry too much. I’ll do what I can from my side” she added. You raised your wrist to glance at the dial on your wristwatch. The metallic tinkle drew the young coach’s attention “Yeah… I need to head out to the field for PE class as well.”

You rose out of the chair, shuffling towards the door and reaching for the door knob, trying to maneuver it open. Abby came up behind, putting her hand over yours around the knob and holding it. Her breath ran warm down your neck. “By the way” a baited second passed “Coach Carlson didn’t move to his daughter’s.”

“What?” you whispered, clutching your purse as you turned to look at her. Abby licked her bottom lip, chuckle scratchy “They caught him with the guy who tends to the fields” she leaned closer “Utility closet down the corridor. Kicked him out the same day. Hired me three days later. Grateful as I was… I wonder” Abby steeled her eyes, hesitant yet bold as she grazed your wrist “If he regretted it…”

Morning of weekend practice

The car door shielded you from glances of the general passerby, soccer moms mostly. Also, from the cigarette between your fingers, cherry glowing bright as you sucked the smoke deep into your chest. The back of your throat tasted like cinnamon. You dug your fingers into your neck, lightly swinging as you sat on your haunches, delicately balanced on your high heels.

You’d battled for that half-day, leaving the temp in blaze amid ignored voice messages. You were determined to stay through weekend practice. An early drive home would be nice so you could spend some time together. Make a stop at the diner Dylan liked, ward off the bad luck with greasy food.

The inseam of your panty hose began irritating your skin again. “Cheap… fucking… shit” you forced a hand up your skirt, trying to relieve the itch.

“Hey, Angie” you heard from the sky above and nearly toppled to the side, throwing your elbow up to defend yourself from the unknown. “Coach!” you looked up to find Abby standing behind the door with her crossed arms propped on the window, smirking down at you. You quickly hid the hand holding the cigarette, moving to crush it under the point of your heel.

“No, save it…” Abby rounded the open car door, sliding down the side of the car to join you on the ground, big frame folding onto itself “Unless now’s a bad time” she whispered, holding two fingers out.

You released a chuckle, passing your cigarette to her, back of your fingers grazing hers in doing so “It’s never a bad time to sit and do nothing” you shrugged with a simple smile. “That’s the dream, isn’t it?” she watched your face keenly as she took a drag, blue smoke pouring from her lips. “I can’t imagine someone as healthy as you smoking” you mused and she raised a brow, staring at the ground “I usually don’t”

“Don’t let me ruin you”

“Too late”

You quietly plucked the cigarette from her fingers, your scarlet painted nails lightly scraping her hand. Her eyes connected with yours beyond a mere look. Deep and curious. “Why not the bleachers?” she inquired, and you bit your lip, flicking loose ash “I was hiding, I guess” you confessed.

“Me too” Abby chimed in exhaustion, casting a furtive glance back at the field. A flurry of moms monopolized the bleachers with folding tables decked out with food stuff for their beloved sons as they took a break from practice. Helicoptering and rallying what with the competition round the corner.

“You first” she shuddered in the shoulders before turning back to face you. “Let’s just say… a single mom on the verge of divorce doesn’t fare well in these shindigs.” “I can imagine” Abby raised a brow, and you nodded slowly “They’re always praying that he comes back. So my family can be whole. The way God intended."

Abby let the words linger, the bitterness in it evident, the false comfort. “Well…” she bit back a smile “I hope he falls off the edge of Earth.” That brought some warmth to your soul, eliciting a surprisingly loud laugh from your mouth "Not you being a flat-earther."

"I'm not" Abby's smile faded and you laughed harder "Flat-earther" you repeated for emphasis.

"That's not funny" Abby protested with dead eyes and you lost it. You bumped into her arm for buttress as you teeter once again, feeling the smooth ripple of her bicep beneath the sleeve of her jacket. It gave you another unwanted flash of how her bare arms would feel like as they wrap around your breasts. You squeezed your eyes shut “Why are you hiding?” you redirected your focus quickly.

“Well,” Abby reached back to smooth her ponytail “It’s a lot of pressure to begin with. The Dean is really keen on bringing the trophy this season even though I just joined and it doesn’t help that Carlson left most of the team is disorder. Plus… the moms can be…” she dragged out the silence, and you piqued with curiosity “Spit it out.”

“I know they mean well…” she fiddled with the cigarette, thumbing the ruby print left by your lipstick “But they can be really touchy.” You knit your brows with empathy “Tell me about it. I once got told off for a chicken casserole I cooked wrong. “No…” Abby blushed; legs splayed open as her knee poked into your thigh “Touchy as in… they touch me… a lot.”

You dropped your jaw, scandalized “What?”

“Yeah” she scrunched her nose in embarrassment “They call me round the clock, telling me to take their sons off the bench, asking about what to feed them, talking about troubles at home. They stand too close…” she shook her head. You widened your eyes, nail tips digging into your bottom lip. “Put their hands all over” Abby whispered, holding the cigarette out at your stunned face.

You shook yourself out of it, drawing the dregs from the dying cigarette before you finally managed a thought “That sounds like hell" you blew a raspberry "It's like they've never seen a buff woman”

“You think I’m buff?” Abby watched you fumble with words as you crushed the cigarette on the tarmac, dusting idle ash from your leather heels “I’m just stating the obvious.” Her blue eyes mellowed, scoping your evident blush. Seeking you out. For more.

“Tell me what you think” she leaned close.

“I thought you don’t like moms talking at you”

“Other moms, no”

“Well,” you shrugged lightly, scraping together your feelings “… We were raised on verses, tender mercies, and blind faith. Many bought into it. I did. I thought it would work for me the way it did for them. But now I look at how my life turned out, and then I look at you. You’re about the age I was when I got married, by yourself, doing what you like, the way you want… makes me question everything” you gathered your knees, resting your chin on top.

Abby playfully nudged her shoulders into yours, “You make me question everything too” she whispered “I used to think people who marry and have kids are insane. After my dad... I didn't want to take care of anyone for a long time. And it was good. Being free... having no one depend on me all the time. Though the empty house hurt sometimes” she gripped her bicep, considering deeply “But I see you with Dylan... and wonder what I'm missing out on”

“You’re not missing out on marriage” you tutted, biting the inside of your cheek

“Not even with the right person?” Abby tilted her face at you, curious pout catching you off-guard.

“Maybe... it's hard to believe”

“Just because something didn't work out once doesn't mean it never will.”

You blinked, switching your gaze to the vast field, breeze blowing loose curls across your cheek. You wondered for an inane second if she saw your heart leaping up in your chest. Unable to contain the spike of hope she gave you. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me” you confessed.

“What?” Abby’s voice pitched “I don’t believe that.”

“I’m being serious!”

“You're a gorgeous woman. People should be telling you sweet things all the time”

“You think I'm gorgeous?”

“You don't?”

“Dunno” you shrug “Hard to tell when everyone is mad at me.”

“Not everyone”

You gulped, feeling Abby’s unwavering support setting fire to a part of you, reviving more bits and pieces of you against your will. Hope wasn’t a good thing to have in this tandem. The breeze swept your hair again as you turned to face her with some words of discouragement, catching your eye. “Ow” you winced softly, hand fluttering up to push them back, struggling as your eye burned a little.

“Hold on” Abby loosely wound her fingers into the feisty lock. “There” she smiled, tucking them securely behind your ear. Your brows peaked in that same old dance, like you were staring at the sun but it was just your son’s painstakingly gorgeous soccer coach

“Abby” you mumbled thinly as the warmth of her fingertips made you limp, cheek burying into her palm. She ran a thumb over to smooth a stray strand, grazing the raised bump on your cheekbone.

“Fuck” she uttered softly, eyes darkening as she switched between the scar and your eyes filled with fear. She knew before you said a word. “Angie…” her nostrils flared, lips pursing to contain her tongue. “No” you reach for her hand, holding it against your cheek as if to beg “Let me forget.”

Abby inched forward, gingerly leaning in to eclipse your faces. She hesitated, waiting for you to pull back but when you didn’t, she gently kissed your cheek, soft lips lingering over your skin. Her cool, smoky breath tickled you and you flinched, pulling back to peer into her blue eyes.

“Coach!” a distressed call erupted from somewhere in the distance and Abby jerked back. It was code soccer mom. Abby shot up, dusting her sweatpants as she sauntered over to the frazzled mother looking for her, briefly turning back to smile at you. “We need another table for the hors d'oeuvre, the extra broke and the boys-” she continued to explain as Abby soothed her “Let’s find another table for the hors d'oeuvre, Debra.”

She headed back to the field as you sat hidden behind your car door, stubborn smile pasted on your lips.

Towards the end of practice

“9, forward, forward, faster!” Abby yelled, wildly gesticulating to make it more coherent to the boys “4, free yourself! Goalie, watch the forward! Remember what I showed you!” She looked sexy when riled, golden muscles beaming in the sun, flexing through her fitted dri-fit tee after her jacket came off her back and sat tied around her lean hips. She was quick on her heels, eyes flitting over every single player. Sharp, barking instructions as her ponytail bounced behind her.

The mothers seemed to collectively sigh with every aggressive instruction. You fanned yourself with an expired Target voucher, wondering if they were imagining all the stuff they never got to hear in the bedroom.

As Dylan deflected another shot with a jump split, Abby sustained her whistle, signaling the end of the match as the boys slowed down to a canter in place. They bumped into each other, chirping about their respective goals amid rowdy back slaps and cheers. Soon they began looking around for their moms. You watched Dylan dully plod from the netted goal, unstrapping his protective gloves. “That’s my big guard!” you squealed, unable to help yourself.

Abby looked back, smirking lightly as the other moms shot unpleasant looks at you. You pursed your lips nervously, hunching down in your seat so you became less visible. Dylan acknowledged you with a quick nod, his face lighting up the second he saw his coach with a fist extended towards him. He bumped her back, laughing as she ruffled his head before hoisting him on top of her shoulders. Dylan beamed as Abby brought him over on her back as the other players rushed out with them. All running to their mothers.

Dylan seemed all too comfortable on there, hands gripping Abby’s shoulders as the mothers swarmed her, voicing various concerns as each grabbed her own flesh of the womb. Abby swung her head between the crowd, trying to hear everyone out. You remain seated in your plastic chair, watching the spectacle as it unfolded. Their voices soon became one united cacophony, the boys padded at her sides while the mothers clutched at her arms, shoulders, spouting question after question about every miniscule detail about the competition. The coral and bubblegum manicures dug into her arms and you bit your lip, mind wandering to forbidden places. A pang of jealousy perhaps. Because the way you touched her would be so much more dangerous than when they did.

Half an hour passed and the young coach had found no respite, they badgered her over the devilled egg halfway into her mouth. An attack no amount of soccer training could have prepared her to defend. You hadn’t taken too deep a breath either, swilling a glass of warm lemonade as two women interrogated you about your husband’s whereabouts, puzzled how you managed the bills alone, took care of the house and tuition fees. Bet nobody was asking your ex such questions. His friends are probably badgering him to sleep around again. You told some half-truths, intercepting a stray Dylan trying to shimmy past you as you braced to slither away from the gathering. The second they turned, you chanced upon glorious getaway, only that… Abby appeared so sapped and cute, trying her best to be attentive.

“Coach Anderson!” you called out to her over the din on the bleachers. She snapped up, attentive as a canine to your voice as you beckoned her. She excused herself from the hound, jogging up to where you were standing.

“Hey” you pulled her close, watching the moms break out in urgent whispers “Don’t act like it but… I was taking Dylan to his favourite diner and I was wondering if you’d like to join.” Dylan peered up at your faces, about to emote in excitement before you clapped a hand around his mouth, feeling him argue with your fingers. “Did you turn water into wine in your last life?” Abby asked gravely, quickly slipping a hand up your back as she ushered you out of the enclosure.

“A thankyou would suffice” you chuckled at her pallid stone-face

“It most certainly would not” Abby hissed

At the diner

You felt the bile rise in your throat as you nudged at the vinegary lettuce on your plate. Abby noticed, picking some off and munching on it. Meanwhile, Dylan had ketchupped both his hands, shoving his side of bacon and hash browns into his mouth.

“You alright?” Abby asked as you lightly rubbed your temple. “Did you really have to sit in the same booth as me?” you asked under your breath as Abby lifted a brow, corner of her lip twitching “Am I too close?” she shifted in place, spread thighs nudging into your crossed legs. “Don’t play…” you warned her with a stern glance “I’m doing this for my son.” “Coaches don’t play, Angela” she stole another chunk of lettuce from your plate, chewing with a smug grin.

Dylan had been talking nonstop about new goalkeeping techniques he had perfected at practice. Obviously, he was elated at the prospect of hanging out with his favourite person, more so now that she was sitting across him. It smarted a bit to watch it not be you but you just wanted to see him happy. Even if you weren’t the reason.

“Who taught you soccer?” he piped excitedly and you turned to Abby, watching her face fall ever so slightly despite the big smile. “I had the greatest coach” she simply said “the best ever.” “Will he come see us play??” Dylan hopped excitedly in his seat and Abby chuckled “Of course, he’d love to.”

You contemplated heavily before inching your hand to the side to comfort Abby under the table with a gentle hand over her knee. She kept her composure, quickly sliding her hand over yours. The callouses on her palm felt scratchy on the back of your knuckles, dwarfing your hand. You wondered if she lifted. Of course, she did. You weren’t the avid gym goer but you could pick those who were out of a lineup.

“Mom” Dylan gestured to the bathroom and you nodded, watching him slide out of the seater and bound down the diner, leaving the two of you alone. “Was it your dad?” you asked gently and Abby frowned, nodding.

“There was… this photo… on your desk”

“Right”

“I didn’t mean to pry”

“You didn’t pry” Abby managed a small smile “It’s me… I still don’t know how to talk about him” her voice broke despite the forced steadiness. You began to draw your hand back, feeling it linger on her knee for too long and Abby snatched it back, placing it right back on her knee. You threw a cautious glance around the diner, worried if you might have undue company. Perhaps a pair of eyes from the locale. You turned to her, welcoming her into embrace.

Abby gladly fell into you, arms catching on your shirt in a hurry to wrap them around you. “It’s alright…” you cradled her head, lips pressing into her hair head as she nestled into the crook of your neck. Abby tightened her grip on you, causing you to exhale sharply as you clung to her back. Her chest rose and fell shallow, breath quickened with her eyes closed. “Abby” you warn her as she slid her hand up your spine “I need this” she begged.

“We’re in public” you whispered only for her to groan back “You suggest we do this privately?” “No!”

Her warmth began seeping through the layers of clothes between you, getting to you and making an all too comfortable home at the back of your head. It was a hard thought to unthink, an even harder act to undo. Your eyes rolled back in your skull, fingers weakly pushing her arms down from your waist. Footsteps come bounding back from the distance and you barely tore yourself apart as Dylan hopped back in his side of the sofa. You self-consciously sorted your hair mussed on one side as Abby fought the flush in her face.

“Coach, you’re still eating” he laughed as Abby rubbed her neck nervously “Yeah bud, can’t get enough of it.”

“You’ve had enough” you weakly snapped at her, pulling your wallet out “Grab your bag, Dylan… we need to drop coach off at her house before we go home.”

That evening

You lightly knocked on the door, turning your ear against it. “Yeah, mom” Dylan acknowledged back and you cracked it open to find him hunched over his study desk. Upon a closer look, you found him scribbling defense formations on his notepad, tearing them out and scribbling more.

“Honey…” you stared at the papers “Come on… bed now” you rub his shoulder. He paused, hovering his pencil inches from the paper before dropping it. Trudging over to the bed, he plopped and laid down. “Good” you smiled, pulling his comforter over him. “You happy about today?” you sat yourself at the edge of the bed, patting him gently.

“Yeah” he said simply, rather numbly “Practice went well… I’m trying to perfect my technique.” You bit your lip, choosing your words carefully “Sweetie… you know you don’t have to be perfect, right?” you adjust the collar of his night suit “The only reason we put you in soccer was… so you’d have fun.”

“Hm” he stared vacantly at the wall, you words were already out his other ear. “I liked hanging out with coach today” he said out of nowhere and you turned your head to look at him. “I’m sure she feels the same” you smiled after some moments as he looked at you, a bit crestfallen “You won’t take her out of my life too… will you?” he asked.

“W-what?” you felt gut punched “I don’t… I mean, why would I…?” your voice broke while you fought to pull yourself together with a shaky hand in the air.

Dylan frowned; lips downturned “You didn’t seem too happy to hang out with her today… like how you were with dad” he clutched the comforter tighter “I think you’ll make her go away too.”

“Baby, I…” you wanted to speak but the ache of your heart breaking overwhelmed you, your chest hurting “I would never do that” you got up, making a hasty exit while your face was still dry. I would never you repeated to yourself as you shut your bedroom door behind you.

There wasn’t much you could do beside softly sobbing into your hands, hunched over as if wanting to disappear within yourself. Your cell phone erupted, the chippy caller tune distracting you. It was the coach.

“Hey, Angie” she said as you clicked accept, labored breathing into the receiver, realizing that you were in no position to speak yet “Hey…?” she repeated and you began to speak, words getting immediately swallowed by the lump in your throat. You slowly blew through your teeth, forcing yourself to act right.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Abby inquired with more urgency and you cleared your throat, finally catching your breath “Hey” you blurted “I’m okay… Dylan’s okay.” Abby paused, not knowing what to say “Are you sure?”

“Yeah... yeah” you breathed, nodding to yourself. Self soothing. “Are you okay??” you asked, realizing that you hadn’t checked on her or asked why she called.

“Yes! It's all good” Abby responded, her voice deeper… softer. “I know I’m calling late again but I wanted to…” she hesitated, making you clutch the phone tighter “I wanted to say sorry” she finally uttered “I realized I was being really pushy and I guess… I need to manage myself.”

You massaged your temples, mind wracked as Dylan’s words linger in your mind “It’s okay…” you exhale “I don’t mind you being a part of my son’s life… I’m seeing him act like himself after a long time.”

“And you?” Abby let the question hang in the air like a guillotine as you struggled to find answers.

“I’d like if we stay friends… for my son’s sake” you enunciated each word carefully lest the truth slip out “Nothing more”

“I see” Abby processed it, her tone dulling significantly “If that’s how you want it.”

“Please don’t take it the wrong way…” you trailed, fiddling with the lace trim on your robe “I'm in no place to reject you. You’re so young and energetic… you could find anyone your age. They'd be lucky to have you!”

“You’d think it would be easy but it's not” Abby confessed quietly, the static behind her voice hanging over the silence “The girls I’ve grown up with are all puritan and now teaching P.E at a Mormon private school. I can’t risk it…”

You gulped heavily, all too familiar with the situation “I get it” you replied shakily “My ex-husband’s fighting me for custody… telling family and friends that I’m this sleazy drunk throwing myself at strange men. I can’t seem to start over hard as I try.”

More silence ensued, punctuated by Abby’s frustrated sigh “We can start over”

“Abby…”

“I want you”

“No!” you discouraged her sternly, holding back all the feelings you didn’t trust. “You’ll find a girl. Younger, wiser… braver” you said cautiously, not wanting to entangle her in your fucked up world “I just know it.”

“And you?” she asked, calling your bluff.

“I’ll… be doing what I do" you laughed bleakly “I barely have to time to think between court visits, office, pickup, weekend practice and making casserole the right way” declaring hesitantly: “I’ll be fine.”

“Just say it, Angie…” Abby urged through gritted teeth “Tell me to fuck off so I’ll actually listen” she cursed in exasperation, anger thinly masking the despondency.

“Fuck off…” you replied firmly as you heard her draw a weighted breath, like she could burst out in a flutter of honest words but instead the line went dead.

I want you too… you mumbled to the nothingness.

At office

Abby’s words from last night haunted you, like a shadowy devil on your shoulder as you sat at your work desk. With how much time you’d spend in the same spot, doing the same things, you wondered if you’d truly forgotten about moving on. Because when she brought it up… it sounded alien. Absurd.

This life was all you'd known but what would things even look like outside of this. You could imagine Abby doting on Dylan, fussing over his games, engrossing him with coin tricks. You pictured them sharing a meal at the table, laughing. Like a family. You even fantasized about pleasing her when alone, crying and writhing in her arms… trusting her… loving her.

“Shh!” the sound punctured your thoughts and you turned around to catch your colleagues gossiping. They quickly hid their faces.

Just like that, you were back.

“Hello, this is Angie from Accounting. How can I help you?” you took a call, pinning the receiver to your ear with a shoulder, fingers flying over the keyboard as you sorted the invoices. “Bill?” you craned your neck to look outside your cubicle “He’s preoccupied, I believe” you lied, watching him stuff oatmeal cookies in his face in the breakroom. “Sure, I’ll pass it on to him" you clicked the telephone back, rearranging the reports on your desk as Bill strode up, brushing crumbs off his beard.

“It’s Nessie, she said you didn’t re about their company ad sizing in classified” you explained, and he rolled his eyes “How many times have I told her…

“Just talk to her”

“No, you talk to her”

“I’m just an accountant”

“Angela… please”

“God” you grimaced, staring at the growing pile of paperwork on your desk, tabs of spreadsheets open on your computer “Fine, but just this once.” “Cool” Bill dismissed it immediately. Your cell phone rang in the middle of work, it was from the school nurse’s office.

A shot of ice ran up your back, stiffening your body “Mrs. Hendricks? mother of Dylan Hendricks of 4C?” the nurse barked down the phone. “This is her” you replied shakily. “Your son hyperventilated and lost consciousness during soccer practice. The coach has handled the situation but we’re mandated to inform you.” “What?” you sobbed into the phone as the nurse cleared her throat “Ma’am… don’t pani-” you shut your phone as you swung your purse up your shoulder, getting up to leave.

You bumped into Bill on your way out.

“Hendricks” he grabbed your arm “Where are you off to? It’s not pick up yet.”

“Dylan fainted during practice; I need to get him right now” you tried to push past him but he forced you back, blocking your way in the hall

“He just fainted. You have bigger tasks at hand here. Is this how you’re planning on working here?” he hissed.

“Bill, you’re hurting me” you tried to pull your arm back as he looked around in annoyance from any attention you might be drawing.

“You’ve exhausted your monthly leaves and I just assigned you some important work even though we all know how you…” he snarled, unable to say it.

“Mighty kind of you” you spat back “To assign me work you’re supposed to do in the first place. Maybe you'd have more time if you weren't gossiping about me in office all the time.” Unnerved, he just glared down at you as you steeled yourself.

“You’re either letting go of me right now… or I’m going to leave you a bloody mess. Unlike yours, my son needs me and I’m not letting your sorry ass get in my way” you thinned your lips in a scowl, baring teeth. That seemed to do the trick as Bill unhooked his hand from your arm.

You stepped on the pedal, weaving and rushing through familiar streets as best you could. Abby had tried your number several times since you rushed from office, leaving a message saying “Dylan’s okay. We’re at my house. Please, don’t worry.” How can I not?? you screeched around a car moving out of park as it nearly slammed into you.

Your baby boy had burned himself out, trying to do Lord knows what and you saw all the signs. You had tried getting to him but you failed each time. You're a failed wife. And now a failed mother. The accusatory screams echoed around in your head till they became one united blare, bursting at your temples. You parked up Abby’s drive-through, rushing out the car and up the front door, banging it down.

At Abby's home

Abby opened the latch, her eyes hollowed, and her ponytail loose. You pushed past her “Where is he?” you threw a glance around the staid living room, lace doily on the television and a leather sofa. Old fashioned like it was stuck in time. “Where is he??” you raised your voice in urgency. Trophies and certificates sat on special shelves, jersey’s framed on the wall in clear glass, a tin of pre-workout pile, dumbbells stood along the wall by size. MCAT prep books sat in a heavy stack on the table.

“Shh… he’s sleeping upstairs” Abby called after as you hurried up the stairs, opening the first room on the right to find him safely bundled in a baby blue blanket. His face peeked out from under it and he looked the most peaceful you’d ever seen him. You began to step inside but Abby held you back with a gentle arm around the waist “Please.”

Your face twisted with contempt, bounding back down the stairs and into the living room before turning around to face her “Why’d you bring him here?” you pointed upstairs in upset, voice terribly shaky. “Angie…” Abby tried to placate you, reaching for your outstretched arm “He couldn’t defend a goal and panicked really hard. He needed to breathe... he needed rest.”

“And you brought him here?” you pulled out of her reach to which Abby deadened her eyes “I took care of my dad till the day he died… I can trust myself to take care of him." “And me? I should trust you too?” you pitched your voice, watching her face fall. “Why are you doing this?” Abby asked, hurt and confused.

“What? Worrying about some stranger taking my son home??”

“I’m no stranger”

“Sorry, my bad. You’re basically Dylan’s dad now. I should just fall to my knees and worship you. Since you’re saving our broken fucking family! My fucking savior” you spat each word out with more vitriol than the last, eyes stinging painfully.

Abby seemed equally disturbed, slowly shaking her head as she blinked fast “Angie… I understand you’re in pain.”

“You understand my pain?” you chuckled, nearly choking from how badly your throat was trying to close “Y-you understand how my stomach hurts from all the knots? Or how much my s-son hates me? That my family wouldn’t take me back? Or how I’m not allowed at church anymore?” Abby lowered her eyes, lips pressed to hide their quiver as she let you unravel.

“Maybe you’ll understand how the other moms say I have std’s… how my colleagues hit on me saying I’m s-spoiled goods, or maybe how my in-laws tear me apart at every court visit” you practically lunged at her, grabbing the front of her t-shirt, “Do you understand that all I wanted was to be LOVED and I BROKE my bones trying to love him in hopes he’d love me back… and HE NEVER DID.” Tears squeezed out your eyes, pouring down your cheeks.

Abby enveloped you in her arms as you broke down entirely, body going limp from the relief of spitting out all the agony coiled deep inside you. Unburdened. At long last. You screwed your eyes shut painfully as you felt her tighten her grip around your waist, hand cradling the back of your head, stroking gently.

You felt her chest rise irregularly; her breath jagged from your words. The front of her t-shirt turned dark from your bleeding mascara. You relaxed your fingers over her chest, peering up at her forlorn face. “Are you mad at me?” Abby asked softly and you shook your head, tears dripping down your cheek “No… I’m scared” you sobbed and she brought her hand to your cheek, pressing a thumb to your lips.

“We’re safe… it’s just us” Abby whispered close to your forehead, the blue in her eyes growing deeper with all the love she had for you. You tensed, raising your lips to meet hers. You pecked her ever so gently. A tender apology. Abby’s hands ached from sheer restraint, tugging you back in for a deeper kiss. You tilted your face, whimpering as she forced your lips open with her tongue. Soft and wet as it slipped deep. Past the hesitation of doing wrong, you gave in entirely. Your hands dragged up her chest, hooking around her neck as you kissed her back, leaving her lips red with lipstick smears to match the flush on her cheeks. Before long, Abby had hoisted you on her hips, hands cupping your butt as you nuzzled into her neck. Your heels clattered to the floor. The scent of her sweat made you squirm around her even more.

You fell back on the couch. Her on top, pinning you down. You dropped your gaze down her front and she chuckled ever so softly. Voice low. With a quick yank, she pulled her t-shirt off her chest, stretching them over her broad shoulders. You bit your lip, staring at the veins throbbing along her waist, the deep v-cut leading inside her shorts. Your lids grew heavy with passion, running your nails up her smooth abs and cupping her silky breasts.

“I wanted to do this the day I met you” Abby groaned, fingers fussing with your first few shirt buttons, ripping the rest off as you gasped from the shock. “God” she nestled into your ample cleavage, inhaling your perfume as she kissed the tops of your breasts.

You wound your fingers into her ponytail, throwing your head back as she lowered the lace cups covering you, rubbing your nipples. Making them more sensitive. “Abby…” you mumbled into her hair as she began to tug and suck on them. You gripped her bare back with a hand, slipping the other low to push her shorts down, exposing the elastic of her underwear… the sight of her happy trail and lean hips left you panting in place.

Her back muscles rippled below your fingers, nails digging into her soft skin. Abby tugged your shirt off, leaving it draped on the couch arm as she ran her tongue down to your navel, slowly pushing your skirt past your hips. “Let me take them of-” she desperately tore your pantyhose mid-sentence, eyes affixed on the milky patch staining the narrow strip of fabric covering your pussy.

“I’m sick” you whined, covering your face as Abby slipped a thumb inside your crotch, slowly rubbing along your sticky folds, dipping ever so slightly into your entrance. It oozed on her thumb. She smiled at the way you closed around her. Teasing you. “I’m sick too” she raised her soaked thumb to her lips, dragging it across her tongue “I think we’re just right for each other.”

She took your hands away from your face, pinning them above your head “I wanted to ruin you in my office that day” she confessed, stroking the lace trim of your bra, caressing you with your eyes. “I wanted to straddle you in the booth at that diner” you admitted breathily, digging your thighs into her sides as she chuckled.

Abby’s voice trickled beneath your skin as you pushed her shorts down, slipping a hand below to cup her groin, the other squeezing her butt. Her pussy was plump and warm. Dripping wet. You slid over her slippery lips, her swollen clit. You giggled, watching her lose composure as you rubbed a circle around it, feeling it throb even harder.

“I want to feel it” you bucked your hips eagerly, back arched as she snuck out of her shorts and underwear. You hungrily stared at what the happy trail had been leading down to, offset by her massive, perfectly built thighs. You fell limp, legs open for her use as she pulled your panties aside, drawing out wet strings from your sopping pussy. You cried out softly as she ripped them at the seams, leaving you exposed. Dragging you forward, she raised your leg up on her shoulder, edging herself into you.

The skin on skin made you delirious, throbbing and snaking as she pulled you even closer. She held you in place with her hand on your ankle. Unable to inch away from where you eclipsed, rubbing and griding earnestly, the sounds getting louder. Wetter. You gripped her forearm, nails raking her skin, feeling the steady rhythm of your hips rocking, her abs dully slapping your inner thigh.

You bit your tongue lest you screamed from the pleasure. Sex had always been such a chore to you that you’d began associating it with work. But the friction of your folds and how perfectly you fit together made you rethink everything. Made you float. Made you wonder if you could ever stop once you started. The way her body pressed into yours at all the right places. How her muscles flexed and rippled against you. How needy her face looked; lips swollen and her eyes watery.

"Fuck” you cursed softly; hips raised to meet hers as the pressure on your clit made you shake uncontrollably. You reached below to place a palm on her hip, thumb pressing onto her clit. “Angie…” Abby’s hips grew more demanding, grinding down harder, squirting until you were sticky. Your breasts bounced pathetically as you fucked senseless, eyes rolling back into your head, lashes fluttering.

Your climax came hard and slow, bursting into an involuntary spasm which you let overwhelm you, quivering and squirting in place. She followed suit, holding you firm as she came, chasing it with more strong thrusts onto you, eliciting incoherent sounds of pleasure from your lips. Abby groaned, a sound rooted deep in her belly, chest rising and falling deeper. She collapsed on top of you, heaving.

You were already burning, but something about the weighted heat healed you. Let you know for sure that you weren’t alone. That you were being touched, heard, paid attention to. You couldn't be close enough to her, if only you could nestle inside her. Abby slipped her arms underneath you, head resting on your chest as you both cooled down. The ceiling felt blurry for the longest time, yellow lit from the standing lamp in the corner.

Her voice seemed to fix the ringing in your ear “I can hear your heart” Abby mumbled, the movement of her lips tickling your breast. “I can feel yours” you smiled, tracing down her shoulder blades. Abby wriggled up, level with you as she simply gazed down. “What?” you asked gently, looking into both her eyes, dilated with love.

“Promise me you won’t regret this…” she whispered, idle hand on your cheek. Wrought with innocent longing despite all the lust. “Promise me… you won’t regret us” she kissed the corner of your lips, wiping a loose eyelash. “M-mom!” Dylan shakily called from upstairs.

“Baby!” you shot up, frazzled as you look down. Ripped clothes leaving your tits sticking out, nethers exposed. Red-faced and desperate. Shame washed over you with the effect of cold water to the face, realizing how you’d been fucking around with your son’s soccer coach when you should’ve been paying attention to him. You shimmied your skirt down, grabbing your shirt from the couch and throwing it on.

Abby got herself in order too, straightening her t-shirt, slipping on her shorts “Hold on.” “No” you insisted, doing the buttons on your shirt that still remaining, tucking the shirt inside your skirt “You stay away.” You scrunched your face in regret, tucking your loose hair up as you hurried up the stairs and into the bedroom.

Dylan sat up, looking disoriented and tired. “Sweetie” you sidle up on the bedside, pulling him into a hug “You’re, okay?”. He meekly nodded into your chest, mumbling a soft sorry. “It’s alright, baby…” you cuddle him “I’m just happy you’re safe.”

Abby hurried down behind you as made your way to the front door, holding Dylan in your arms. “Angie, wait” she tried to talk as she unlatched the front door, joining you down by the car “I’m really grateful for your help… but I need to take him home.” Abby helped open the door to the backseat, heartbroken as she watched you set Dylan down with the blanket curled on end to let him rest his head.

You shut the door turning to her “Abby, I…” you drop your words, uncomfortably crossing your arms as her face fell “You regret it” she affirmed with a quick nod of her head. “It’s not like that” you threw a glance back at Dylan, he was groggy again. “No, I get it" Abby looked defeated, deflating in exhale before she fetched a folded piece of paper from her pocket “Just wanted to give you this.” You took it quietly, biting your lip.

“She’s a child therapist… specializing in children of divorce” she stared at the road behind you, unable to meet your eyes. “Take care of him… Take care, Angie.” You caught skin from where you’d bit your lip. A sharp pain. “Thankyou” you stared at her just a second longer, reluctantly turning and getting into the driver’s seat. Abby didn’t stay back, no wave goodbye even as you kept looking in the sideview mirror. You didn’t deserve one.

Later at night

You lightly kicked open Dylan’s door, lugging in a big, steaming bowl on a wooden tray. “Big, chunky chicken noodles for my big boy” you sang, carefully setting it on his lap “Be careful, love.” Dylan smiled guiltily, accepting dinner. Too easily. “You didn’t have to, mom” he fiddled with the tray handle. “Who else will I do it for?” you shrugged, dipping the soup spoon in and bringing it to your lips to blow it cool.

“Open sesame” you fed him the first bite, raising your brows inquisitively. He gulped it down, nodding “It’s the best” he nodded “you’re the best.” You did a double take, shocked “Really?” you asked in disbelief. Dylan nodded, wiping his lips with the back of his sleeve. He paused, contemplating.

“Sorry, mom” he repeated what he said after he’d woken up at Abby’s home. “What for…?” your hand hovered midair, spoon caught between your fingers. “Coach… she talked me down when I panicked on the field today” he confessed and you lost focus, staring down at your lap. “She told me to think of you” Dylan went on “Said that you love me the most, that you’re always thinking of me… protecting me. That you're the strongest person she knows.”

Your face crumpled and you tried to hide them but the tears snuck past “I know things have changed in a way they weren’t supposed to… I haven’t done my best, baby” you tried to keep your voice level, coherent “I know your miss dad… a lot.”

“I do but I miss you more, mom” Dylan reached for your hand, “I was being mean with you because you’d changed… and I didn't know what to do.” “It’s okay, baby” you held his little hand back, turning your face to him as you smiled despite "Sometimes, we're mean when we don't understand our feelings." Dylan smiled sadly but it still felt like hope. Like all the frost had finally melted. Warm and full again. Safe and sound.

At bedtime

After doing the dishes, you headed back to your bedroom to change for the night. You slipped into satin, brushing your hair in the mirror. In the reflection, your phone sat heavy on the nightstand, like a dancing pointer. You tied your hair in a knot, walking up to it and picking it up before you could let a thought interrupt.

You called her, getting rejected immediately. The screen went red and you gulped painfully, knowing you’d fucked up. You decided to message her, punching in “Will wait for u at school reception at 8 tom… would like to talk” you sent it and thankfully it went through.

You stared at the screen, waiting for something to happen, feeling stupid after a while. A knock came at the door, and you slid your phone under the pillow. Dylan peeked inside, pillow in hand “Can I sleep here tonight?” he mumbled and you beamed, patting the side on the bed next to you.

You snuggled in, covering you both in your comforter like old times. The scent of his hair and the back of his neck took you in like an embrace, reminiscent of when it all felt so new. Cradling your new baby, the night you brought him home. Nothing had changed. The thought of the young couch sat at the back of your mind, and you stared at the wall. Thinking.

Next day at school

The concrete flooring amplified your anxious heel clicks, drawing dirty looks from the couple other parents sitting on the plastic seaters. You made a quick oops face, stilling yourself. The container on your lap was beginning to leave an imprint. The felt bag you’d brought along had fallen into your side again.

It had been 20 minutes past 8, and it was starting to look like you’d be running late for work again. Not that Bill was going to take it up with you. You zoned out on a blur before realizing it was the coach walking towards you. You nearly leapt out of your seat before remembering the contents of the Tupperware.

“I’m so happy you came” you smiled at her gladly, slowly getting to your feet. “How can I help you, Mrs. Hendricks” Abby remained stone-faced, oddly formal. “I was hoping to talk to you” you glanced at the container in your arms and the felt bag on the chair behind “… in your office.” Abby sighed, body angling away from you. With her hands in her pockets, she turned on her heels “Follow me.”

It made for a silent stroll across the poorly blueprinted building to the sports’ department. Abby walked several steps ahead, unlike last time. Her ponytail was limp, slump in her walk, keys jangled in her pocket. It reminded you of Dylan angry-marching whenever he was in a funk. Abby unlocked her office door, holding it open for you as you ambled inside.

While still amenable, she wasn’t as warm as before. Understandably so. You entered her office, aware you had to do better if you were going to halfway fix things. You set the stuff you’d brought on an available corner of her desk, reaching for the photo frame. You gently stroked the glass case, smiling at the tiny, grainy girl. White jersey clad. She had blonde pigtails, big grin on her face. The grass stains must’ve been hell to remove you chuckled to yourself.

Abby clicked the door shut, hands in pocket as she turned around, awkwardly pillared in the corner. “I talked to Dylan and we called the therapist whose number you gave me” you tried to initiate chat “She said she’d be glad to see him Sundays and… he’s willing to give her a try.” “That’s promising” Abby bit the inside of her mouth, cautiously approaching her desk.

“I got your blankie back!” you beamed, placing a hand on the carry bag “I wanted to wash it but it smelt so much like you, I didn’t have the heart to” you looked up at her “so I just lint rolled it.”

Abby wordlessly tugged at her blanket. Fuzzy from wear, spattered with stars and rockets from her childhood. You tapped the ridges of your wristwatch to drown the silence, dropping your gaze upon realizing you were losing focus on the bumpy bridge of her nose. “I made you some chicken noodle soup” you said softly, pushing the box into view “Not that canned stuff! This is my grandma’s recipe I made from scratch” you threw a glance around the office. “You have a hotcase? I can just leave it there… have it warm by lunch.”

“Angie, you didn’t have to” Abby finally uttered and your hand flew to your chin, covering your neck so she wouldn’t see you gulp painfully. “I’m sorry if I’m doing too much” you apologized softly, facing in the opposite direction from her. Abby sighed, “It’s not that. I’m not mad at you after… what happened. You don’t have to make it up to me” she whispered. “I understand if you don’t want to complicate things over a relationship. With how things are for you, it’s beyond understandable. Just… be honest” she dug a nail under the Tupperware lid, toying with the rubber.

“Okay” you stepped closer to her, steeling your voice with as much brazen as you had in you. Honest. “Last night was the most alive I’d ever felt” you confessed, feeling the immediate burn in your cheeks from confrontation but you soldiered on. Abby exhaled ever so slightly, like she’d constricted her chest too long.

You lightly pressed your arm against hers, feeling her shiver despite the jacket “I wasn’t expecting to… not this strongly at least… to develop feelings for someone” you felt yourself losing breath “I’ve been a wife and mom for so long, I forgot how it felt like to be a lover… to be loved.” Abby blew out her cheeks as she tried to look at you, blanching quick “Love’s not enough, is it?” her voice broke, sliding her hands over the edge of her desk, gripping it.

“It’s not… my marriage taught me that if nothing else” you shook your head “But what I felt with you… it wasn’t frivilous. It was pure and hopeful. It was beautiful. I didn’t know what to do with it so I abandoned it... I abandoned you. I shouldn't have.” you apologized earnestly. Abby’s breath grew labored as she visibly fought to compose herself.

“Hey” you gently pulled her before you by her sleeve, peering up into her eyes “I want this” you raised your hand, stroking her freckled cheek with the back of your fingers. Abby nuzzled into your touch, closing her eyes in relief. Lashes fluttering. Her hands returned to their familiar place on your waist as you cradled her neck, soothing the goosebumps on her skin.

“I want you” you mumbled into her chest as you felt her graze the small of your back, rubbing a soothing circle “And though I’m a single mom, with a 9-year-old. I work a boring desk job, have a messy Civic and an even messier ex. I don’t have much going for me-” “Stop that” Abby lightly scolded you. “But-” you kept your eyes low, tugging on her zipper, scraping the cool metal “Never put yourself down, you hear me?” Abby angled your chin up, pressing her forehead to yours.

“Yeah but…” you tried not to lose yourself entirely in her overtures, her lips pecking your nose, brow and cheek. She snuck across your cheekbone to your ear, tinkling your earring. “I need you to know what you’re getting into” you insisted. Abby whispered against your temple “What makes you think I don’t know?” as you weakly tried to discourage her, more for your own sake than hers “Abby…” you stifled a moan.

“And I’ll have you know…” she firmly propped you on her desk, hand curling around your bare thighs “I wouldn’t have it any other way”. She noticed something, looking down at your legs.

“I told them I hit myself with a cabinet door” you sheepishly explained, lifting your leg to show off the deep red handprint on your ankle. Abby smiled, folding her sleeve up to reveal the devilish nail scrapes on her arm “Haven’t been able to take my jacket off all day” she informed you gravely, sending a rosy blush over your cheeks.

“We’ll have to invest in quite the parka, then…” you pouted; eyes filled with faux guilt “because it will happen again” a sudden smug grin curled up on your lips. Abby’s jaw dropped, grabbing you as she vigorously nuzzled into your neck amid your giggles “Someone’s going to be explaining several curling rod incidents soon.”

To be continued (?)

#abby the last of us #abby anderson #abby anderson headcanon #abby smut #abby tlou #tlou #abby anderson headcanons #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou2 #abby x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby x you #abby x y/n #abbyanderson×reader #tlou fic #tlou headcanons #tlou hcs #tlou2 smut #tlou fanfiction #abby anderson tlou2 #tlou2 #tlou 2 abby #tlou 2 smut #tlou 2 #tlou abby #tlou au #tlou abby anderson x reader #tlou smut #abby fanfiction #abby anderson fanfic

[fluffymiyaa]

Waste The Night

Painting!Gojo x Painter!reader x Painting!Geto

Summary: In a haunting twist of fate, your tragic painting suddenly springs to life, its sorrowful characters and somber scenes manifesting before your eyes.

Tw: sadism, blood, gore, manipulation, sexual harassment, manager being pevert, sugusato, obssession

2 3

Masterlist Main Masterlist

In the dimly lit alley, a chill wind swept over Suguru and Satoru, though their bodies remained unaffected by the cold, fueled by the warmth of their own blood.

Suguru exhaled a stream of smoke into the air, the only sound breaking the silence that had enveloped them since they left the house.

"How did you know her phone password?" Suguru finally broke the silence, his voice cutting through the stillness.

"Don't underestimate my eyes." Satoru replied tersely, his tone sharp.

"But our powers don't seem to work in this world." Suguru pressed, his curiosity evident.

Satoru halted in his tracks, turning to fix his piercing blue gaze on Suguru. "I said. Don't. Underestimate. My eyes." he stated firmly before resuming his stride.

Suguru couldn't help but giggle at Satoru's unwavering confidence, finding comfort in his companion's steadfast demeanor as they ventured deeper into the shadows of the alley.

Ting!

> Manager: Are you close? You bring the painting right? Walk faster, it's in the middle of the night and I'm the only car parked here.

> You: We're close.

> Manager: We?

Satoru quickly replied to the text and erased the whole chats, a smirk playing on his lips as he glanced at Suguru.

"So... it seems like we're going to confront him physically." Satoru remarked, a hint of excitement in his voice as he adjusted his blindfold.

"Oh? I actually brought a knife with me." Suguru declared nonchalantly, pulling the blade from beneath his oversized yukata.

"W-wait, what? We're not going to kill him?" Satoru stammered, his expression filled with uncertainty.

Suguru sighed in disappointment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stopped walking and grabbed Satoru's shoulders.

"Satoru, look at me." Suguru commanded, his voice low and intense.

Satoru nervously met Suguru's gaze, their faces inches apart now.

"You said you didn't want him to bother y/n, right?" Suguru asked, his tone dripping with menace.

"Y-yeah..." Satoru replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Suguru grinned wickedly, his breath ghosting against Satoru's neck as he leaned in closer.

"Then let's erase him." Suguru whispered, his words sending a shiver down Satoru's spine.

Satoru recoiled at Suguru's suggestion, pushing him away until Suguru's back collided with the brick wall of the alley.

Unfazed by Satoru's reaction, Suguru's grin only widened, his eyes glinting with a dangerous intensity as he prepared to take matters into his own hands.

Satoru trembled, his palms clammy with sweat. He couldn't deny the surge of protectiveness he felt toward you, his unwavering devotion evident in the rapid beat of his heart. You were his world, his reason for existence, and he would go to great lengths to ensure your safety. But the idea of taking a life, even for you, sent a chill down his spine. There had to be another way.

"I thought we were just going to threaten him," Satoru muttered, his voice wavering with uncertainty.

Suguru pouted, shaking his head in disbelief. "And where's the fun in that?" he retorted, his tone laced with impatience.

"Fun?" Satoru echoed, his brows furrowing in confusion.

Brushing off the dirt from his clothes, Suguru continued walking, his demeanor exuding an air of nonchalance.

"Seems like I'm the only one who truly cares about y/n," he remarked casually, a hint of superiority in his voice.

Satoru's blood boiled at Suguru's insinuation.

"Excuse me?!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with indignation. The suggestion that his love for you was somehow inferior ignited a fire within him, fueling his determination to prove Suguru wrong.

"Oh look, that's his car," Suguru pointed out, nodding towards the silver Toyota RAV4. He throw away his cigarettes and step on it.

Approaching the vehicle, Satoru followed behind Suguru, his expression unreadable.

Suguru tapped on the window, flashing a charming smile as the manager lowered the car window.

"Can I help you?" the manager asked, his confusion evident as he took in the sight of the two handsome men before him, a slight blush tinting his cheeks.

Suguru tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, his demeanor effortlessly alluring. Meanwhile, Satoru stood behind him, his brow furrowing at Suguru's playful behavior. It irked him to see Suguru acting so charmingly, especially when he usually reserved such gestures for him only.

"Are you Y/n's manager?" Suguru asked, his tone polite but authoritative.

"Yes, yes, that's me! Where is the painting?!" the manager exclaimed eagerly.

"She entrusted her painting to us, but because it was too big, we put it in the hallway temporarily," Suguru explained smoothly.

"Would you mind following us?" he added, gesturing for the manager to join them.

The manager wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief, his nerves apparent as he stuttered, "Y-yes, sure, lead the way, hehe..."

Exiting the car, he followed Suguru and Satoru, who were still wearing charming smiles at how easily he complied.

Walking behind them, the manager couldn't help but let his gaze linger on their bodies in a lecherous manner, his thoughts wandering into inappropriate territory as he chuckled to himself.

Satoru's discomfort grew, prompting him to grab hold of Suguru's yukata tightly.

"He looks like a perverted old man from a hentai manga who cheating on his wife." Satoru muttered under his breath, his disgust evident in his tone.

"Yeah, he's absolutely repulsive. I can't believe our beloved Y/n works with someone like him," Suguru replied, his expression mirroring Satoru's disdain.

As they walked into the dark alley, barely illuminated by dim streetlights, the manager's nervousness began to escalate.

"So... you guys put the painting here? Where? I can't see it," he stammered, his voice trembling with unease.

Despite his growing anxiety, a twisted excitement simmered beneath the surface as he entertained the delusional notion that Suguru and Satoru might be interested in "playing" with him.

Satoru's grip on Suguru's yukata tightened at the manager's suggestive tone, his discomfort palpable.

"Suguru, this guy is giving me the creeps," Satoru whispered urgently, shooting a wary glance at the manager.

Suguru's expression hardened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features as he addressed the manager. Despite his irritation, he made a conscious effort to maintain a pleasant smile.

"It's right here. You're looking right at it," he stated firmly.

"H-huh? What do you mean? I can't see it, it's too dark," the manager replied, his nerves palpable in his shaky voice.

"Right... you can't see it, can you?" Suguru responded calmly, his tone chillingly detached, colder than the night air itself.

In a split second, Suguru's demeanor shifted entirely as he swiftly withdrew the knife from his yukata, slashing at the manager's eyes with a vicious precision. Blood sprayed in all directions, painting the alley in a macabre display.

The manager's piercing scream pierced the night air, echoing off the walls of the alley as agony consumed him.

Suguru's sadistic smile widened as he watched the manager, blood dripping from the gory wound where his eyes once were.

"How about now? Can you see it?" Suguru taunted, his voice dripping with malice as he reveled in the manager's suffering. He slowly swiping the blood that got on his face.

The manager's screams pierced the night air, a gut-wrenching symphony of pain and terror.

"W-what did you do?! Aaarghh my eyes!!" he cried out, his words choked with anguish.

Satoru stood frozen for a moment, his mind struggling to process the horrific scene unfolding before him. Then, with a surge of adrenaline, he snapped into action, lunging forward to push Suguru against the wall with a forceful grip.

"What have you done, Suguru?!" Satoru demanded, his voice laced with a mixture of shock and anger

Suguru scoffed dismissively, his gaze hardening as he met Satoru's incredulous expression.

"I don't like how he stares at you," Suguru retorted, his tone defiant and unapologetic.

"Yeah, but! But! You can't just slash his eyes like that!" Satoru protested, his voice tinged with desperation and disbelief.

Ignoring Satoru's objections, Suguru forcefully pushed his hand away and spun them around, pinning Satoru against the wall with a firm grip.

"So you think it's okay if he looking at Y/n like that?" Suguru questioned, his voice cold and unwavering, his eyes boring into Satoru with an intensity that left no room for argument.

"Think about it, Satoru," Suguru continued, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "How many times has he stared at Y/n like that? Who knows what he did to her! For years! He's been taking advantage of her!"

Satoru felt a surge of rage coursing through him, his breath coming out in heavy pants as he grappled with the realization of the manager's predatory behavior towards Y/n.

In an instant, Satoru snapped, his pent-up frustration and anger boiling over. His face contorted with barely contained wrath as he thought of all the times the manager had harassed and humiliated Y/n. His fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms as his adrenaline surged, causing his veins to bulge visibly beneath his skin.

"How dare he," Satoru growled, his voice low and menacing. The mere thought of the manager leering at Y/n's beautiful, sacred form filled him with an uncontrollable rage.

Suguru smirked in satisfaction as he watched the realization dawn on Satoru's face. His own eyes darkened, a primal intensity simmering beneath the surface as he tapped into his animalistic instincts.

"Right..." Suguru replied, his voice low and encouraging as he nodded in agreement with Satoru's burgeoning anger.

Releasing his grip on Satoru, Suguru handed the knife to him, his touch gentle as he softly rubbed Satoru's hand in a gesture of solidarity.

"Here, let's just erase him quickly, yeah?" Suguru suggested, his tone calm yet resolute, a silent promise of vengeance lingering in the air.

They turned their gaze towards the manager, who was desperately groping the wall in a futile attempt to escape. His panicked screams echoed off the alley walls, pleading for help from anyone who might hear. The blood running down his eyes

"Help! Help me, anyone! They're trying to kill me!" he cried out, his voice laced with terror and desperation.

"Quickly, Satoru, he's trying to escape," Suguru urged, his voice urgent as he gestured towards the manager's frantic attempts to flee.

"But how?" Satoru questioned, his voice trembling with uncertainty.

Suguru seized the back of the manager's shirt, yanking him back with a brutal force that caused the man to choke. He dragged him deeper into the alley, throwing him against the wall with a cold disregard.

Taking hold of Satoru's hand, Suguru guided it to the man's neck, pressing the blade of the knife against his throat.

"Here, it's the throat. Just slice it," Suguru instructed, his voice devoid of emotion. "You don't like his screams, right? Don't worry, I'll hold him down so he won't move."

Satoru's hand shook uncontrollably, torn between his instincts and his lingering hesitation. Sensing his turmoil, Suguru moved closer, his touch gentle as he tried to calm Satoru's trembling hand.

"Shh... it's okay," Suguru murmured soothingly, his voice a soft whisper in Satoru's ear. "Just do it quickly. He won't feel the pain anymore. Besides, it's to protect Y/n, right?"

With a tender kiss to the back of Satoru's neck, Suguru offered reassurance, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the chaos of their dark intentions.

"Now," Suguru uttered with chilling finality.

Satoru moved with practiced precision, smoothly slicing the manager's throat with a swift motion. The wall behind them became a canvas of horror, painted with the manager's blood in stark contrast to the darkness of the alley.

The blood continued to gush from the throat, spurting in all directions in a macabre display of violence. With a swift motion, Suguru pulled Satoru back, shielding him from the gruesome spray to ensure his pristine appearance remained untouched by the carnage.

They stared at the lifeless body slowly draining of blood, a silent testament to their ruthless actions.

Suguru gently turned Satoru's body to face him, his hand tenderly swiping at Satoru's cheeks, which bore the splashes of blood from the gruesome scene.

"You've got it on your face," Suguru murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the echoes of the alley.

Bringing his face closer to Satoru's, Suguru delicately extended his tongue, methodically licking the blood from Satoru's cheek. The sensation caused Satoru to whimper, his face flushing red with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.

"What are you doing..." Satoru breathed out, his voice trembling with uncertainty.

Suguru pulled away, his eyes gleaming with a predatory intensity.

"I'm cleaning you," he stated matter-of-factly, his tone laced with a hint of amusement.

"I'm proud of you, you're doing great. You just saved Y/n's life, you know?" Suguru's voice was filled with genuine admiration, a rare display of praise from him.

Satoru's cheeks flushed with pride at Suguru's words. "Not without you," he mumbled shyly, his gaze shifting away.

Suguru chuckled softly at Satoru's bashfulness. "What are we going to do with him?" Satoru asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Just leave him behind," Suguru shrugged casually, as if disposing of a problem was as simple as tossing it aside.

"But what if the police find him? Oh my god, are we going to get arrested?!" Satoru's panic began to escalate, his mind racing with thoughts of impending consequences.

Suguru couldn't help but laugh at Satoru's frantic reaction, finding amusement in his partner's distress. He reached out, patting Satoru's head affectionately.

"Of course not! They won't arrest us. They won't find us. We're painting, remember?" he reassured him, his tone calm and confident.

They finally arrived at Y/n's house, the weight of the night heavy on their shoulders. Exhaustion coursed through their bodies, and all they wanted was to collapse onto Y/n's bed, her presence a comforting beacon in the darkness.

With cautious steps, they entered her bedroom, tiptoeing silently to avoid waking her from her slumber. The soft glow of the moon cast gentle shadows across the room, adding to the serene atmosphere.

As Y/n slept soundly, her breathing steady and tranquil, Satoru and Suguru exchanged a silent glance, their shared understanding speaking volumes without a word spoken. With careful movements, they settled beside her on the soft mattress, their presence like a shield of warmth in the cool darkness of the room.

Satoru's arms wrapped around Y/n, his touch gentle yet firm, as if he were safeguarding her from any harm that dared to intrude upon her peaceful slumber. Suguru, with a soft smile playing on his lips, mirrored his companion's actions, laying beside Y/n and running his fingers through her hair with a tender caress.

As they lay there, bathed in the moonlight streaming through the window, a sense of tranquility enveloped them, cocooning them in a sanctuary of serenity. The weight of the night's events began to lift, replaced by an overwhelming sense of calmness and contentment in each other's presence.

With their eyes closed and their breathing synchronized with Y/n's, they surrendered to the embrace of sleep, their hearts beating in unison as they embarked on a journey into the realm of dreams together. In that moment, nothing else mattered except the bond they shared and the comfort they found in each other's arms.

You yawn and rub your eyes, slowly waking from your deep slumber. As you stretch your tired muscles, you can't shake off the feeling of a lingering dream.

Glancing at the clock, you see that it's almost 8, and a wave of panic washes over you. You shake Suguru and Satoru, urging them to wake up.

"Guys, guys..! Wake up! It's almost 8!" you exclaim, your voice laced with urgency.

"Mhhmm...it's fine, we don't have to leave..we're just gonna vanish soon," Satoru mumbles sleepily, his words a hazy mix of dreams and reality.

Suguru opens his eyes slowly, his gaze meeting yours as he pulls you back into bed, enveloping you in his arms. The unexpected gesture catches you off guard, and your heart races in response. Satoru follows suit, joining the embrace and pulling you closer. Now, you find yourself sandwiched between them, surrounded by their warmth and comforting presence.

You sigh as you surrender to their embrace, but then your nose catches a whiff of something fishy in the air.

"I'm sorry for being rude, but you guys don't smell good. Like... I don't know, a metallic smell?" you scrunch your nose in distaste.

Hearing your comment, their bodies tense up.

"Ouch! You hurt my feelings!" Satoru pouts.

"I think it's time for us. We're going to vanish soon," Suguru says solemnly.

Suddenly, a blinding light envelops you, and they're gone.

"Oh, just like that?"

Now you are all alone in bed. You lazily wake up and walk to your studio to look at their painting.

As you gaze at the canvas, you feel something different, like it has changed somehow.

But it takes you a few minutes to realize.

Your hand gently touches the canvas.

"Huh? I don't remember drawing blood here?"

So..how was it? Is it good enough? Im kinda feel insecure writing this actually..

They use google maps btw, they exist in jjk world..right?

Thanks for the notes, reblogs make me feel more appreaciated<3

Tags: @ceramic-raven @beastofthetrees @r0ckst4rjk @gothiccwhore666 @barryatsumu

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #anime x y/n #anime x reader #gojo imagine #gojou satoru x reader #gojou x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru #getou suguru x you #jujutsu geto #getou suguru x y/n #jjk suguru #sugusato

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 1

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.  

Rating: Mature Word Count: 6.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence, death, gun use, angst. Jack has a temper and Tequila has a dumb first name.  Summary: A mission gone wrong ends with disastrous consequences for Jack, but Champ has a plan. A plan to change your life forever. Notes: Welcome to soulmate story number six, everyone! I’m so, so excited to dive in here because I adore Jack. Keri and I are moving ahead with full steam on this story and we can’t wait to see what you all think of it!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Statesman, the independent intelligence agency, probably has some of the most up-to-date intel that anyone could ever want. Most times. Right now, that isn't the case. Ducking down behind a flipped over table, Jack – Agent Whiskey – rips off the broken frames of the glasses that not only fed him information but also scanned anyone for weapons and allowed his oversight team to see what he was seeing. A little bit of 'through the looking glass' magic.

"Now, damnit Ginger, I'm not trying to be difficult, but I need to know how the fuck to get out of here." Jack growls into the minuscule microphone that is imbedded into the earpiece that allowed her to talk directly into his ear. He glances at a body that is laying nearby, limbs sprawled with his eyes open and lifeless. The target that he had been after but someone else had started shooting up the place before he could reach him.

“You’ve been made, Whiskey, you need to get out of there.” It might be a little bit of stating the obvious, but Ginger’s even tone comes through his ear piece loud and clear. “What’s your clearest exit?”

"Does it look like I know?" Jack huffs, rolling his eyes even though the Statesman tech couldn't see him as he takes a chance and sticks his head up to scan the area for the nearest exit. The rapid burst of gunfire makes him duck back down, wood from the table splintering above his Stetson. "Southeast corner."

“Get out through the kitchen.” Ginger orders, clicking through floor plans and security cameras at her desk at lightning speed. “Through the kitchen, out the delivery bay doors, and left when you hit the alley. That will put you in the parking lot. Grab a car and get to the hell back to the Silver Pony.” The end of this mission has gotten messier than Champ will like, and extraction is their best option until a new strategy can be decided on. It’s ugly, but it happens sometimes. That’s one of the hazards of their line of work.

"Copy." Jack hunches down a little more when another barge of gunfire erupts, this time he feels the tug of a bullet as it tears through the wood and punches a hole through his hat. "Didn't think y'all'd give me a second." He grumbles, reaching for the pair of pearl handled .44 revolvers that are tucked into his holsters. Flipping them easily by the trigger guards as more of a habit than anything else, the weight of them is familiar and steady in his hands.

"Gonna hit the sprinklers and fire alarms in five seconds, Jack." The warning is the best Ginger can do for him, knowing that the ensuing chaos will confuse and disorient the enemies shooting at Jack and give him just a few seconds to get across the room while they adjust to something new happening around them. "Five...four...three...two...one!"

The distraction is just the window that he needs. Springing out from behind the compromised cover to start shooting. Jack's aim is true, taking down two of the people shooting at him with quick pulls of the triggers under his fingers. Three pounds of pressure to pull the hammer back and fire, custom designed for him for better rate of fire in a pinch. Those targets down, Jack starts to dash through the spraying water, the alarms starting to blare out to warn of a fire that isn't there but the system thinks it is.

The double doors into the hotel kitchen slam open, expelling Jack into the crowded, overheated room full of clamoring cooks getting ready for dinner service. A radio blaring in one corner and more than a dozen people shouting to each other had covered most of the noise of gunshots, but there's no mistaking their surprise when the mustachioed cowboy falls through the doors into their domain.

Jack’s eyes are darting around the room, seeking out a potential threat and when he doesn’t find one, he starts running for the door on the opposite side of the long galley.

Most people jump out of the way, some brandishing the knives in their hands as defensive weapons and others hide behind prep tables. The blaring alarm has now made its way to the kitchen, and everyone not cowering or weakly defending themselves is now trying to cover the food they have been cooking from being destroyed by the water splashing down from the ceiling. There is shouting and chaos, but no one dares to stop the cowboy running at full speed down the length of the kitchen.

“Ginger!” Jack shouts, even though he doesn’t have to as he pushes out of the doors that lead to the dock and loading bay. “Where to—” His words break off as he sees the glint of a gun out of the corner of his eye, reacting without even hesitating. Twirling around and his weapons fire on instinct.

"Jack?" Ginger's voice echoes in his ear as the man whirls around to see two bodies drop to the pavement behind him. One had a gun outstretched, the crisp lines of his suit wrinkled under the force of the shot that sent him falling backward. The other pitched into the wall before he fell – chef's jacket stained crimson with his own blood. "Jack! Are you hit?" She asks, voice more determined and edging on nervous.

Jack’s blood rushes to his ears, making Ginger sound like she is underwater. Or maybe it’s him that is drowning. It’s suddenly hard to breath, the seeming sucked from his lungs as he sways on his feet for a heart stopping moment. The impact of what he has just done crashing over him.

“Jack? Jack!” Ginger’s voice in his ear makes his vision sharpen from where it had gone fuzzy, bringing him back to the moment.

“Ginger Ale.” Jack chokes out. “I—shit, I just shot a civilian.”

"Shit." For a woman who rarely ever curses, the impact of it doubles coming from Ginger. "Get out of there, Jack. I'll send in Gamma Team to clean up. But I don't want you being part of the cleanup. You hear me?"

A civilian. Shit. Champ is going to be furious.

******

“Jason Howe, 36, born in Northwood, New Hampshire on April 4th.”

Jack winces and curls his hand into a fist as he stands in front of the conference room table. Not having been invited to sit, nor to have the glass of ‘67 Statesman Reserve that Champ has sitting in a glass at his elbow. A drink that Jack desperately needs. “Champ, there was a gun.” Jack defends, although he knows it’s a weak excuse. Statesmen take out the bad guys, not hurt the innocent. And Jack’s killed a bystander who had nothing to do with anything.

"You've been off since Cambodia, Jack." And although Champ knows exactly why, it can't be considered an excuse. He looks back down at the file on the conference table and frowns, then keeps reading. "Two siblings. Parents both living. Soulmate so far unknown." The older man looks up, locking his eyes on Jack. "We're tracking her down."

“Why?” Jack demands, frowning at the mere idea. Statesman had never tracked down a soulmate of anyone before, why start now? “We don’t know who it is, or if they care.” He scoffs. “Better to let sleepin’ dogs lie.”

“I don’t blame you for not noticing.” Champ sighs and shakes his head before finally motioning for Jack to sit. The man is his best senior agent, his quickest set of reflexes, and his closest friend. Frankly, Champ is worried about the upheaval in Jack’s life lately. It’s affecting his perception on a base level, not to mention his work. “You didn’t come out of that fire fight unscathed, and your adrenaline was too damn high for the pain to get through to you.” Running one hand down his face, Champ huffs slightly as he sips from his own whiskey glass but still doesn’t offer Jack any. “The back of your right arm. Just above your elbow. You have a new mark, Jack.”

“Bullshit.” Jack spits, furious at the implication of what Champ is saying. “My soulmate is dead.” He reminds the older man, as if he wasn’t well aware. Hell, Champ was the one who had recruited Jack to Statesman, so he was well aquatinted with his backstory. Until this moment, he would have called the man a friend. Maybe his best friend, even though Tequila likes to claim that’s his title. “Been dead and gone for years. So there ain’t no marks on my body.”

“I don’t mean to say anything against her memory.” Champ holds up one hand in a defensive posture. With the other, he gestures to the large mirror on the conference room wall. “Roll up your sleeve and take a look for yourself. Ginger noted the appearance of scars from minor cuts and bruises and a small tattoo on your arm. None of these marks were found on the civilian that was killed or any of the other dead men that Gamma Team cleaned from the scene. Following protocols, we’re now tracking down any and all soulmates and searching databases for your exact set of new marks.” He knows it isn’t good news. It isn’t good for the agency, and it isn’t good for Jack. But, despite it being a long shot, it is now more likely than not that someone out there shares these marks with him. And that makes her both a liability and a potential target. Whoever she is.

Fuck.” Jack hisses bitterly, his shoulders jerking as he shuffles out of his sports coat and tosses it down so he can start rolling up his sleeve. “Can’t Ginger remove it?” He demands, not wanting marks on his body. He hasn’t had any since the day Abigail died and he doesn’t want some other woman’s scars or tattoos on his skin either. He doesn’t have a soulmate and he doesn’t want one.

“Soulmate scars don’t work like that.” He knows Jack knows it, but he also understands the younger man’s distress as he tears his sleeve back to inspect his skin. “As far as Ginger’s nanites are concerned, that’s just your skin. No imperfections about it.”

“Who gets a goddamn tattoo on the back of their elbow?” Jack growls, twisting his arm around before he catches sight of the ink. “I don’t want another soulmate. This needs to be broken.” Tattoos and scars were things that could get an agent killed. Identifying marks, things that nanites fixed to conceal their real identities. Even agent’s soulmates had their scars removed if they were together.

“How exactly do you propose to do that?” Champ asks, raising one incredulous eyebrow at his friend. “Soulmate bonds are only broken by death, Jack. You know that as well as anyone. So unless you’re intendin’ on killing this girl just for existing, I’m afraid you’re shit out of luck.”

For one horrifying split second, Jack considers it. In his grief and rage at having his original soulmate, his wife, he thinks about killing another innocent person. “Jesus Christ.” He manages, body sagging and slumping in disgust at himself and overwhelming sadness. “I— I can’t—” Looking helplessly up at Champ, his eyes are filled with pain. “I can’t be someone else’s soulmate.”

“No one’s askin’ you to drop everything and bring whoever this woman is back to the ranch and start your life over.” At this, and Jack’s defeated shoulders, Champ finally pours two fingers of ‘67 Reserve into a clean glass and slides it across the table to Jack. “We’re gonna find her, and she’s gonna be under Statesman protection. That’s how we’re gonna handle this to start out with. Until we know more about her, the best thing we can do for your safety and hers is keep her close.”

“Why the fuck was this Jason Howe outside?” Jack snatched up the glass, pissed that because of one cook’s inability to be in the damn kitchen where he belonged, he’s burdened with a soulmate he doesn’t want. Is he victim blaming and deflecting? Yes, he is. But he doesn’t care right now. The whiskey burns on the way down and Jack sighs in appreciation of that fact.

“Smoke break.” Champ shrugs, knowing that why doesn’t really matter. “Gamma found his DNA on two cigarette butts nearby.”

There’s a sarcastic comment about how smoking kills somewhere rattling around in his brain, but Jack can’t bring himself to voice it. Not when he knows he is to blame, he had reacted and didn’t take a split second to make sure it wasn’t someone innocent nearby. He had done this and it weighs heavily. Nearly as heavy as his wife’s death and he hadn’t been directly responsible for that - though he felt guilty.

Shifting back in his chair, Champ surveys the agent in front of him as an agent rather than his friend, and he drains the rest of his glass in one go. “You have to come out of the field for a while,” he tells Jack firmly. There’s no room for debate here. “Psych eval, incident investigation, and that mark on your arm all have to be addressed before we can get you back out.”

Jack’s jaw rocks, immediately wanting to argue but he knows Champ. There’s no getting around this. He’ll be out of the field until the man gives his stamp of approval and not a moment before. “Had no problem throwing out the Golden Circle but now this is a problem?” He growls, stomping around the table to snatch a bottle of Statesman ‘72 off the bar cart. “Let me know when I gotta talk to the head doctors. Until then, I’m drinkin’.”

“I can’t get you out of this one because I threw my weight around on the Golden Circle case.” Champ huffs, not wanting to cause a fight but ready to have this conversation if need be. “I’m not worried ‘bout you passing, Jack. It’s just gotta get done.” The real concern is the black ink on the back of his arm – a hearts playing card with a teacup where the ace would be and the words ‘Curioser and curioser’ encircling it. While he carries that mark, he’s a danger in the field.

Snorting, Jack turns on his heel, grabbing his jacket off the chair and flicking a mocking two finger salute at Champ. “Sure thing, Champagne,” he huffs, knowing how much the full code name chosen for him irritates him. “I’m on desk duty.”

Champ huffs again, annoyed at Jack for being seemingly even less mature than Tequila in realizing that this isn’t a punishment, it’s caution. “And you’ll stay that way,” he grumbles as the door slams shut behind Whiskey’s retreating figure. “Goddamn stubborn donkey’s ass.”

Jack’s boots slap against the floors as he stomps down the hall. Several agents sidestep and move on the other side, warily eyeing the fierce scowl on his face.

The sound is unmistakable, and Tequila has been waiting to hear it since Jack had reported to Champ a half hour ago. He situated himself in Jack’s office almost immediately after, not really knowing what would happen but figuring that his friend might want to rant about something or go for a drink after. Civilians don’t exactly get caught in the crossfire every day – and Jack takes that kind of thing personally.

The door swings open and Jack pins Tequila with a hard stare. “Get out.” He huffs, striding over to the desk and slamming the bottle down on the hundred year old oak before he turns around to his own wet bar to get a glass.

“Guessin’ Champ ain’t too happy?” Tequila stands from the chair he had been occupying but makes no movement to leave. He’s known Whiskey too long and thinks too well of him to just up and abandon the man.

Jack doesn’t answer, grabbing the cut crystal glass and setting it down a little too forcefully before he picks up the bottle to pull the cork out and pours himself a double.

“Takin’ that as a ‘no, he ain’t’.” Stretching awkwardly, Tequila crosses his arms and watches Jack for a few seconds before he tries again. “There’s a couple of new girls leading tours who’ve been hinting at wanting dates,” he offers, knowing that that usually perks the older agent up a little. “We could blow off some steam tonight?” Mostly he’s just not sure that leaving Jack alone is going to be good in any way.

“Not interested.” Jack grunts, stomach rolling with guilt and anger. “God damnit!” He slams the glass down on the desk and his hand shoots out to sweep the neatly stacked files off the desk to scatter across the floor. Not like he wouldn’t have time to reorganize them anyway.

“Shit, Jack. What the fuck did Champ say?” Whiskey might have a temper, sure, but he usually just blows off his steam at the firing range or with a one-night stand. He’s not the type to go destroying things for fun or catharsis. Tequila steps forward warily, like he’s dealing with a spooked horse instead of his upset friend. “You know you can tell me. We can figure shit out.”

“There’s no ‘figuring it out’, Tex.” Jack snarls, well aware of the fact that Tequila hates his given name and prefers to go by his code name. “Apparently I inherited the civilian’s soulmate.”

“Fuuuck…” Tequila’s jaw drops so hard that his ass ends up back in the chair he has been sitting in only a minute ago. “How the hell does that happen?”

“Fuck if I know.” Jack blows out, reaching up to start unbuttoning his shirt. He needs to examine himself to see what other fucking marks this mystery woman has ‘gifted’ him with.

“Second soulmates are supposed to be a myth…” Anybody who knows a single thing about Jack Daniels knows about Abigail, and the fact that he lost her more than twenty years ago. A bit like anyone who knows him knows he was a rodeo man.

“Second soulmates are lies you tell the poor son of a bitch who’s burying his sweetheart.” Jack spits bitterly, remembering the bullshit people had spouted at him in the name of making him ‘feel better’. It hadn’t worked. “Not needed or wanted.”

“Looks like they ain’t lies at all.” Tequila hunches forward in his seat when Jack peels away his shirt and makes a noncommittal sound at the black-inked image on the back of his arm. “Weird place for it,” he comments, inching closer to get a better look.

“Fucking stupid is what it is.” Had Jack been admiring the tattoo on a woman, one he had in bed or aiming to get into bed, his opinion would have been different. But this was ink on his body. Even the tattoo he had gotten after Abigail and Tim died had to be removed when he joined Statesman.

Tequila squints a second before letting out a half-hearted chuckle. “It’s Alice in Wonderland,” he informs the other man once he remembered what the damn quote was all about. “Guess she likes to read.”

“Champ wants to find this woman.” Jack huffs, rolling his eyes and looking towards the mirror that is attached to the bathroom door. Looking for anything else.

“You don’t?” He probably sounds more surprised than he is, but if it were him - Tequila would sure as hell want to find the woman the universe says he’s supposed to love and cherish for the rest of his life. Even if all he had was a platonic soulmate, he would still want to know them. To have that connection and closeness. A friend that means so much they become his family. “Not sayin’ you hafta marry her, Jack, but damn. I mean…she’s got a target painted on her now if anyone ever finds out. Shouldn’t Statesman keep her safe?”

If it was anyone else, Jack would say that the protection of Statesman was necessary, but he can’t bring himself to say it. He knows that Champ and Tequila are right, this person – whoever she is – deserves to be safe because of who he is. Instead of answering, Jack pours himself another drink.

“Right.” Nodding at Jack’s silence, Tequila adjusts his Stetson and raps his knuckles once on the large oak desk. “I’ll see you in the morning, then?” It’s the end of the day and he’s presuming that Jack will be drinking his supper tonight. Which is a fair bet, all things considered.

There’s defeat in Jack’s stance, unable to gather his thoughts properly. Work was easy, it didn’t involve his heart and this was everything to do with it. When Jack still says nothing, Tequila stands and turns to move towards the door. “What does it say?” Jack asks quietly, staring down at the empty glass and wishing he was already wasted. “That I’ve got marks on my body again? What does it say about my love for my wife?”

“I don’t know what it says about her,” Tequila admits, turning again to face his friend. “But I think it says that you deserve a chance to be happy again. And from everything you’ve ever told me about Abigail?” He shrugs slightly, glancing down at the framed photograph of the two of them that he knows Jack keeps in pristine condition on his desk at all times. “Seems to me she’d be more upset at you closin’ yourself off than at the universe givin’ you an ass kicking.”

Shame fills Jack, knowing that Tequila had hit the nail on the head. Abby woulda torn into his hide for the thoughts he had about this new soulmate without ever meetin her. Or setting his beautiful, fiery wife up on a pedestal.

“You don’t have to do anything about it.” Tequila says again, knowing that most people in the world see their soulmate as their mandatory partner. Their person as ordained by the universe. Jack had already had that, and it’s not hard to see that he doesn’t find a repeat experience to be necessary. “But at least let Champ protect her. She didn’t ask for this anymore than you did.”

“It’s my fault.” Jack murmurs already pouring another three fingers of whiskey and staring at it for a moment before he takes another swallow. “I killed her soulmate, so the universe is punishing me. Punishing us both.”

“It ain’t a punishment necessarily.” Sensing the tide turning in the conversation, Tequila drops his hat on the side of Jack’s desk and grabs himself a glass before sitting down again. “Not all soulmates are romantic, and not all soulmates are perfect. Maybe you inherited her marks so you can protect her? Who knows.”

There it is. The crux of the problem. “Can’t protect her. Don’t even know her.” Jack huffs. “Couldn’t protect the woman I loved. The woman I would die for. Shoulda died for.” He would have traded places with her in an instant if it meant Abby and Sam were safe and still roaming the earth. It would have been the easiest decision he’s ever made.

“Then stay away.” The younger man suggests instead. Pouring himself a short drink and sitting back, he offers Jack a shrug. “Let Champ protect her once he finds her, and don’t tell her who you are. What you are to her. Let her live her life. I don’t pretend to have the answers, man. But I can help you piece this whole thing out.”

Staying away sounds like a solid plan. “I’ll be back out in the field anyway.” He rationalizes, imagining that it will be just a week or two before Champ needs him. Who’s to say that this woman even wants a soulmate? She hadn’t found the Jason Howe fella. “Sometimes that bean between your ears actually works.” Jack grunts with a whisper of a grin.

“Don’t worry.” That gets a hearty laugh from the younger man, and Tequila raises his glass in salute before he takes a sip. “I won’t let it go to my head.”

Jack snorts and drowns the rest of his drink and pours himself another before he slides the bottle towards Tequila. “Good.” He jokes. “Otherwise your hat won’t fit.”

******

By every Monday morning you’re always dragging. The restaurant was packed with reservations all weekend long and you probably burned off another fingerprint trying to do the sugar work for the dark chocolate salted caramel tarts that chef insisting on adding to the menu ahead of the new year. They’re beautiful, and delicious, but sugar work is tricky with an overblown wind bag shouting over your shoulder all night. The house is bustling this morning, though, and you have your niece on your hip while you sip your morning coffee and your mother in the other room is singing songs with your nephew. The dog is somewhere, the cat is on the windowsill, and your sister is finally getting her morning shower in after getting up early with the kids because they wanted to see Daddy off to work. There’s enough going on that you almost didn’t even hear your cell phone ring in your pocket. Almost.

Champ taps the file that Ginger had given to him, listening to the ringing in his ear. The soulmate had been found, surprisingly quickly to his delight. While it was assumed that no one knew about the soulmate connection between this woman in the packet and his senior field agent, but never guaranteed. Now he just needs to pitch the winning game to get her to Kentucky.

You almost don't pick up - who would be calling you from Louisville, Kentucky? - but eventually decide that you're curious enough to answer. At the worst you'll have a two-minute conversation with a telemarketer. There are worse things in the world. "Hello?" You press your phone to your ear and shift your niece a little higher on your hip with your other hand.

Clearing his throat, Champ says your name jovially. “Champ Rogers here, happy to get you on the phone, how are you doing this fine morning, darlin’?” Some might take offense to the antiquated word of endearment, but he has a feeling you won’t.

"I'm doing well, thanks." The funny face you make at the one-year-old hugging your side makes it almost sound like you're laughing, the smile coming through in your voice. "I'm not sure I know who you are, though, Mr. Rogers. What can I do for you?"

“Apologies, miss.” Champ shakes his head at himself chuckles. He knows a lot more about you than you do him, although that’ll change if he can help it. “I’m lookin’ for a pastry chef and the head hunter I’ve paid more money than God handed me your resume and said you’d be a good fit.”

"Oh!" Well, that's unexpected. Your head nearly snaps up from sticking your tongue out at your favourite little girl and a frown wrinkles your forehead a second later. "And...where did you say you were calling from?" He didn't, but you don't want to be rude. If he's looking for a personal pastry chef or a one-time catering gig, then Kentucky is a little far for you to travel.

“Kentucky, ma’am.” Champ spins around in his chair and looks out from the top of the infamous bottle that houses his office down at the distillery below. “I run a little outfit called Statesman.” Technically Jack’s CEO on paper, but Champ has final say.

"Statesman like the distillery?" Like your father's favourite whiskey that he's been drinking your entire life and there's always a bottle in the house at all times? Statesman is head hunting you? "Without meaning to seem rude, why exactly would a distillery need a pastry chef?"

Smart as a whistle. Champ grins, delighted that Jack’s new soulmate seems to have a firm head on her shoulders. “Well, we have a little tour operation here. We have around one point three million folks file through our distillery, and I’ve been wantin’ to jazz it up a bit. Offer more than just peanuts with the whiskey tasters.”

"I see." Leaning back against the counter, you lean over and press a kiss to your niece's thin hair while you chew on your bottom lip. It is a hell of an offer, but it seems like it's coming out of left field. Not that you're going to complain about being sought after - that would be the epitome of looking a gift horse in the mouth - and honestly you're pretty damn curious. "What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Rogers?"

Champ winces at the formality and the way the use of his legal title sits wrong on him, like an ill-fitting hat. “Pastries. Cakes and creams that use our whiskey. Fruit tarts and those little sandwiches. Somethin’ that’ll make the womenfolk happy and I’ve got a space that I want to have set up to make it an experience they can’t get anywhere but Statesman.”

"You want to have...boozy tea party food?" It's so hard not to sound excited when that's right up your alley with the exact kind of baking you already love to do. "Well, I certainly appreciate the call." And since you've never been head hunted before in your entire fucking life, you really don't know what could possibly come next. "And the position you're looking to fill is...an assistant? Sous chef?" There's no way one of the biggest distilleries in the entire country is calling to offer you a brand new executive chef position making your dream food. That would be insane.

“I don’t know what a Sous chef is.” Champ huffs, his accent butchering the word. “I want someone to run the damn thing. Make up the menus to make mouths water.” He feels like your interest might not be enough to get you here. “Tell you what?” Champ grins. “How ‘bout I send the jet to pick you up and you come on over to the distillery and see what you’d be workin’ with?” He offers. “Take the tour, see the space I want to turn into a restaurant and we can see if you think it’s a good fit?”

"The j-jet?" You stutter out the word in disbelief, eyes flying up to catch your mother's as she walks into the kitchen with your nephew in tow – only to immediately give him the quiet signal a second later when she sees you on your phone. "I, uh—" Breathe, you remind yourself aggressively. "I assume you'll want to see what I can do, as well? A headhunter is all well and good, Mr. Rogers, but if you're going to show me your space, I should at least be making you a few sample recipes while I'm there." It's all so much to take in and you're nearly overwhelmed at the enormity of it. This sounds like a dream. Way, way too good to be true.

“Please, call me Champ.” He insists, almost pained at hearing the name his father had been called for years. “Tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen. I’ll send you an email, how’s that sound? When do you think you could be here? Jet can be where you are in three hours.” The mention of a private jet always impresses, and he notices it had an effect on you.

"Well...I do have some flexible time at the moment." Two days off from the restaurant in a row is what you've got, and your mind is buzzing with possibilities. "Three hours should be enough to prep a list and book a hotel in Louisville for a night." It will be the most expensive job interview you've ever taken, but really? You can't see passing this up. If nothing else, you'll get to take the distillery tour and bring a bottle back to your dad for his bar. An unexpected trip could be fun.

“Pishaw.” Champ scoffs. “No need for you to book a hotel, there’s a residence on the grounds where we can put you up. It would be yours if you accept the job.” He smirks at the idea.

"You're kidding." It escapes your lips before you can stop yourself, and you would facepalm if you had a free hand. "Out of curiosity, Champ," the informality would never fly in your restaurant kitchen, but you actually prefer it. "What exactly would this position pay?"

“Well darlin’,” Champ admires a woman who gets down to brass tacks. “Considerin’ you’d be responsible for the menu and the runnin’ of the kitchens, I was thinking that we would start you out at 90 with a guaranteed half a percent of all profits per quarter.” Champ offers off the top of his head. He’d only glanced at the baseline salary for an executive chef when he had thought of this – though it was a good idea. “How’s that sound?”

With your phone jammed between your cheek and your shoulder and reach for your mother, gripping her hand so tightly she actually flinches as your eyes nearly bug out of your head. The base line salary you were just quoted is more than twice what you're making now, and it would have profits on top of it, and it even comes with guaranteed housing. "That sounds...like a salary that comes with a lot of responsibility," you admit, when you can finally form a damn word on your own lips again. "You go ahead and send an email with the full job description and offer, and I will send you back a list of supplies to give you a fair view of what I can do. We'll see if my abilities fall in line with your vision for the next step forward at Statesman."

“That sounds like a fine plan.” Champ leans back in his chair, sure that he’s reeled you in. “I’ll be seeing you soon, ya hear?” He hangs up the phone and starts to chuckle to himself as he looks down at your picture in the file. Poor Jack is in for a rude awakening.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." The second your phone beeps and disconnects, you stare at it like a ghost has just popped out of it before looking back up at your mother in wonder. "I just...got a job offer. For the most insane job of all time." Shoving the electronic back into your pocket, you shift your niece in your arms and place a kiss on her little head before setting her down in her highchair at the kitchen table and slumping down beside her to grab your now-cold coffee. "Oh my god."

“What in the world is going on?” Moving over to the coffee maker, your mother reaches for her own cup. It’s a routine that you two have coffee while she watches the babies for your sister.

"Apparently a head hunter got a hold of my resume and passed it on to the head of the Statesman Distillery in Kentucky." It's the most unbelievable sentence you've ever said in your life, and you fall back in your chair with a dazed look on your face. "They want to expand their food offerings for tours and events, apparently? They want me to go down there and look at the facility. Mom...that phone call was offering me an executive position."

“An executive position? To do what? Run the bakery?” Your mom turns and leans against the counter so she can sip on her black coffee. “To develop recipes?”

"Develop the entire menu, run the bakery, help roll out this whole new entertaining program for the distillery." Cold coffee is still coffee, and you drink yours slowly just so you don't choke on the drink your excitement. "The job comes with on premises housing and pays more than twice what I make now." The number he quoted is enough to boggle your mind all over again. "They're sending a private jet to pick me up and bring me down there for this interview and lord I hope this is not just some weird scam."

Your mom’s eyes widen and she frowns. “I – you should call the distillery. Ask some questions to make sure. Who sends a jet for a chef?” She doesn’t mean to sound harsh, but it strikes her as extremely odd.

"It sounds too good to be true." Your shoulders drop, and your eyes track down to stare into your coffee. "He's supposed to be sending me an e-mail with flight info and the job offer. It either won't come through or it'll be fake. But at least then I'll have two days off to wallow in the amazing job I almost had."

As if to argue, your phone dings with an email notification. Your mom sighs. “Sweetie— I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so negative. I don’t know how this works in big corporations.” She feels guilty, like she’s stolen your happiness away and you deserve all the joy you can find.

"No, you're just being realistic." Neither of your parents are particularly negative people. You'd call them realistic optimists, if you had to give it a title. They always try to look at the best parts of very practical situations. You pull your phone from your pocket and tap on the e-mail, studying it carefully for any signs of fraud or imitation. "What do you think?" You ask your mother, turning your cell around to let her read what just came through. Decades in journalism have given her a pretty good eye for detective work.

She studies the email carefully and looks up at you. “This looks legitimate.” She admits after a moment, a smile cracking her face. “Keep your phone on you, check in with us, but I think you should go for it.”

"He wants me to make four samples for the interview." Taking your phone back, you can feel the excitement rising all over again. There's nerves there, and a little bit of fear of the unknown, but mostly a giddy amount of glee rising from the tips of your toes all the way up to the top of your head. Moving a thousand miles away from your family for a job wasn't exactly a possibility on your radar, but if this job is for real? You'd be foolish not to do it. "I guess...I guess I need to figure out what I'm going to make and send off a supply list and then pack."

“You go do that.” Your mom takes your coffee cup and grins at you. Would she miss you if you took the job? Absolutely. But this is too good of a chance for you to get out of your current restaurant. “Just think— your own kitchen where no one can yell at you.”

"And if that isn't the dream, I don't know what is." With hugs and kisses for your niece and nephew, you start to hustle out of the room but stop in the living room doorway and turn back around. "What do you think about doing Grandma Jane's coconut cake as cupcakes and adding bourbon to the cream cheese frosting?" If Statesman wanted booze in their desserts, you sure as hell weren't going to pass up the chance to present it with the family's coveted cake recipe.

“If they don’t give you the job based on that alone, they are fools.” Your mother huffs, giving you an encouraging smile. “You’ll knock them dead.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3

DtRH: @haileymorelikestupid @spishsstuff @missmarmaladeth @axshadows @a-gay-cryptid @sgt-morgan @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @flowers4copper @ghost-timelord @the0racl30fd3lphidos @all-the-way-down-here @bobafvcker @ficsbynight @dinoflower @supernaturalgirl20 @xdaddysprincessxx @bobawh0re @amiee-mitch18 @darkhairedmenrule @heyyimlaynna @strawberry-f4iry @3zm33atzbuss33 @whataghost @cyber666slut @nobody-000 @eddiemunsonsgirlfriendirl @lucciolaraven @powergirlsupremacy @secondsistershelby @dreadmars @androgynoushellscape @soytomatecherry @cheesecake-massacre @mylifeisbasedonashow @idiotickiddo @tomfeltonisbae @maratheidiot22 @im-nada @everybirdfellsilent @deepdarkdelights @brokenwhitegirl384 @ur-honey-child @caseket @copperrose15 @we-could-have-been @valkyries-ride @scarletmunson @strawberriricemilk @ghost-timelord @galactigoos @floridawaters @cutiepie6473 @pinball-vance @theslytherinwriter @scorpioswonder @stankyleg05 @fxdsketches @sad-innit @coffeyorky @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @starlordsonlywife @aura626 @mistresskei @marv3lwhor3 @sadimusprimee @yourwonderbelle @sgt-morgan @spot116 @milybaby018 @loserk1nks @artfulthoughtswp @aavw @babyrunsforfanfic @faceache111 @midnight-huntress @asimpleraccoonqueen @marki-moo0 @pages89 @rawr-bitches @rebel-fanfare @soooosha @luna-is-out-there @im-sylien @timpletance @certifiedhunter @ellenmunn @littlethief78 @tinalbion @eddy-y @tikibabi @whyidkok @bearcoon1666 @littlebirdsbookshelf @a-gay-cryptid @disaster-ahaha @viridiesa @axshadows @purplerain04 @karmarouge @holycyclehomo @sainteredhood @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @the-wishmonger @theliferuiner @raptorclaw24 @asp1r1ngm1lf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @st4rl1ght444 @litholithium @tusk89 @youjustneedatherapist @nekodemon73 @iceclaw101 @lightningsface @shakespeareanwannabe @jasminemunson @spideysimpossiblegirl @wannabedaphne @sammus-white @jazzieomega @88dragon06 @ishabull @raquel-rial @tuquoquebrute @hotleaf-juice @dantaku @youokhoney @thisiswhyibleedsstuff @maximumkryptonitegladiator @jediknight122 @gadsgikklesen @movievillainess721 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @the-strawberrythief @spishsstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @haileymorelikestupid @gooddaykate @missredherring @abyssal-zone-stares-back @supernaturalgirl @winterandstars @severewobblerlightdragon @missmarmaladeth @noisynaia @saintbedelia @algressman16 @eaks0710 @mina2000alex @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @akaleelanie @mishasminion360 @amneris21 @roxypeanut @sabbs118 @frasmotic @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @lovelychaos420 @1432690 @no1pornstachefan @thegrimreaperbitch @esmeensheep @izz-ayes-world @kittycatcait219 @loveyou3000tonystark @tintinn16 @igenerallytrynottogiveagoshdarn @motheroftorches @phoenixhalliwell @the-dazzling-urbanite @coffeyorky @trickstersp8 @victorian-cherub @julissadunn @clarysthing @the-girl-that-loves-many-fandoms @mastersurf @theghostofutopia @ncsls0515 @seraphinaivy @unnecesarysstuff @hiyorinatsuki @ghostofaboy @yn-hamato @elfwriter1088

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Whiskey Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au

[aziraphales-library]

Hey lovely people! It would mean the world to me if you could recommend some fics in which there is excessive PDA! if you can’t that’s perfectly fine, thank you! Have a good day!

Hello! Not sure about excessive, but here are some fics featuring public displays of affection...

Serenade by Aegopixel (G)

Crowley was startled from his slumber by the sound of something playing outside his window. At first, he was willing to believe that it was just the music drifting from someone’s car window as they drove by. Turning over onto his side with a loud grumble, he tried to go back to sleep. The music didn’t go away. It got louder. Either the car playing the music had decided to park beside his building and purposely piss him off, or… Actually, that was starting to sound like the only plausible option.

It's Valentine's Day, and in preparation for a lovely night out with his one and only angel, Crowley has decided to get a few winks of sleep beforehand. It should be easy to do - except that there's music blaring directly outside his window, and it sounds oddly familiar...

Getting Off by HopeCoppice (T)

After the apocalypse, they decide to try some human delights they've never tried before - like taking a train during rush hour. The results are... sub-optimal, but there's always a silver lining.

dearest love by asideofourown (G)

Crowley probably should have seen it coming, in hindsight. 

He shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was, at any rate.  It had been three months since the Apocalypse, after all, and almost two months since he and Aziraphale had officially gotten together romantically.  They were still very much in their honeymoon phase (which Crowley thought was completely justified— he and Aziraphale had spent six thousand years denying feelings for each other, scared of the consequences, so he figured they were entitled to at least a few centuries of shameless PDA). 

But still, despite the fact that he and Aziraphale hugged each other and kissed each other all the time, and Crowley knew for a fact that Aziraphale loved him, he was stilled floored the first time Aziraphale called him ‘dearest.’ 

[Aziraphale and Crowley try out some new endearments]

Sweet lovers love the spring by HolRose (G)

Crowley had to lean in and almost shout at Aziraphale, who was standing near the side of the lake looking around at the scene with a very strange expression on his face.

‘What the fuck is going on, Angel?’

‘Oh dear,’ said Aziraphale, looking rather pained and guilty.

When I Touch You by Kat_Rowe (G)

Aziraphale no longer feels shy about expressing his feelings in public, or about simply stating them outright. To Crowley, the fact that his angel enthusiastically does both within the course of a few minutes during a morning at Saint James's Park feels like both a major victory and a natural result of their evolving relationship.

(The fact that it also serves as a teachable moment is simply a bonus to the Guardian Angel of the world's queer and questioning community.)

By the way, holding hands? Waaaay better than Crowley thought it would be.

The Taste Of You by teardrops_on_ghostly_wings (T)

5 times Crowley kissed Aziraphale and 1 time he got a kiss back

Wrapped Up In Love by Kat_Rowe (G)

When Crowley shows up at the bookshop during a record cold snap, half-unconscious and barely coherent with the effects of torpor, Aziraphale does his best to help him get back to a comfortable temperature.

Cuddling with his favorite lanky redhead becomes cuddling with a rather large snake and, for the first time in their friendship, Crowley is comfortable remaining in snake form around his angel.

Their relationships is discussed, some past regrets are laid aside, company is enjoyed, and a bookstore customer is rendered first terrified and then delighted.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #fluff #kissing #cuddling & snuggling #public displays of affection #mod d

[leggerefiore]

Seasonal Shift

cw: slight hurt/comfort, post ingo missing, taking your old man out of the house, uhh silver fox Emmet if you squint

pairing: Emmet/Reader

The last patches of the snow began to melt from even the most shadowed places of Nimbasa as the trees began to blossom with small flowers. The sparse grass slowly awoke from its dormancy to greet the world once more. The crowds of people in the city began to shed their winter coats in favour of more fashionable, cooler attire. Life seemed to buzz more in the streets, as well, as one could finally stand outside without having to shiver as curl into themself. It was a rebirth of the city, in a sense. A season of rest to bring out more bustle than ever before.

That bustle would trickle out into the various attractions of the Unovan city. The Musical Theatre would see the return of people excited to dress up their pokemon and watch shows as the creatures danced across the stage. Big Stadium and Small Court would swell with fans to cheer on their teams on whatever sport was being offered to view. Lastly, the amusement park would fill with excited visitors from all over the region to enjoy the offerings of fun within the warmer months of the year. Whatever lull that winter had brought would fade into a busy state that would seemingly never end.

The Gear Station would be busier than ever, too.

Spring would bring people in. They would pass the posters that remained ever plastered in the station and around the city. A face they would see, but not the one that was sought. Tired silver eyes would stare out in the crowds, desperately searching for specific someone that would never be found. Another day would pass steadily closer to an anxious, unwanted anniversary. One that made the man's stomach twist more and more. A smile was no longer on his lips like it had used to be. The seasons changed, but nothing brought him any closer to the only thing he desired most in this world.

You, his lover, were forced to watch him break down from the proud, brave man he once was into something hollow and haunting, and then into something even colder and desperate. The warm love of a giggly train man was still there, but so rare when he seemed lost in his own thoughts that refused to free him from their eternal harassment. What he sought, after all, he saw whenever he looked into a mirror. The very face he wished to lay eyes upon and a body like the one he wished to cling to. Losing an identical twin that one spent nearly all their life with seemed like an impossibly painful endeavour.

Yet, Emmet had.

Emmet faced each season with a wavering confidence that only slowly eroded into pure desperation. He was ready to do anything and everything to see his brother again, but you had to intervene and remind him that Ingo would not want that. You feared what would happen when he stopped caring about what the older twin would have wanted in his maddening recklessness.

His inconsolable days only grew more frequent as he pleaded for any deity to return Ingo. All you could do was hug him while his body shook with sobs. It hurt to see him in such a state. Part of you had hoped that the gloom of winter was simply worsening his mood and that the warmth of spring would inspire him to seek the things he loved in this world. Ingo would never wish for him to stuffer as he was.

You grasped his hand tightly as you brought him off the train and onto the platform. A cool breeze shifted the leaves of the trees that surrounded the small town. Nimbasa must have been suffocating, you figured. Anville was always a quieter location to visit.

The train ride out at least seemed to distract Emmet into a silence as he just appreciated the mostly empty ride out from the city. Spring had settled well in the small town, too. Wild flowers sprouted out in bunches throughout the grass, all abound. A nearby cliff held the few houses of the locals to the town, and a large facility spread out further out from the rails to house trains in maintenance.

There was barely anyone in the town as you both climbed the stairs to stand on the bridge that overlooked the facility. A white train car with a red stripe sat on the turntable. You swore it looked familiar, but were not too sure just what it was. Emmet tilted his head at your squinted eyes as you attempted to recall. He leaned over the railing to stare with you. His eyes darted over to you after a moment.

“… Darling, do you really not know?” he sounded genuinely disappointed. A feeling of embarrassment coursed through you at his words. Then, you could only wonder if this would upset him. The Subway Boss shook his head. “It's a Super Double Train,” he clearly was fighting back a small laugh, “… You really did not know?”

You felt mortified now about not recognising it. The things that you had done with him in those cars would scar whatever poor soul would, unfortunately, dare to walk in. Emmet began to truly smile for a moment at your expression. Well, at least your torment apparently brought him some level of joy. You managed to at least switch the topic to ask him about the functions of the car instead. He eagerly provided every little fact he could recall right then. Everything seemed to be doing just a little bit better. You felt positive about the day.

At some point, you both had drifted away from the bridge and back to the platform. Sitting on the benches around, you both gazed out into the nature that enveloped the small town. A few Sawsbuck and Deerling, now pink and blooming beautifully, had run through a clearing while many Pidove seemed to happily come down to roost and peck at whatever crumbs had fallen on the concrete. It was strange to think this place was where Emmet spent his youth.

You swore that you had even spotted a Zorua, but Emmet did not seem so convinced. The cake slices that you had packed were thoroughly enjoyed by you both as you sat in a certain silence. Your eyes drifted from the treeline to the twin at your side.

His face was no longer so young. Even the strange eternal youth in his eyes appeared gone now. A goatee spurted out from his chin, and dark bags were a constant feature under his eyes from his horrible insomnia. The wrinkles by his eyes felt more noticeable these days. You felt your heart tighten at the realisation. Poor Emmet really had been through so much more than you could ever understand. His gaze met your own as he stared back at you. You remained silent. Words did not need to be said for him to understand what was on your mind.

“… I am fine,” he reassured you. His arm came around your shoulders, and he pulled you into his side. A familiar smile tugged at his lips. “Thank you, darling,” Emmet cooed, “The cake was verrrry nice.” His words were nice to hear, but you could only wonder how true they were. Leaning your head on his shoulder and interlocking your arm with his, you simply willed yourself to believe it for now. His pain desperately needed anything to ease it.

“I love you, Emmy,” you sighed and hugged his arm to your chest, “… I… I will always be here for you.”

His eyes appeared to darken for a moment at your words. He changed your position for a moment to instead grasp your chin. Lips pressed against yours for a moment in silent display of affection. The goatee tickled your face for a moment. When he pulled away, his eyes stared into yours desperately as he pulled you in close to him.

“I love you, too,” he mumbled quietly in reply finally, “I know you are. Thank you.”

Spring seemed to finally break the chain of evenings filled with tears and replaced it with something more intimate.

#pokemon x reader #emmet x reader #pokemon emmet x reader #emmet/reader #pokemon/reader #pokemon emmet/reader

[badgirlswrld]

˚ ༘♡ CHARACTERS: Yunseo ‘Cloe’ Lim, Sanghee Park

˚ ༘♡ SUMMARY: In an attempt to mend thier relationship, Sanghee and Cloe discuss their problems. That simply doesn’t go as planned.

˚ ༘♡ WARNINGS: lots of cursing, Sanghee is a big bully, So is Cloe, arguing, yelling, suffocating mentioned as a metaphor, not anything else I believe! if I need to anything else plspls lmk <33

˚ ༘♡ ⋆ Sanghee shifted uneasily, feeling the room becoming hotter by the second. She took a deep breath and adjusted herself before fixing her gaze on the girl in front of her.

"So..." Sanghee began, trying to read Cloe. Cloe casually flipped her hair over her shoulder and crossed her legs, leaning back in her seat. She shifted her gaze from the floor to Sanghee, giving her a judgmental look. Sanghee was already annoyed with her.

"Why don't we just act like nothing happened? Go back to normal like always," Cloe insisted. However, Sanghee sighed and shook her head.

"Yunseo, come on. I can't keep doing this. I'm not going to pretend to love you every second a camera is on me because there's always a camera on me and I don't love you," Sanghee stated with a blank expression.

"That's fair. Then should I leave the group? Or should you? I mean, seriously, you're telling me that's easier?" Cloe marveled, arching her eyebrows sarcastically. She smirked, observing Sanghee's growing irritation.

"No, that's not what I mean. They sent us in here to fix our issue. So let's fix it," Sanghee sternly replied, tilting her head as a gesture for Cloe to respond.

"I'm not the one with the issue, Sanghee," Cloe assured, subtly rolling her eyes and looking away.

"Well, I guess I'm the one with the issue then, Yunseo," Sanghee began, raising her voice. "My issue is that I can't stand the way you act. You're a spoiled brat and the biggest asshole I've ever met. There," she smiled.

"I'm an asshole, huh? Which one of us is in a new scandal every week? Which one of us can't keep a boyfriend for more than a month?" Cloe retorted, with a cocky smile forming on her doll-like face.

"See? You're an asshole. You're rude, and you can't deal with the fact that nobody actually likes you," Sanghee continued, Narrowing her eyes at the younger girl, Cloe gritted her teeth and shifted in her seat.

"Everyone likes me, are you kidding me?" She snarled, her honey-sweet voice masking false confidence. A feeling of insecurity washed over her. That hit a nerve, Sanghee thought.

"Nobody likes you, Yunseo. Maybe if you were nicer and didn't get your job because of daddy's money, someone would," Sanghee taunted, a big smirk on her face. She leaned back and watched Cloe spring out of her seat. She enjoyed pushing Cloe's buttons, making her feel inferior and insignificant in this world. It gave her a sense of pride. Cloe scoffed, turning on her heel to face the opposite direction, unable to look at Sanghee any longer. Sanghee watched as Cloe wandered off inside the office, finding a spot in front of the large window and focusing on the view of the city outside. Sanghee's voice quickly pierced the calm silence, and Cloe hesitantly turned around.

"Yunseo, I know I'm an asshole sometimes, I know I have issues, but at least I'm making an effort to stop," Sanghee chided, pushing herself out of the chair and standing up. Cloe clenched her jaw, digging her nail gently into her palm.

"I don't have an issue, Sanghee. Stop trying to convince me that I'm the problem," Cloe warned, speaking in a low tone. She closed her eyes, attempting to shut out Sanghee's voice.

"Yunseo, wake the fuck up. You're so fucking entitled, like you're a goddamn princess. You're so rude to me, to Lisha, to Joohwa, to Taehee, to fucking Erena. I mean, seriously, you get everything handed to you on a silver platter and do nothing but bitch and moan that you don't have more!" Sanghee snapped. As Cloe heard the words drip from Sanghee's lips, she felt every muscle tighten. It was as if the words were meant to seep into every crevice of her being, taking over her every step, every thought, every breath she dared to take. Sanghee noticed the shift in Cloe's demeanor and continued, "News flash, Yunseo, you don't get everything you want in life. Do you think I want to be doing this right now? Seriously, Yunseo, you need a goddamn reality check. When did you become this fucking deluded? You're sitting here trying to convince yourself that people like you, when you do nothing but piss everybody off because you're so fucking insecure! So insecure that you act like a bitch because it's the only way to make you feel better than anyone else!" Sanghee roared, catching her breath for a moment as she got caught up in her own words. She stared into Cloe's teary eyes, smirking, as she gently caressed Cloe's cheek, she dared to move closer.

"You're such a miserable fucking person. So fucking miserable... I mean, you're a fucking train wreck, Yunseo, one that everyone wants to just clean itself up and disappear because your existence is that fucking unbearable to be around," Sanghee stated, her voice hushing itself as she accentuated every word. Each word held a heavy weight, dropping onto Cloe like a ton of bricks. Sanghee watched her closely, observing her body slightly twitch, her eyes widening just a fraction, her breathing growing erratic and uncontrolled. And she loved every moment of it.

Cloe was left stunned for a moment, staring at Sanghee, who was now inches away from her face. Cloe felt like the room had closed in on her. She couldn't believe Sanghee could stand there and read her like a goddamn book, making her feel so unbelievably helpless. A kind of helplessness you feel when you're all alone after a nightmare. A nightmare that leaves you sobbing, shaking, unable to shake away the disgusting images your own mind created. Her breath hitched as the silence grew unbearable between them. Cloe's expression of shock shifted to a scowl, and she shoved Sanghee's chest, forcing Sanghee's hand to drop from her cheek as she stumbled back. Cloe regained her balance, realizing she had to get out. She had to leave that room before she suffocated under Sanghee's presence. She quickly brushed past the taller girl, snatching her purse from her seat, and stormed towards the door.

"Do whatever you want, Yunseo. But remember... kicking me out of the group won't make you a better person," Sanghee commented. Cloe stopped in her tracks, feeling like she'd been struck by lightning. Her entire body and mind snapped like a stretched rubber band. Her vision went fuzzy for a moment. She took a shaky breath, looking at the floor in a daze.

"And you know I'm right, which is why you're so upset right now... You're pathetic," Sanghee sneered.

"Shut the hell up! Just shut up! Why do you never shut your goddamn mouth? It's just talk and talk and talk constantly. I don't care!" Cloe droned, turning away from the door and throwing her purse to the floor. The sound of Cloe's heels clinking across the floor painfully echoed in the office. Once again, the two girls stood face to face, but Sanghee was now the one with widened eyes and shaky breath. But not because she was scared, helpless, or shocked. No, because she had pushed Cloe to her limit, again. And she was proud. She was proud she had that effect on such a complicated girl. It fascinated her.

"I do not give a single shit about what makes me a better person, Sanghee," Cloe spat between gritted teeth, turning on her heel. She strutted back to the door, fixing her hair and brushing off her dress before leaving the room and snatching up her purse from the floor. The door slammed shut as she left, leaving Sanghee alone and bewildered in the office. Her mouth agape, Sanghee thought to herself for a moment. She didn’t enjoy that. That’s a lie, she enjoyed it more than she should've. But, a lingering guilt ached inside her stomach. She didn’t want this to turn out this way. She just can’t help it, Cloe is so very easy to anger, so easy to break. She’s fragile, she’s fragile like antique china dishes, and Sanghee enjoys threatening to shatter her, but never truly getting the job done. Yet, she felt the urge to hold her after, to make her feel better, to glue her back together as if nothing happened. Cloe just hasn’t given her the chance to try that yet. She squeezed her eyes shut for a split second, ignoring her lingering feelings and thoughts, before leaving the office room as if nothing had happened.

#˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ writing * ˚ ✦ #ficnetfairy #fake kpop gg #fake kpop group #fictional idol community #fictional kpop group #kpop oc #˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ sanghee * ˚ ✦ #˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ cloe * ˚ ✦ #AHHH #first piece I’m actually posting on here

[magicaguajiro]

Swamp Witch Travels: Rainbow Springs

History

Rainbow Springs’ first human visitors probably came upon her waters well over 10,000 years ago in the form of paleo-indigenous groups. Moving further along, the Timucua and their neighbors used this spring, like many others for fishing, travel and funerary rites. After colonization, the area surrounding the spring was used for phosphate mining into the 1930s. This is where much of the waterfalls on the property came from, made with byproduct of the mines. From here, it became a privately owned tourist attraction offering many of the same draws as Silver Springs, like glass bottom boats, submarines and of course a dip in the ‘Healing Waters’. In 1990, the State acquired it, creating the park we have today. Its a first magnitude spring, and the fourth largest in the state. Like many springs, it was formed from a sinkhole around 14,000 years ago and freshwater bubbles up from it continuously.

Agua Dulce

Springs have always had a connection to the Indigenous peoples of the area. In the Caribbean, we find amongst the syncretic systems the concept of a group of spirits known by some as the Division of Agua Dulce, which literally translates to Sweet Water. This group of spirits is comprised of Indigenous ancestors who were from the Caribbean or transported there during colonial times. Some of the spirits are fallen heroes, past Caciques, or the Cemí and other Land spirits these ancestors have relationships with. Some of the Spirits in this division I venerate and work with are Atabey, the Supreme Creatrix and Water Mother, and Anacaono, a female Cacique from Ayiti (Haiti) who led a Taino Rebellion in the 16th Century. Within the practices of this division, we see that Springs are held as places of high spiritual importance, and are a direct connection to our ancestors, as their spirit is literally embedded in the Sweet Waters rising from the Spring. The word ‘canoe’ actually comes from the Taíno (kanoa). In espiritismo, one metaphor for the Bóveda I have heard is that it is your own personal Spring of spiritual energy and wisdom, deepening the importance of springs in my practice.

Springs in Praxis

When I visit any park, I always leave an offering by a tree upon entering. I believe in the notion of paying one to pay them all. This is usually tobacco and some coins, accompanied by a prayer. However, when I go to a River or Spring, I find it imperative to also make an offering to the Water itself. This allows me safe entry, and occasionally even some guidance and protection. Like many water spirits, shiny coins and singing make nice offerings to the Springs. Its always good practice to clean up trash and be respectful to the workers and environment. You should always ask permission and make an offering if you plan on collecting anything, as otherwise it may not lend you the virtues you are seeking. When I visit a Spring, I always fully submerge myself - baptism style - to cleanse and receive the healing and blessings of the spring. I also will collect some of the water if I need to use as an offering to certain spirits, as well as for spellwork. I empower the water to either call on the spring itself or for virtues of healing, renewal and growth. I have also heard of friends using the water for prophetic dreams and divination work, citing the connection to spiritual development in espiritismo.

Springs for Tomorrow

Many springs today are suffering various ecological problems, most of which are directly caused by humans. The best spiritual practice is to learn how to act in these sensitive environments, to prevent further degradation. I recommend the instagram @FloridaSpringsCouncil to learn more about the importance of our Springs and the issues plaguing them.

Bendiciones🕯️

#witchcraft #florida #bioregional animism #bruja #brujeria #florida witch #santeria #swamp witch #witch #traditional witchcraft #floridasprings #rainbowsprings #espiritismo #cuban #cubanfolkmagic #cuba

[happyanderes]

⚠︎Tomb much⚠︎

☎︎003-001

Yandere reaper (Kier) x GN reaper reader

⚠︎Warnings: Yandere, Violence on reader off screen, stalker-ish behavior, death

Another oldie, so no drawings for Kier either, but I’ll add it if I ever make a part two

The night was cloudless, only a chill breeze and bare trees with their black and brown branches pointing towards the dark night sky. The lush green that was supposed to be there is in deprivation from the harsh winter. Spring has yet to wake even in late March.

In a certain parking lot, in a certain car, through the black tinted windows of the car, if one decides to look close enough, they’ll find a dead corpse of a male in the silver Toyota.

But no one can see the lone soul and of the man and the lone reaper.

As you fill in the documents of assigning the soul into the loop of reincarnation in Norway, as per request, the soul asks.

“……Thank you, is this how things like this usually work?” He asks you as you seem to be looking for something in your pocket, now that you’re finished.

“Well, I actually don’t know,” you answer. “I just died about a month ago. When I woke up, I received all this knowledge in my head, and a tattoo.” You raise a wrist for the soul to see, it is a marking in the shape of a skull. “I only met another reaper when I was reaping a soul for a double suicide and I have to say……he’s odd.” You shiver at the thought of the man.

“He chased me through a city. Then he asked for my hand in marriage, when I told him I want to take it slow, he forced me to exchange numbers with him.” You complain while pulling a cracked phone and a small vile out, unlocking the phone to show him the bombardments of texts you received and is still receiving, mostly questions about how you’re doing and demands that you reply.

“99+ messages……? Oh, sorry I’m venting, please, drink this, this will delete your memories while I send you to reincarnation. Please be a good person, I don’t want to see you go to hell after this.”

The soul takes the vile and pops it open.

“I will try my best, again, thank you.” He says as he downs the potion in one go.

You stare as his somber expression disappears, replaced by a completely blank one.

Tabula rasa, a state of the human mind. People say newborns are usually in this state, yet you don’t believe in that, they have the factors of genes within, personality gifted by their parents through chromosomes, to be good or bad is partially coded in their physical body, but whether to act upon it or not takes the control of the soul.

This is the true blank state of mind, the one and only white board waiting to be drawn and filled with goods and bads. You mumble something in the soul’s ear.

“Memento Mori.” And with that, the soul, whom you no longer call a him disappears with a blinding light, leaving you in the car, with the corpse that once belonged to a now newborn, whose soul is now in the fjords of Norway.

You take a deep breath, finally, you’ve gotten quite a few indecent souls who went to hell today, and indecent souls never went down without a fight, so there are violent hydrangea colored bruises littering your body, you have yet to develop a physical build for fighting, so you rely on your poor magic to defend yourself. But that’s not something to trouble with right now, you have about twenty minutes till your next soul, so you took the liberty to lean back and enjoy the silence.

Finally, some peace

“—Why didn’t you read my texts?” The door on your side was yanked open violently as a mop of white hair pokes in. You hear a distant clank, he has tossed the car door away.

……you spoke too soon, you sat up and looked into your fellow reaper’s eyes, pitch black pupils staring back at you.

“I was busy, Kier.” You say as you rub your tired eyes.

“I don’t see you busy now!” He retorts with a furrow of his brows and a pout unfitting for his appearance. He is lithe, a bit bony, even. With unkempt white hair messily tied into a bun on the back of his head. On his pale face are bloodshot eyes and dark circles, perhaps he had pink lips and cheeks when he was alive, but now they’re just a shade of dead gray. He looks like he’s dead, which……isn’t completely wrong.

He wears a black tank top and orange cargo pants, an orange jacket tied around his waist as colorful tattoos litter his arms, and you can see a big one peeking through on the skin under his ripped clothes.

But that wasn’t what convinced you his status as a prisoner. It was the chains, wrapped around him to weigh him down, but also serve as a warning——this is a dangerous one.

“I just finished work……don’t you have work?” You ask.

He ignores your question completely as he takes hold of your arm and pulls you out of the car.

“We’re going on that date you promised me.” He says with a joyous smile as he pulls you along with him, a light skip in his steps as the pitter-patter of your footsteps echoes in the night.

You want to protest, but the moment he gave you a disapproving side glance, you shut your mouth.

And without a word, he begin to walk, slowly breaking into a little jog, then to a run.

As if chasing the moon, he pulls you through the road, running. “C’mon! It’s just gonna be a walk in the park!”

But the two of you didn’t walk, the first second you were staring at the unusually large moon, the next you were standing in the local park. Damn him and his skill in magic.

The night hidden behind a veil of darkness, showing only the moon and the lone stars scattered across the sky.

The trees gently danced in the wind, as they are the only signs of life around, you wonder why there is no one here. And as if sensing your curiosity, your companion answers.

“This is the dangerous part of the city, look.”

The feeling of his hand on your shoulder yank you out of your thoughts, an inaudible gasp left your lips as he chuckles instead.

Your eyes trail down his arm, to his pointer finger, following the invisible line he created as your eyes land on a vending machine, or the remains of one; The side of it has a large dent in it, you know a crowbar wound when you see it, even if it’s not on flesh.

The lights flicker on and off, almost all of the buttons for the drinks show a large “X” signaling that it’s “sold out”, even though probably no one paid for it.

You would say graffiti is a form of art, but here, on what’s left of this machine, it seems like messiness solidified, like the screams of souls when you catch a glimpse of hell.

Without saying anything, Kier strides towards the broken machine, white lights welcoming him with a little flicker……yet its dying breath is crushed under his combat boots as he lands a powerful kick to it, killing it off completely and denting it almost to an hourglass shape.

Liquids mix and sizzle, trickling down the machine like blood, your stomach churn at the sight, it reminds you too much of what you’ve been dealing with.

Then you see his hand dig inside of the dead body of the machine and pull out a few cans of drinks, the words were in Japanese, the cans dented here and there.

“Calpis? Who on earth would name their drink ‘cow piss’? pfft.” With a laugh and without a warning, he tosses the can at you (you barely caught it in time), and cracks his own open, taking a sip out of it, raising a brow. “This cow’s got diabetes.”

He gives you a look, knowing that he wants you to follow his actions, so you pop the can open, taking a sip out of it. It’s sweet but refreshing, slightly milky yet a bit acidic, similar to watered down yogurt.

As far as politeness goes, you drink quickly, Kier starts a conversation to which you only answer with hums, tying the ends of them quickly with an unbreakable knot called a period.

Time is up, finally, you get to leave as he takes your empty can, but as he does so, his forefinger hooks onto your thumb, that tall frame of his leans down to your height.

Those dark eyes stare straight into your own, his hair flowing in the wind like it has its own mind.

“How about now?”

Of course he wouldn’t forget that stupid question.

You lower your head, unable to meet his gaze, and weakly shake your head.

Not a word leaves his lips as his gaze continues to stay on your head, finally, an amused huff can be heard, and your tense shoulders sag a bit.

“Hmm……” behind this hum, you can hear his words. “Is that so?” lingers silently behind his teeth, but rings in your ears.

Kier seems to enjoy your fear as his lips split into a sinister smile, he lets go of your hand and holds onto the top and bottom of the cans. It looks so simple when he does it, the cylinders crushes into small plates.

A bad kind of shiver creeps up your spine, and he didn’t miss it.

“Tick tock, darling. We have all the time in the world, but……”

*clank*

The sound of the cans clanking on the concrete ground startles you, Kier the reaper is nowhere to be seen, as if he was never here.

You sink to the ground, knees weak as you sit there, almost forgetting that you have work in less than a minute.

You can only let out a shaky breath as you collect yourself, but he doesn’t let you have it, as an energetic ping of a text rings in the deadly night.

#yandere fic #yandere #yandere oneshots #yandere oc #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere x reader #OCKier #yandere reaper #yandere male #gn reader #my writing

[spicykaraage]

Tenipuri Complete Character Profile - Ryoma Echizen

[PROFILE]

Birthday: December 24th (Capricorn)

Blood Type: O

Birthplace: Los Angeles

Relatives: Father (Nanjirou Echizen), Mother (Rinko Echizen), Cousin (Nanako Meino), Cat (Karupin)

Father’s Occupation: Temple Priest (local)

Elementary School: Los Angeles Saint Youth Elementary School

Middle School: Seishun Academy Junior High School

Grade & Class: First Year | Class 1-2 | Seat 3

Club: Tennis Club - Regular

Committee: Library Committee

Strong Subjects: English, Chemistry

Weak Subjects: Science Experiments, Japanese

Frequently Visited Spot at School: Under the big tree behind the school building

World Cup Team: U-17 World Cup USA Representatives ➜ U-17 World Cup Japanese Representatives

Favorite Motto: “All or Nothing.”

Daily Routines: Playing with Karupin

Hobbies: Bathing with bath salts from Japan’s famous hot springs ➜ Clearing games he’s borrowed, watching cat videos [23.5]

Favorite Color: Silver

Favorite Music: J-Pop

Favorite Movie: Any kind of Hollywood film

Favorite Book: Monthly Pro Tennis ➜ TENNIS LIFE (an American tennis magazine) [23.5]

Favorite Food: Grilled fish (with little bones), chawanmushi, local confections [23.5], shrimp senbei (plum and kimchi flavor) [removed]

Favorite Anniversary: Any day he can play tennis

Preferred Type: A girl that looks good with a ponytail

Ideal Date Spot: Santa Montica Third Street Promenade ➜ Santa Monica Pier Pacific Park [23.5]

His Gift for a Special Person: “Just tell me what you want.”

Where He Wants to Travel: A snow-view hot spring

Thing He Wants Most Right Now: Nintendo DS ➜ Nintendo 3DS [10.5 II] ➜ A smart watch [23.5]

Dislikes: Waking up early, cleaning the temple floors [removed], paparazzi [23.5]

Skills Outside of Tennis: Animals take a liking to him for some reason, can cleanly peel fruit [23.5], horse-back riding(?) [TP]

Spends Allowance On: Fanta/Ponta

Routine During the World Cup: Soaking in an open-air bath

[DATA]

Height: 151cm ➜ 152.5cm [23.5]

Weight: 50kg ➜ 47kg [23.5]

Shoe Size: 24cm

Dominant Arm: Left

Vision: 1.5 Left & Right

Play Style: All-Rounder

Signature Moves: Twist Serve, Drive A, Drive B, Drive C, Drive D, Cool Drive, Selfless State, Pinnacle of Perfection, Samurai Drive, Hope [23.5]

Time He Wakes Up: 6:30am

Time He Goes to Sleep: 11:00pm

Number of Times Foreigners Come to Visit Him: 7.8 times a month

Favorite Brands:

Hats: FILA

Clothing: FILA

Racquet: BRIDGESTONE (DYNABEAM GRANDEA)

Shoes: FILA (Mark Philippoussis Mid)

Fitness Test Results:

Side Steps: 71

Shuttle Run: 119

Back Strength: 102kg

Grip Strength: 42.3kg (left)

Backbend: 59.5cm

Seated Forward Bend: 39cm

50m Run: 6.1 seconds

Standing Long Jump: 237cm

Handball Throw: 28m

Endurance Run (1500m): 4:46

Overall Rating: Speed: 4 / Power: 3 / Stamina: 4 / Mental: 5 / Technique: 5 / Total: 21

Kurobe Memo: “Even though many areas already have a high degree of perfection, I suspect it’s highly likely he’ll continue to grow and improve. I would like to see him work on building his body without sacrificing balance.” [RB]

[POSSESSIONS]

What’s in His Bedroom [10.5]:

Trophies from past competitions // They’re randomly placed since he doesn’t really care for them

Alarm clock on his bed // The alarm doesn’t necessarily wake him up…

TV and game consoles // He has several types of game consoles but keeps the one he uses the most (Nintendo 64) connected to the TV

Closet // Where his school uniforms are stored. His mother will put them away if they’re left out

His pajamas he’s left out // He’s always in a rush when he gets ready for school

Karupin’s favorite cat toy // A cat tail toy

What’s in His Bag [10.5]:

A beginner’s guide to doubles // He bought it after playing doubles with Momoshiro. He forgot it was in there

Notebook // His math notebook he forgot to take out

Photos of Karupin // He insists that he didn’t put them in there

Notepad // He’s written down emergency phone numbers since he’s always late

Pen case

Game Boy Advance // Bought for him as a starting school gift, he plays it during his free time

Senbei // He drinks Fanta/Ponta when eating senbei

What’s in His Locker at the U-17 Training Camp [10.5 II]

Game console // A PSP. He’s absorbed in video games when he’s not playing tennis and has recently been playing a tennis game

Photo of Karupin // It’s one of his favorites

Fanta/Ponta // Grape flavor

Senbei // Having Fanta and senbei together is a must

[TRIVIA]

The Prince of Tennis 10.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 11/02/2001

Although he’s lived in the US, he still prefers Japanese food and isn’t fond of Western food

People tend to be aggravated by him due to his abrasive personality, but he means no ill-intent by it

He gained his arrogant and abrasive personality from growing up in the US

He will speak his mind regardless of how it sounds as he believes it’s a way of being kind

His first name is written in katakana rather than kanji. It’s alluded that it may be due to his mother being another nationality besides Japanese

Konomi had Ryoma wear a hat since he thought it was cool, and wanted people to associate his FILA hat with him

He is called “Shorty” by Kikumaru but does not mind it since he says height doesn’t matter in tennis

He likes grape-flavored Fanta/Ponta

He keeps everything he needs for school in his tennis bag, hence why he gets confused when some items are still in it

His personality is described as pessimistic, but shy and gentle and is always striving for improvement

Konomi originally did not intend for him to be the protagonist. The role was originally going to be given to Kintarou, with Ryoma being his rival. He initially thought Ryoma would be difficult to portray as a protagonist, be better as a sub character and that making him the protagonist would dampen the mood of the series. He eventually decided on Ryoma and built the other characters around him

Konomi describes him as a “bad guy”, and that him defeating people who are even worse is a focal point of the series

The Prince of Tennis 20.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 12/04/2003

He will easily get engaged in a single subject and then excel in that area

When he concentrates, he will become so absorbed in what he’s doing that he will not pay attention to his surroundings

He’s described to be suited for professions that require special skills, such as a pilot or astronaut

He is very susceptible to change and has an insatiable desire to become stronger

One of his favorite subjects is chemistry since the science behind the substances changing, combining and gaining different properties reminds him of tennis

He doesn’t remember when he started playing tennis, and states he thinks he’s been playing it since he was born

His secondary sport would be soccer

The Prince of Tennis 40.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 12/04/2007

He’s described to be sociable and lively, but doesn’t get too involved in his personal relationships and tends to be reserved

His friends and schoolmates often visited his house when he lived in the US

He did not know what “Old Maid” was until he played it at the joint training camp with Rokkaku

In Genius 305, when he had won his match against Atobe and everyone huddled around him, someone had quietly handed him the shaver, but it’s a mystery on who it was

He considers Kintarou to be quite strong, and wouldn’t mind having an official match with him someday

He is the character Konomi states he has the least in common with, the second being Tezuka

#tenipuri #tenirabi #profile #my post #seigaku

[kaleidoscopewritings19]

Bruce Wayne x Reader

“THE CIRCUS AND THE FLYING GRAYSONS”

Part 2 to “Black Boas, Tiaras, and Fake Jewelry”

Warnings: Mentions of Death

Characters: Bruce Wayne (Robert Pattinson) x Reader, And Alfred

________

Bruce was buttoning up his dress shirt and you put on a simple, blue, floral sun dress. You put on a leather jacket and a pair of black converse to finish your look. This has been the first time in a few months since you guys had a date night, and both of you wanted to try something new. So why not go to the circus?

While you were putting on red lipstick, Bruce came up behind you and placed a kiss on your cheek. “Are you almost ready, darling?” He asked and you puckered at the mirror to make sure you didn’t miss a spot. “Yes, I believe I am. Don’t forget the tickets, they’re on the kitchen counter.” You say as you tossed your lipstick, cellphone and wallet into your purse.

You walked down the stairs and Bruce was already waiting for you by the front door. Alfred came around the corner the same time as you, “Looking beautiful as always, Miss Y/N.” He said and you curtseyed and said a quick thank you. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” you ask as you linked your arm with Bruce’s. “I am sure. I’m going to start my spring cleaning early.” He said. “But go enjoy yourselves. A married couple need to spend quality time together.” Alfred said as he shooed you guys out of the house.

The drive felt different and something felt off to you, Bruce noticed your uneasiness and he placed his hand on your thigh. His left hand held the steering wheel steady, and his silver wedding band glistened when the sunlight hit it. You watched the way the sun hit it, and you felt a little more at ease. “Y/N, why are you nervous? Your bouncing your leg and you only do that when your nervous.” He said and you stopped bouncing your knee and gave Bruce a small smile.

“This is going to sound so dumb...” you say as you look out the window. “I’m scared of clowns...” you said under your breath, and it was barely loud enough for Bruce to hear. “What was that?” Bruce asked as he leaned closer to you. You sighed deeply, “I’mscaredofclowns.” you ran your words together and Bruce cracked a smile.

“What?” Bruce said again and you huffed in annoyance: “I said-”

“No, no. I heard what you said, I just can’t believe that you, my wife, are scared of clowns. And spiders- they’re both harmless.” He said and you glared at Bruce. “For one clowns are freaky looking and after watching IT, I don’t want to find myself near one. And two, spiders are little diabolical creatures!” You state and you shiver at the thought of spiders and clowns.

Bruce started laughing and the big top tent came into view. Bruce pulled into a parking space, and you watched as children hurried inside excitedly, and the parents were even running with their children. You were sure everyone- especially the rich people of Gotham were here. Even the paparazzi was following the “big names” of Gotham.

He opened the car door for you, “I promise, I will protect you from all clowns and the occasional spider.” He said and you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Thanks. But please don’t make me go near a clown. Don’t let them near me...” You say and Bruce shook his head, “No promises. I don’t want to cause a scene if one happens to walks up to you.” He said and you crossed your arms. “Do you feel like signing divorce papers?” you say jokingly and Bruce brought you into a hug. “Come on. Let’s go find a seat.” he said as he picked up your hand and led the way into the tent.

 When the two of you found seats, you sat next to a couple that worked for Wayne Enterprises. “How are you, Mary?” you asked and she smiled as she rubbed her pregnant belly. “I am ready to give this baby an eviction notice.” she said and you chuckled. The two of you were friends but weren’t best friends. She was the sweetest person you would ever meet, “Any luck for you and Bruce?” she asked as she pointed to your stomach. Shaking your head you watched the jugglers juggle bowling pins, “No luck at all.” You say and you turned back to Mary who had a sad expression on her face. “If you’ve been trying for over a year, may I suggest that you go to the doctor?” She said quietly and you nodded your head. You and Bruce had agreed if you guys cannot have children, the next step would be adoption or fostering.

Bruce tightened his grip on your hand and rubbed your knuckles in a circular motion with his thumb. You looked up at him and he pressed a kiss to your cheek.  “I heard the Flying Grayson’s are coming up next, and I hear they put on a good show.” You say and all of the lights went out for a minute or so.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, Haley’s Circus brings you: THE FLYING GRAYSONS!” He shouts and emphasizes the Grayson’s name. The spotlight shines on a man and a woman; they both drop their robes, and wasted no time at all. The man took off running and jumped off at the platform; most of everyone gasped, but he caught himself on one of the flying trapezes. Everyone began to clap and shout, and he jumped to the other one. 

This time, he was hanging onto the trapeze by the back of his legs. With his legs supporting him, his wife jumped on a trapeze and swung to him. He caught her hands and Bruce began to clap, watching intently. “And here comes the youngest family member! Remember folks, they’re doing this all without the safety net to catch them!” The announcer shouted. A young boy emerged from the shadows, and the spotlight shined on him and his parents. When his parents swung to meet his jump, the wires holding up the trapezes fell.

I hid my face into Bruce’s shoulder and screams of terror filled the room. Bruce stood up and he grabbed your  hand and led you through the crowd of people who were trying to leave. Your eyes gazed up at the young boy who stayed on the platform- frozen in shock. Both of you stayed until the police told you and Bruce to leave, “Sorry Mr. Wayne. But this is a crime scene, take Mrs. Wayne home. As of right now, this place isn’t safe for you guys.” The detective said and Bruce walked closer to the detective. 

“Was there fowl play?” he asked and the detective looked back over his shoulder. “In my opinion. someone did this on purpose. Guess you’ll hear it on the news soon enough.”  He said as he looked up in annoyance at the news crews entering the tent.

You watched one of the police officers escort the young boy down from the platform. Looking up at Bruce, he led you away from the scene and took you home. When you arrived at home, you changed into sweatpants and one of Bruce’s t-shirts. You were shook up by the whole thing and you found Bruce sitting in his study. He had a glass of bourbon in his right hand, staring at the picture of his parents that hung on the wall. 

You laid your hand on Bruce’s shoulder, and he adjusted so you could sit on his lap. “Are you okay?” you asked quietly as you sat on his lap and he sat his glass on the desk. “I’m- I’m fine. All of that brought back memories...” he said as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I have to ask you something Y/N, and I need your full honest opinion.” Bruce said as he looked down to look into your eyes. You nodded, “I would like to foster the Grayson’s boy. He needs somewhere to go and I can’t simply let him go to the local orphanage.”

You were taken aback, did you hear Bruce correctly? The man who couldn’t imagine having kids, wanting a child? You tore your gaze away from Bruce and looked down at your wedding band. Your mind took you back to when Bruce was having a tea party with your niece, and your heart skipped a beat thinking about it.

You wrapped your arms around Bruce and whispered a quiet, “Yes.” 

_________

TAGLIST: @lexivass @minstens

Part 3 coming in a few hours!

#batman x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x batmom #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #robert pattinson #batmoblie #battinson #dc comics #dc heroes #alfred pennyworth #dick grayson #the flying graysons

[bogbiter]

Prologue

"There is a small house south of Kettlewood. It lies at the south most corner of the St.Francois Mountains, resting nicely in a nestled patch of forest. The trees leading up to the property do a great job obscuring it from view, but gives it a wide scenic display of the Ozark town below from Sauk Lake towards the little Glimmer of the Highway. The house itself was of craftsman make, with a sharp pitched roof that led to wide eaves, and its two stories were made entirely of timber painted white. The second story had three windows facing the stone driveway, and within view of the Westmost window was a boy. 

Strawberry blonde and with angelic curls, he hid his face behind a plush owl, holding it against his cheek as if afraid, even in his sleep, it would fly away and never return. Perhaps he had drifted off watching the lights of the distant town and highway. Maybe that's what brought him fear, in some child-like imagination he had perceived some threat lurking out there. Maybe a shadow passed by that cowered the lights: a break in the distant luminance of headlights and the concentrated urban glow. So he hid under green sheets, too scared to tell the others in the house the feelings weighing his chest down and stilling his legs.

But despite his fears, he knew this home was safe. For why else, though spooked, did he deem it safe enough to rest, without closing the blinds? Maybe he just found it safer to have some light shine in, than face the pitch-black. Faint moonlight illuminated him as it broke through the trees, almost as if the world acknowledged him trying to shrink in on himself. And yet the little plush barn owl did everything in its power to shield him from the light above.

Outside the world was vocal, for this late spring had now heralded crickets and katydids venerating the rains earlier and the promise of warmer afternoons. An old bloodhound, whose muzzle was now given a silver sheen, rested on the porch. In its youth it would have explored in the darker hours before returning around 9 pm, unless he had been called in otherwise. Chasing off coyotes from even the scent of the chickens and quail the man of the house raised. Or skulking around the trees looking for possums to spook. Now he was too old to leap over logs mid chase or turn to defend his haunches from an equally annoyed raccoon's bite. He could run up to a truck after it had recently parked, crawl into his owners' laps, and steal an unattended porkchop from the table.

Now, laying down next to his dog bed he stared out at the night, his vision not as sharp as it used to be, but his nose was still sharp enough to make out any poor critter trying to sneak by. It could be a fair distance, he could smell them 3 miles down the road, on a good day with the wind on his face, he could get a good fragrance range of the valley below. So it did rattle the dog when he could smell something coming up the road. And for the life of him he couldn't remember a scent like this. There was something like a horse, sulfur, and wet rain. Yet there was a new scent it just couldn't identify. Like club soda but… way way stronger. The bloodhound covered its nose and whined, exhaling as though he was trying to involuntarily cough.

As the smell got closer, the bloodhound got up, walking down the wooden steps of the porch and towards the dirt road, staying on the stone and grass of his owners' domain, knowing too well how reckless drivers could be on these dirt roads in these dark midnight hours. He smells it, and as he does he hears something rustle above him in the trees. To the bloodhound in that moment, they just resembled obscured, somewhat flat shapes running through the trees. And stopping where the branches hung over the road. They made no motions towards him, and when he turned back around to face the end of the road, he heard a sharp whistle, and could see a faint glow of blue in the woods below.

The dog was in no state to leave the yard and chase after the glow, and some primordial part of its brain told it to run back to the house. It started at a fast walk, whatever was in the trees above him following along when he suddenly jumped at the sound of something collapsing onto the dirt road with an audible thud, sending rocks in a scattered wake. He started to pant, a growl welling in his chest as he observed something that looked like an intruder. Even amidst the night this figure was pitch black, sulking in any light around it minus the white, piercing, vertical slits in place of eyes it possessed. It was riding something, a horse of some kind. Though it seemed to be made of a similar shadowy Ether that constricted itself to a horse's frame. However its face possessed no lower jaw, and many smaller tentacles. The Hound didn't even consider the massive wound on the collapsed steed, that was literally eating away at its body as though individual polygons were being erased from reality. The chorus of the night had gone silent, and as the steed writhed against somewhat red clay hued pebbles, its rider shakily left its back, and crawled its way over to the dog. 

Panic. Raw, inexorable. The dog unconsciously whined, tail between its legs as it scampered backwards, bumping into the truck as it tried to step back away from the crawling hominid. The shadows of its head were too sharp, too angular, as its face came out like a shallow curve. Its neck was thick, attached to a bird-like chest which spouted gangly thin limbs from sloping shoulders. It made no noise as it tried to clamber to the dog, whose own claws scraped against the ground as meager rasps for barks exhumed from its quivering face. 

That's when the shadow before him was dragged back, as those strange flat things from the trees had tried to drag the creature away. They resembled well, the odd bastardization of a colugo and a bird of prey. It's sharp-billed, flat-head nipped at the feet of the shadow. It writhed and attempted to sway back. The Carpet Birds with long, slender front and rear limbs that possessed a large membrane of skin that extended between their paired limbs, rolled and awkwardly waddled away from the shadow, hissing like angry barn cats as if to catch the crawler's attention. The dog made a stiff jog away, but no sooner did it that the Carpet Birds scuttled away from the shadow as well. The Bloodhound turned back to face the attacker, confident enough to start barking at the figure. Before its eyes shot wide and it tucked itself low to the ground.

Holding the shadow above the ground was a being carved from some abstract paradigm. The shadow writhed in its touch, clawing at its basalt carved form. It wad like the odd perversion of a torso, a floating triangular shield where a head would be. Instead a row or six lights around the collar focused on the shadow, each glowing a lightning blue. Intricate carvings moved from its body to its limbs, long and skeletal, mechanical, carved. The hand of this entity, crushed the neck of the shadow, sending a strange blue light into its ephemeral inky form, and sending the aberration to flicker out of existence just like its steed. The standing construct looked down at the bloodhound, upon stilt legs mirroring stakes, as the dog practically went limp at the sight. The air felt like static, the being before it thumming with something undeniably alive, but not in the traditional sense. It simply began to walk away, the truck audibly unlocking and locking in rapid succession, before disappearing behind the curve of the greenery and down the road. 

The Bloodhound waited till the springing motion of its locomotion could no longer be heard before it ran to the door and scratched against it, whining. It was frantic, and given with such force that the hinges sounded like they might possibly break, as the dog called upon some forgotten strength it never knew it possessed. Opening the door, shotgun in hand, an old man wearing full body gray pajamas opened the door, looking around for any possible varmint or intruder. His sourpuss face, wrinkled and filled with utter annoyance, scanned the yard with his flashlight. Nothing stood out to him, except when he panned the flashlight down to his whining mutt, looking up at him with pleading eyes. The dog wasn't easy to spook, having lived through several feral dog attacks and having aided the man in boar hunts earlier in the two's shared time together. So the old timer moved to the side, as his companion ran inside and up the stairs of the home, claws tapping against wooden boards.

For the Remaining five years of the Bloodhound's life, he slept indoors at the feet of the boy facing the westmost window. It was safer inside during the night. "

HAHAHAHA. PROLOGUE TO THE HERMITVERSE NOVEL IM WORKING ON. I WILL GET THIS DAMN THING FINISHED, ON MY RIGHT EYE I SWEAR OF IT! Hope yall enjoy :))

#hermitverse #worldbuilding #bogbiter #THIS BLOG SHALL NOT DIE #ITS LOGIC IS ETERNAL

[balioc]

BALIOC’S READING LIST, 2022 EDITION

With one exception, this list counts only published books, consumed in published-book format, that I read for the first time and finished. (There was one serious-seeming book that, as far as I know, exists only in free-floating PDF form.) No rereads, nothing abandoned halfway through, no Internet detritus of any kind apart from the aforementioned, etc.  Also no children’s picture books.

1. The Blue Castle, Lucy Maude Montgomery

2. The Art of Gathering: How We Meet and Why It Matters, Priya Parker

3. The Girl and the Mountain, Mark Lawrence

4. There Is No Antimemetics Division, qntm

5. Dreamsnake, Vonda N. McIntyre

6. War and State Building in Medieval Japan, Various (ed. John A. Ferejohn and Frances McCall Rosenbluth)

7. Legal Systems Very Different From Ours, David Friedman, Peter T. Leeson, and David Skarbek

8. The Revolutions, Felix Gilman

9. Age of Ash, Daniel Abraham

10. When the Sea Turned to Silver, Grace Lin

11. Summer in Orcus, T. Kingfisher

12. The Thousand Eyes, A. K. Larkwood

13. Kingfall, David Estes

14. Surrogation, Suspended Reason

15. The Hands of the Emperor, Victoria Goddard

16. The Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro

17. Hakkenden -- Part 1: "An Ill-Considered Jest," Kyokutei Bakin

18. Claws of the Cat, Susan Spann

19. Blade of the Samurai, Susan Spann

20. Flask of the Drunken Master, Susan Spann

21. The Ninja's Daughter, Susan Spann

22. Betrayal at Iga, Susan Spann

23. Trial at Mount Koya, Susan Spann

24. Ghost of the Bamboo Road, Susan Spann

25. Fires of Edo, Susan Spann

26. The Discord of Gods, Jenn Lyons

27. All the Seas of the World, Guy Gavriel Kay

28. Don Rodriguez: Chronicles of Shadow Valley, Edward Plunkett, Lord Dunsany

29. Streets of Gold: America's Untold Story of Immigrant Success, Ran Abramitzky and Leah Bousyan

30. Harrow the Ninth, Tamsyn Muir

31. Perhaps the Stars, Ada Palmer

32. Dreadgod, Will Wight

33. Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, Christopher Moore

34. Manfred, George Gordon, Lord Byron

35. Friend to Mankind: Marsilio Ficino (1433-1499), Various (ed. Michael Shepherd)

36. Locklands, Robert Jackson Bennett

37. The Jade Setter of Janloon, Fonda Lee

38. Spring Snow, Yukio Mishima

39. Against All Gods, Miles Cameron

40. Nona the Ninth, Tamsyn Muir

41. Slouching Towards Utopia: An Economic History of the Twentieth Century, J. Bradford DeLong

42. The Golden Enclaves, Naomi Novik

43. The Rise of the Dragon: An Illustrated History of the Targaryen Dynasty, Vol. I, George R. R. Martin, Elio M. Garcia Jr., and Linda Antonsson

44. A Garter as a Lesser Gift, Aster Glenn Gray

45. The Night-Bird's Feather, Jenna Moran

46. Absolution by Murder, Peter Tremayne

47. The Lost Metal, Brandon Sanderson

48. Shroud for the Archbishop, Peter Tremayne

49. Yamada Monogatari: Demon Hunter, Richard Parks

50. Yamada Monogatari: To Break the Demon Gate, Richard Parks

51. Yamada Monogatari: The War God's Son, Richard Parks

52. Yamada Monogatari: The Emperor in Shadow, Richard Parks

53. Pulling the Wings off Angels, K. J. Parker

54. Laurus, Eugene Vodolazkin

55. The Ogre's Wife: Fairy Tales for Grownups, Richard Parks

56. The Dream of a Ridiculous Man, Fyodor Dostoevsky

Plausible works of improving nonfiction consumed in 2021: 7

[“plausible” and “improving” are being defined very liberally here]

Works written by women consumed in 2021: 23

Works written by men consumed in 2021: 29

Works written by both men and women consumed in 2021: 4

Balioc’s Choice Award, Fiction Division: The Remains of the Day

>>>> Honorable Mention: Laurus

Balioc’s Choice Award, Nonfiction Division: Slouching Towards Utopia: An Economic History of the Twentieth Century

>>>> Honorable Mention: War and State Building in Medieval Japan

Series Award for: A Deeply Flawed Work of Luminescent Genius, No Really, This Thing is Artistically and Intellectually Important and Its Flaws Only Make It More So, Dear God What Were They Thinking Not Giving It the Hugo -- the Terra Ignora books, by Ada Palmer

Series Award for: I Cannot Begin to Articulate How Mad I Am That These Books of All Books Have Become Cultural Touchstones of My Local Social and Artistic Circle -- the Locked Tomb books, by Tamsyn Muir

Series Award for: I Must Give Credit to a Brave Author Who Makes Unexpected Moves and Tries New Things with Every Book, Even if Everything She Tries is Terrible -- the Locked Tomb books, by Tamsyn Muir

**********

Fiction-wise, this was actually a better year than you'd think from just eyeballing the list. The overall numbers are still below par, and there's too much shlocky formulaic mystery-series-type stuff; but there was a lot of real quality in there. I had real trouble deciding on my top two, and I ended up not giving either prize to a book by Jenna Moran writing at her normal level of quality, so that says something. There were a number of books that disappointed by not being amazing but that I'm still glad to have read (e.g. Summer in Orcus, The Hands of the Emperor). Even the shlocky formulaic stuff had more merit than you might expect, in many cases.

Serious contemplatively-emotional litfic is real good, at its best. Turns out.

Non-fiction-wise, this was a shitshow of unparalleled proportions. I read almost nothing, and what I read was uninspiring. (I started s number of things that I failed to finish, which didn't help.) I seriously considered making this a "no award" year. I am once again asking for your recommendations for really good, deeply-informative, blow-your-mind-open non-fiction.

#yearly reading list

[mountrainiernps]

Autumn is not normally the time to see waterfalls at their biggest and best. In the Pacific Northwest, we don’t tend to get much rain through the summer, so waterfalls get smaller and smaller as the snowmelt finishes and rivers rely more and more on glacier melt. This summer was quite dry with barely a few traces of rain. So far, autumn has not yet brought its rains and storms to replenish the lands.

So why think about waterfalls and hikes? Because this is a great time to scope out possible trails for next spring and early summer. Those are the time of year when waterfalls are at their best. Planning now can put you on the trail next May or June for some good waterfall hiking.

One of the park’s eastside gems is Silver Falls. It can be hiked as a loop starting from the Ohanapecosh Visitor Center (now closed for the winter). Roundtrip the loop is about 3 miles with 300 feet of elevation gain. Starting from behind the visitor center in the day use parking, you can follow the trail up the Ohanapecosh River on the east side, hiking through the gorgeous, big trees that have found shelter in this valley. You’ll cross Laughing Water Creek a short distance before reaching the view point for Silver Falls. After crossing the wooden bridge over the Ohanapecosh River (with a great view), the loop continues south down the west side of the river. Returning through the campground, you cross the road bridge back to the day use parking.

Did you hike Silver Falls trail this spring or summer? When is your favorite time to visit Ohanapecosh? ~ams

Facilities at Ohanapecosh are already closed for winter. https://www.nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/hours.htm Please check before going to see what is available. The park and Washington DOT close State Route 123 during the winter at the park’s southern boundary. Check road conditions in the park https://www.nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/road-status.htm and with WSDOT https://wsdot.com/travel/real-time/mountainpasses before you leave home. For more information on the Silver Falls Trail https://www.nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/silver-falls.htm.

NPS/C. Roundtree Photo. Hiker on dirt trail through forest near wooden bridge over Laughingwater Creek on Silver Falls trail. June, 2018. NPS/Spillane Photo. View of Silver Falls during snowmelt from Silver Falls trail. May, 2019. NPS/E. Brouwer Photo. Ohanapecosh River running between rock-lined sides. June, 2014.

#encuentra tu parque #find your park #Ohanapecosh #waterfalls #trail #hiking #forest #national parks #mount rainier national park

[bookishjules]

Top 5 hidden treasure places in Oregon!

local coffee kiosks - ik this isn't specific at all, but i also know it's SO pnw. and it's easy to just see them on the side of the road and pass them by for starbucks, or even coffee kiosk chains, if you're visiting, but the family-owned shops that you just drive up to and chat with the barista while they make your coffee before you drive away... they're just so special. the people are so nice and they will almost always have great coffee and other treats <3

The High Desert Museum, Bend - just a really fun museum located in Central Oregon. they have a lot of interactive stuff and it's just IN the nature it's telling you about, which makes going out for hikes or exploring after visiting that much more fun.

Sweetpea Bakery, Portland - this vegan bakery makes my favorite breakfast sandwich in existence. it's called the breakfast sammie and it's always worth the drive into the city

Silver Falls State Park - less a 'hidden gem' but idk how many people would know about this gorgeous park outside Oregon. there are so many gorgeous falls, including one you can walk behind!! i recommend going in late spring, and don't pause the hike bc it's raining--it's part of the experience

Lost Lake, Mt. Hood - i stumbled upon this lake/hike one day when i just needed to get out of the house in 2020. it's much less crowded than like Trillium Lake might be, and the view of the mountain is top tier. i'd also recommend taking service roads back to civilization, because you're just so close to the tip of Mt. Hood and idk it felt really special to me <3

there are so many places i could point you to, but many of them seemed even less like actual hidden gems than these.. but honestly you could pull over on the highway and just stumble upon a gorgeous trailhead. all you gotta do is be willing to get out of the car

#honestly the most hidden gem is the woods behind my grandpa's house that my sibs and i created our own world in #but that's kinda hard to visit hehe #oregon #oregon my oregon #top 5 ask game #asks #meli 🦉