Amazing Work! - Blog Posts

Handsome!

If you're taking requests, how about doing some art for some Creepypasta characters if you're cool with that, whichever one is fine. Idk if you still do Creepypasta since it's been awhile since I checked out your stuff, but I remember really enjoying your old art for them.

eyeless jack gotta be one of my favorite genders

For @fandomsareyay

Bestie Brides!

Submitted by @sylver93 for @ukelele-boy based on this animatic

Another one done!

I'll do a megapost of them all when I'm done.

Just have Liqqy and Bushroot to draw

This is so amazing thank you for writing this !!!!

Could you do a reader insert for Bakugo where he helps you get through a really bad nightmare or find out people have been bullying you and helps you by fighting them off

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ Bakugo x Bullied/Insecure Reader! (｡ŏ﹏ŏ) [fluff]

₊˚✩ warnings: swearing, mentions of bullying, negative thoughts

₊˚✩ word count: 2,801

After what felt like one of the longest days of your life, you were finally in your last period class, fidgeting around as you miserably awaited the bell to dismiss you. All you wanted were a few minutes of peace, but, unfortunately, all you heard were distant whispers from everyone in class murmuring rumors about you as you waited. The pressure you felt from everyone eyeing you like prey suffocated you. You wouldn’t dare look up from your desk, even after the bell rang. Instead, you waited for everyone else to exit first, hoping to avoid interaction at all costs. Even so, one of the boys next to you half opens his bottled water, flicking the cap at your head. While you tried to shake it off, he then proceeded to casually spill what was left onto your desk, ruining your class’s entire day of work as he passed by. “Be grateful I didn’t use my quirk on you this time,” he smirks, laughing with the nearby students.

Enraged, you scramble out of your desk, grabbing one of your wet books and chucking it at that asshole as he walks out. Thankfully missing and slamming it against the wall instead, the last thing they need is another reason to justify beating you to a pulp. “Y/N! What is the matter with you?!” Your teacher spat, annoyed with the constant outbursts you have in class. “As if you’d care,” You mumbled under your breath, agitated by how your teacher continuously favored your abusers instead of helping you. Then, walking back over to your desk, you held your bag upside down and shook everything onto the floor. Grabbing the very few personal items you had, you left the rest of the mess for her to deal with, not planning to ever return to that hellish school. “Y/N, get the hell back here!” You ignored your teacher’s furious screams and decided to take whatever punishment you’d get at home.

Every day you’d come home collapsing into your bed. The unholy amount of distress you’d be in for eight whole hours was killing you, making you completely drained. You could barely sit up, worn out after years of no sleep, skipping meals, paranoia, and for what? Nothing. How can eighth-graders be this bitter? The school year had just begun too.

“I’d rather die than go back for a single second! Why don’t you care about what’s happening to me?!” You desperately cried, begging your parents for help once they got home. Rather than trying to stick up for you, they’d always scold you instead, annoyed with the persistent complaints about their child’s behavior. They always took your teacher’s words to heart, becoming convinced it’s you at fault. Your parent’s disappointment was devastating.

People’s opinions of you can be scary, especially when your own flesh and blood leave you in the dust. No matter how much you achieve, one mistake is enough to get you looked down upon, something they’ll use against you forever. It makes you wonder if accomplishing anything is even worth it. Your small handful of achievements only burdened you with self-doubt. You slowly became over-obsessed with trying to be perfect, wanting to desperately please everyone, hoping their unjustified hatred towards you would disappear. It was insufferable, and even then, it still wasn’t enough.

Fed up with the countless nagging teachers from school, your parents finally let you transfer out, deciding to let you travel and turn over a new leaf. After moving from America to Japan, you miraculously got accepted into Yuuei High School and bested their 20% acceptance rate. That in itself is a fantastic feat, but just the tip of the iceberg. Now, it was time to become the greatest hero you could be!

…Except you may have gotten a little distracted. Thankfully, the boy you spent all this time romancing was very stern about staying on top of things. So here you currently are spending lunch at a small café with your absolute brute of a boyfriend, Bakugo Katsuki, tutoring him for your next English exam. When Present Mic had announced the upcoming test, everyone had begged you to help them, quickly surrounding your desk with pleas. But he immediately snatched you from the crowd, knowing he could finally score higher than you and everyone else.

You stood up, looming over Bakugo, watching him messily scribble away in his notebook. “You’ve practically nailed everything, but you mixed up you’re “there’s” again,” you spoke, struggling to point out and mark the error with your pen as he kept slapping it away. “Don’t you have your own shit to take care of? Stop harassing me midsentence!” He fumes, agitated by all the tiny red marks on his paper. Chattering customers nearby became concerned by his vulgarity. “Don’t get so worked up,” you giggle, sitting back down on your dark wood seat in front of him.

Your phone suddenly buzzed against the table; Uraraka’s text lit up the screen. It shows off the slightly blurred selfie you and Bakugo took on an arcade date that you have as your wallpaper. It’s him pridefully showing off the prize he won you from the claw machine since it took a million tries to win.

[ Ocha (♥ó㉨ò)ﾉ♡ ] 

4:26 pm

Hey Y/N!! How’s the date going :D?

You attempt to sneak a picture of Bakugo, but he angrily looks into the camera right as you take it. The accidental flash of the camera exposes you further. “Uhh, nothing suspicious to see here!” you sweatdrop, not bothering to try and play it off. You look at the image, nodding in approval before sending it her way. “Nice.” He clicks his tongue in defeat, knowing he’s too busy to argue.

[ Ocha (♥ó㉨ò)ﾉ♡ ]

4:28 pm

[image attached]

Pretty great!

...Y/N-chan

Ochaco-chan..?

What did you do?

What do you mean???

He looks like he wants to kill you

Actually-

No

He IS going to kill you

Lmaooo

What a nice looking boyfriend you have there O__o

Glad we agree!

It took everything in you not to burst out laughing. Placing your phone back down, you take a delicate bite out of one of your many sugary sweet pastries that were scattered across the table. You sit back, thinking to yourself for a moment, only to realize you don’t even know when the test is. Forgetting an exam date for the subject you’re best at is only natural after all. “Hmm, when are we taking this again?” “Next week,” Bakugo grumbles, aggressively filling the blank pages with practice sentences. You nearly choked on your food as you were scarfing it down. His intense study regimens completely threw you off. “Seriously?! You made me think it was like, tomorrow. We have five whole days, dude! So calm down,” You chuckle at his overly serious attitude. “How am I supposed to do better than you if I study last minute, huh?! Now shut up and stop tryna sabotage me!” He huffs, accidentally crumpling his paper from frustration.

Not wanting to be rude, you stayed off your phone while waiting for him to finish, unintentionally zoning out when looking out the window. As much as you enjoyed being here with him, you couldn’t ignore the lingering thoughts that randomly crept up in your mind. ‘Is he annoyed that he has to be here with me? Wait, that’s a stupid question; of course he’s not. …But what if he is? Maybe I’m not as helpful as I thought,’ You mentally sigh, wishing you didn’t second guess everything. Back in America, your classmates would belittle every word you’d say. But even with all those dreadful people being far, far, away from you, you can still hear their voices in your head constantly torturing you.

“Oi,” Suddenly, you felt something hardly tap against your forehead. You softly gasp, looking up at Bakugo, who flicked you to grab your attention. “Where the hell did you go?” he interrogates, having called your name a few times and getting no response. “Oh, sorry, sorry! My stomach started hurting,” You lie, not knowing what else to say. Bakugo slightly shakes his head and scoffs at your answer. “That’s what you get for ordering so many desserts, sweet cheeks.” “Haha, yeah,” Forcing a grin, you nervously fiddle with your coffee mug.

‘Why did I have to order so much? He probably thinks I’m a pig--What the hell am I thinking?!’ You abruptly start chugging your warm drink, desperate to slap yourself back to reality. Slamming your mug down, you exhale deeply, wondering, ‘When is this psychological warfare going to end?’ Bakugo sat there, just silently eyeing you the entire time. The awkwardly quiet atmosphere made you frantically search for a new conversation topic. “Oh, uhm- So… Are you done?” You guessed, catching a glimpse of his wordy paper. Bakugo slides his notebook across the table and over to you. “Check the circled parts,” He firmly instructed. “Alright,” Carefully leaning down and looking over his writing, you mutter the words to yourself.

“We’re visiting the beach next weekend; (you) should try coming too.”

“We’ll (look) into the problem and contact you when we have more information.”

“The doctor quickly approached us, informing us that they’re (constipated).”

Your brows furrow at the circled English words in front of you. “...Wow, uh, aren’t you romantic?” You falter, not knowing what to expect. Bakugo scowls at your reaction. “It was supposed to make you laugh, dumbass. What’s going on with you?” You and Bakugo have dated for just a few months until this point, but he’s already picked up on all your nervous mannerisms. He instantly caught on after you spaced out. There was no hiding anything from him; your facades were always seen right through. Bakugo hates when you keep everything bottled up, wishing you wouldn’t carry your burdens alone, but you couldn’t help but worry he’d look down on you. “I’m sorry,” you sigh, avoiding eye contact.

‘How the hell do I start this conversation?’ You thought as you repeatedly tapped your fingers against the table, worried you might come off as a cry baby or something. “I’m just--I’m worried that I’m the last person you should be dating...” Bakugo isn’t the greatest when comforting people; he merely responded with a confused “Hah?” “All of my old classmates made my life a living hell; I know it’s all solely because I didn’t bother trying to be douchebags like them, but a part of me is convinced I must’ve done something to deserve it.” You violently shivered from nervousness, not being able to contain your racing heart.

“They’d literally spend all their time insulting me, ruining my things, or trying to get me into trouble. Like... You don’t do that unless the person really sucks,” You continued, not being able to wrap your head around your old classmate’s aggression. “Tch, don’t be stupid; you don’t go out of your way to constantly pull that shit unless you don’t have a single better thing to do. But, God, don’t you understand how obsessed you have to be? They practically dedicated their life to just following you around. Sounds like fan behavior to me,” Bakugo confidently spoke without hesitation, reaching over to grasp both of your hands. “I can’t even begin to imagine how jealous those no-lifers must’ve been of you, Y/N. If you’re just walking around tryna live your life while those idiots were constantly breathing down your neck, who’s the real problem here?!” His temper was slowly starting to get the better of him; boy, was he ready to break someone’s neck.

“Pfft, that’s easy for you say, “Mr. I’m gonna be number one,” you’re amazing, Katsuki. Your psychotic tendencies aside-” “Die.” Bakugo hissed, talking over you. “You have such high grades, an incredibly powerful quirk, and never let anyone get in your way.” You praise, knowing that lots of people look up to him regardless of his nasty attitude. “Damn right!” He grins, raising his head with pride. You nervously play with your hair, trying to not pick at your hands. “I’m so lame in comparison. Am I even worth dating..?” Bakugo balls his hands into fists and slams the table’s surface. “That’s what those bastards want you to think, damn them! I’m in love with who you are, not the idea of you becoming a second me. As long as you’re taking care of yourself, the one person I give a shit about, then you’re already doing great, dumbass.” His gaze was intense; he wanted his words to knock some sense into you. Burying your face into your hands, you squeal over how sweet he’s being. “Awwww-” “Fuck off,” Bakugo groans, bashfully looking away.

“You have to spite those motherfuckers, work on being your best self and start enjoying your damn life, you hear me?!” Bakugo demands, trying to distract you from his blushing face. “Hell yeah!” You cheer, relieved that he didn’t make fun of you. Time had flown by, and the sun started to set. You began packing up your things, not wanting to be late for dinner.

Out of nowhere, you noticed how crusty your upper lip felt. Unlocking your phone and opening the camera, you flip it to the front-facing one. “...No fucking way!” Bakugo curiously looks at your jaw-dropped self. “Katsuki..!” you angrily mumble, staring at him in disbelief. He could not contain himself. The longer you stared, the harder he began to shake. “I’ve had this whip cream-stache for like fifteen god damn minutes! And you said nothing? Nothing?!” You cry, embarrassment burning every inch of your body. “BAHAHAHAHA!” Your realization only made it a million times funnier; Bakugo doubles over as he absolutely lost it. “You dick-head!” You dart your eyes over to your leftovers. Then, grabbing your remaining sponge cake, you throw yourself over the table and smack it into his face. “Hah!.. Oh fuck-” The murderous look in his eyes sent you running for it.

“You’ll never catch me alive, Katsuki!” You yell, sprinting down the road. “Of course not, you little fucker, I’m gonna tear you to shreds!” Bakugo roars from the cafe’s doorway. “You’ll pay for this, god damn it!” Yes, he did stay back and pay for your meals with a face full of frosting. Rushing back to U.A., you quickly hid in your dorm, spending some time thinking about Bakugo’s words. “Be my best self...” You ponder, not exactly sure what you’re aiming for. “Well, whatever that entails, I’m going to make sure those punks never get to my head again.” Smiling to yourself, for once, you felt excited for what was to come.

The next day, you and Bakugo peacefully walked through the halls together, trying to get to your next class. As you rounded the corner, Monoma was found creepily glaring at you both. “Oh for the love of-” He, of course, interrupted your dissatisfaction without hesitation. “Good to see you again, Y/N, Bakugo-” “Get lost, I’m not in the mood,” Bakugo grunts, wanting nothing to do with him. “Oh no, Mr. high and mighty isn’t in the mood to chat. How about you Y/N--yeesh,” Monoma turns to you, suddenly looking at you in disgust.

“Dorm life clearly hasn’t treated you well. What’s it like being so pathetic that they have to babysit your asses 24/7? You’ve clearly put on some weight after sitting around doing nothing all day.” Monoma cackles, trying to get a reaction out of you. Before you could even open your mouth to respond, you hear Kendo performing her signature knock-out move, but on Bakugo instead, he fell with a loud thud. “Sorry! Unfortunately, I have to bring that loser back alive,” Kendo apologizes, noticing that Bakugo was on the verge of actually killing that idiot. His clenched teeth, furrowed brows, and crackling fists were quite the giveaway. “But you can do the honors Y/N!” she happily grins, patiently awaiting your move. “Wait, what?” Before Monoma could run away, you speed behind him, kicking the back of his head down, shoving him into the ground, landing a brutal K.O. “Eat it, you asshole.” “Good hit!” Kendo praises, giving you a thumbs up before dragging his lifeless body away.

Walking over to Bakugo, you kneel down, pulling out your water bottle and flicking some droplets onto his twitching face. He struggled to fully wake up. “...What the-?” “I love you, Katsuki, but you have an unhealthy addiction with trying to kill people on sight.” You sigh, not wanting Kendo to have to karate chop his neck too. As you pull him up off the ground, he squeezes you into a hug. “You think I’m going to leave people who insult you alive? Think again, Y/N.” Bakugo smirks, giving you a quick peck on the cheek.

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ thank you so much for giving me my first request @a-smol-ginger :D

₊˚✩ i hope you mind mind me changing the prompt a bit and that you enjoyed it ! hope you’re doing well, have a good rest of your day ! ! !

₊˚✩ for anyone who’s reading this and currently struggling, you’re an amazing person, please try your best to not let others get you down. they’re the ones wasting their energy trying to drag you down with them ! i believe in you, i know you’re going to do great things ! !  your happiness and wellbeing always comes first.

- mocha <3

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ thank you for your support (๑´ ³`)ﾉ

₊˚✩ © coldmochaccino2021 - do not repost without permission !

Attatched .

" What did U expect? "

I didn't get over you yet, Darlin'. And I'm still shattered.

I guess you're satisfied now.. You still come to my mind, tho I don't want it anymore.

You really do, yes. It's just that I'm not present to see it on your face now. I wouldn't have bear it if I was present anymore anyway.

Can't I just erase you from my mind, memories and my heart? How do you look so fine, while I am here, struggling to even eat to survive.

How unfair the world is..

Don't you agree..,

Love?

: Kachy ♡.

bakugo katsuki was exhausted. scorch marks were smeared against his skin and complimented by a litter of scratches and cuts. the trip home was quiet, the usual buzz of the city nightlife faint in his ringing ears. all his senses were dulled and numb, but as soon as you came into view and your fingertips grazed his cheek, they all suddenly came into razor focus.

he inhaled the smell of your familiar body wash, stared right into those big beautiful eyes of yours, and sagged at the touch of your sweet hands cupping his face– gave into it and nearly collapsed. but you held him up.

silently you brought him inside, and sat him down on the couch so you could treat his wounds and bruises. you pressed a delicate kiss to his temple before going to get the first aid kit. you come back to kneel beside him, and begin the practiced routine of cleaning and bandaging his wounds. his throat was thick as he watched you work, and some thorny thing wrapped around his heart and tightened, digging into his gummy flesh as he watches how practiced and fluent your movements have become from the amount of times he’s come back home slashed and torn, always having to fix him back up again and again and again-

“tomorrow.” he chokes out, his hand reaching out to rest on your cheek. “we can finish this tomorrow. i just want to sleep.” your lips open for moment, but then purse in defeat and you nod silently, heaving his arm over your shoulder to carry some of his weight as you make your way to your shared bedroom.

hairline fractures in his soul grew deeper and deeper with each struggled step, each thump of his dragging feet, each laboured breath. but each time you press a kiss to him and your gentle hands glide over his blackened skin, he could feel each one mend itself one by one.

posting it here because there's no chance anyone in my family would ever see it: this is how my brother's 13-year-old child decided to announce something to me

barges in here as revenge for you breaking into my house

🍂🎃

SCREAMING AND THRASHING YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO FIND ME AUGHHHH (Hi lock thank you for the ask skibidi)

🎃 Do you prefer loose sketching or fully rendering pieces (or any stage in between)?

It usually depends on my mood; I spend a lot of my time working on story writing, scripting for the comic so it's just good to have the idea out of my brain :"D but I usually like Sketching THEN colouring if I have the time (I get carried away so sometimes they become fully rendered lmao).

🍂 A relationship you’d like to see more of in fic (can be platonic, romantic, familial, enemies, etc.)

Platonic relationships (I'm gonna ramble on this one so be prepared)

I feel like purely platonic relationships between a gay man and another man aren't shown enough in media.

Like one where there's no "savior complex" between them that I often see in media with queer characters-just mutual respect. They support each other as equals, without any need to fix or change or "protect" one another.

It's important to me because that lack of representation is part of why some people say things like, "I don't mind them being gay, just don't shove it in my face." or still feel uncomfortable around queer people. It's frustrating because it shows how much people still misunderstand those dynamics.

Oh and it'd be super awesome to see more found family stuff, I'm a big sucker for found family that's still flawed

OR have like younger characters in fiction be taken seriously (Idk how to put it) sometimes I feel that when a series has a character that's a kid or teen, they're often reduced to being like the character for the cute/funny moments where their opinions don't really matter. (Like a Baby Macguffin almost).

There's honestly so many tropes I wanna see more in fiction and fanfiction but AHH it'd take forever to get through all of them.

Bonsai Tree Houses by Takanori Aiba (2003)

- Sol De MesoAmerica

Did a slight retouch on Tonatiuh! I’ll try to do more content with him!

Background ☀️

me when that yakuza ost comes on

I read that last part as near funeral but am i wrong bc OH WHAT DO YOU MEAN THATS HOW HE LOST THE ARM

Peek A Boo! I plan on doing a whole series of Famtheon comics addressing the lives, relationships, and pasts of my designs for the greek gods. So keep your eyes peeled for more in the near future!

PEPPERMINT PATTY'S CONSCIENCE

Detective au/Mafia Addams Family au shenanigans

‘PACE OF PLAY’ a comic about baseball’s new pitch clock, Ohtani, and Avatar 2.

When the stars collide 🌟

(plus super duper sonic version)

dlz ; jake lockley.

track ten of DEAR SCIENCE.

pairing ; jake lockley x gn!reader

synopsis ; jake lockley wasn't your husband. steven and marc were. jake was just... he was just there. a ghost living in your house.

words ; 3.5k

themes ; angst, mild fluff, married au

warnings / includes ; suggestive, implications of sex, jake is a rough kisser e_e, mentions of injury/blood, mild cursing, marc and steven both have appearances, jake is emotionally constipated, jake calls reader peach !! reader is a sweetheart <3

main masterlist.

Jake Lockley didn’t like your perfume—it was almost nauseatingly fresh and its smell permeated through his own clothes so that he’d often walk out smelling like he had doused himself in Febreze. 

He didn’t like the way you’d hum to his favorite songs while doing the dishes. Nirvana, Muse, Nothing But Thieves, Radiohead—were you singing them on purpose just to annoy him? Nearly every night, he could hear your faint voice drift into the living room, where he was reading the same three sentences of the daily paper over and over and over again because he couldn’t concentrate on anything but your endearingly inconsistent mutters to the music.

He especially hated when you’d walk out of the bedroom in nothing but Steven’s shirt loosely draped over your form, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from your heavy-lidded eyes. There was just something about seeing you at your most vulnerable. You were comfortable around him, and that made Jake uneasy.

When Jake fronted, he slept in the guest room. Marc had convinced him not to blow more money staying at a hotel—and Steven was trying to persuade him to at least sleep in the same bed as you. After all, they were married to you. 

But Jake wasn’t your husband. Steven and Marc were. Jake was just… he was just there. A ghost living in your house.

The very thought of sharing a bed with you made a chill dance down Jake’s spine. He could never. As appealing as the thought of having you slotted between his arms, sleepily recounting how your day went to him, sounded, he couldn’t ever have that. Jake Lockley wasn’t a domestic man.

His hands would always be dripping with blood that wasn’t his, no matter how hard he tried scrubbing it away.

There were times Jake felt a morsel of regret. He was nowhere near nice to you, and yet you still spared him that infuriatingly patient, sweet smile, always telling him to stay safe before he left to drive his cab around (or do Khonshu’s dirty work), and never failing to whisper good night before slipping into your bedroom. 

Sometimes he had a queer, niggling feeling scratching at the pits of his stomach one would commonly refer to as jealousy. He knew that Marc and Steven got to hold you, kiss you, tell you they loved you as they pleased. 

Jake couldn’t do that. Jake wasn’t even entirely sure he was capable of loving someone. 

What made it even worse was that Jake learned about you through them—not because he ever actually tried to get closer to you.

He knew you loved apricots, but not as much as peaches. He knew you loved lighting scented candles whenever it rained. He knew you named each one of your house plants. He knew you were only slightly ticklish. He knew you had a tell; your nose would twitch and your eyebrows would quirk upwards whenever you lied. He knew from Steven to kiss just above your pulse point against the column of your throat to make you melt into him. He knew you had a birthmark between your thighs from when Marc—

Yeah, he’d rather not think about that one.

Jake knew you cried a lot—that one he learned on his own. He could hear you through the walls, but you probably weren’t aware of that fact. 

One night, Jake sat in the living room, staring into nothing, heart twisting angrily at himself until he couldn’t take it anymore, storming out of the apartment after shoving his hat onto his head and grabbing his cab’s keys. Steven and Marc had yelled angrily at him the whole time, but he learned to block their voices out. 

He wasn’t very good in the emotional department, that was abundantly clear.

When he came back home hours later, having driven around the city several times to clear his head, he tried to be as quiet as possible. At an hour as late as this, you were bound to be asleep, right?

But alas, there you were, curled into the corner of the couch, head uncomfortably lolled onto your shoulder. The house was entirely dark save for the dim glow of the television, casting a blue luminescence over your dozing form. Long shadows kissed the slopes of your features, softened with sleep. He noticed that there were tear tracks faintly outlined over the skin of your cheekbones.

Jake froze at the doorway for a moment. Were you waiting for him to come home?

He pushed down any and all intrusive thoughts, begrudgingly shrugging off his coat and hanging up his hat. A calloused palm carded through messy, coffee-hued curls. 

Heart dipping heavy within his chest, Jake stalked forward to turn the TV off, setting the remote down on the coffee table. He stood over you for a moment. A frown twisted at the corner of his lips, drawing his brows together.

Jaw clenching, Jake stepped away from you, slipping into the hall. He leaned against the door to the guest room for a moment, huffing out a low groan. Gods, what in the hell was he doing?

After another minute of frustrated hesitation, Jake willed himself to make his way back into the living room. You were twitching in your sleep, eyelids fluttering with what he could guess were the beginnings of a harsh nightmare. 

Gently—or, as gentle as a highly-skilled mercenary could be—Jake hooked an arm beneath the crook of your knee, the other looping over your shoulders and neck. When you stirred, Jake could only quietly make hushing noises, wincing at himself. Thankfully, you didn’t fully awaken, a soft noise falling from your lips as your nose turned to press against the fabric of his shirt obscuring his chest, just above where his heart scratched at the walls of his ribcage.

He kicked the door to your bedroom open none too silently, eager to set you down. Get as far away from you as possible. The sound of the doorknob thwacking against the wall behind it made your lids shoot open, and you groggily mumbled incoherent phrases under your breath before peering up at him with confused, watery eyes. He cursed internally.

“You’re back,” you said, voice hoarse with disuse. “You okay?”

There were lots of things Jake wanted to say to you at that moment.

No, I’m not okay. Were you waiting for me to get home? I’m sorry if I made you worry. I’m sorry I’m such an asshole. Am I an asshole? You shouldn’t ever wait for me again. What were you dreaming of? Was it a nightmare about me?

Instead of any of that, Jake merely set you down onto the mattress with a grunt, dusting his hands onto his pants. He glared down at you as if he was angry—and he was, but not necessarily at you. 

But wasn’t he, though? He was angry that you were just so… so kind to him. He was angry that you were patient. He was angry that you were so easy to love. 

“Go to sleep, peach,” he gruffed. A hot flush coursed over his face at the nickname that had unintentionally slipped out. To his relief, you didn’t seem to notice.

Your sleepy expression seemed to cave in on itself and you dazedly nodded, head falling back into the pillow. 

If only he could slip in beside you, entangle his legs with yours as you kissed softly over his tense face, call you his.

Jake nearly slapped himself to get his head screwed on straight. He spared your already-sleeping form one last glance before trudging out of your room. Hurriedly, he threw himself into the guestroom, ripping off his shirt and pressing a palm flat against his chest to quell the racing thunder of his heart.

You were not good news for him. 

You didn’t see Jake for weeks after that incident. 

A part of you was glad—you were beginning to miss the sound of Steven’s sweet voice, his tender touches, his passionate kisses. You missed Marc’s back hugs, his strange fixation with your bare legs, his lopsided smiles.

The other part of you, however, wondered about Jake.

“Does Jake ever… say anything to the two of you?” you asked Steven one day, stirring sugar into your steaming tea as you leaned against the kitchen counter. Your husband looked up from the novel he was reading, pushing his glasses up his nose while considering your question. 

“Sometimes. Mostly stays to himself—quite the quiet bloke, innhe? Why, love?”

Your bottom lip trembled as you glared into your tea, as if it was the source of all your troubles. Steven was immediately out of his seat, tugging you close until your forehead rested upon his clavicle bone. You sniffled into him, crushing your eyes shut with shame. 

“Does he hate me?” you asked, voice cracking. “I don’t… I don’t know what I did to make him—”

Steven immediately held you all the closer, crooning out, “No! No, of course not, silly. He’s just… he’s just having trouble with himself, that’s all. Doesn’t really talk to us much, either. It’s not you, love, I promise. In fact, I’m nearly certain he fancies you.”

“You’re not just saying that?” you said, scrutinizing him with wide, glassy eyes. “I don’t need him to love me like you and Marc do. I just… it’s hard when it feels like a man with the same face as your husband hates you.”

Steven’s expression crumbled, and he kissed over your left eyelid softly. “I know. I’m sorry, darling, I can’t imagine what that’s like.” Rubbing soothing circles over your back, he urged you to take a seat next to him, leaning over to move your mug of tea from the counter to the kitchen table. “Come on, I’ve got an amazing poem I want you to read.”

It was only two days later that you saw Jake again. You strode through the door, juggling grocery bags in one hand and a stack of books you borrowed from the library in the other. With a huff, you set the groceries down in the kitchen, turning around to see Jake quietly observing you, leaning against the fridge. You bit down a startled scream, flinching at his unexpected presence. 

“Oh,” you said after a second of flustered silence. “Hi, Jake. Didn’t see you there.”

He was observing you with such a sharp gaze that it felt like his irises were cutting straight through your flesh. Finally, he pushed away from the fridge, slowly moving towards you until he stood just in front of you, about an arm’s length away.

“Jake, what are you—?”

“I don’t hate you, peach,” the man said, all gravelly and brusque.

It took you a moment to fully register what he was saying. “Oh,” was all you said, parroting yourself from five seconds ago in a rather poignant manner. “Well… I don’t hate you, either, Jake. Far from that.”

You could see the struggle in the dark depths of his irises. Turmoil raged behind those narrowed lids, and you couldn’t bring it in yourself to look away, not even if you tried. 

Feeling bold, you shuffled forward to slowly raise your hands, cupping Jake’s face within your palms. His glare seemed to harden at first, always so angry at things for not going the way he expected it to go, muscles tensing beneath your touch—but when your fingers gently scraped over his stubble, he could feel himself letting go, practically liquefying into you.

“Why are you like this, Jake Lockley?” you murmured, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. The action made his eyelids flutter shut. He’d never let himself be this vulnerable in front of you before. He wasn’t prepared for his walls to come crashing down around him so quickly—so easily. “Did I do something to upset you?”

All previous inhibitions thrown out the window, Jake grumbled out a small, “Yeah. All the fuckin’ time, peach.”

You quirked a brow. “Go on, then.”

One of his eyes opened before sliding closed again. “Where do I start? You smell too good—I can never concentrate around you. You’re always singing my favorite songs and it’s buggin’ the hell outta me. You’re always so nice to me—even though you know I’m not like your precious Steven and Marc.”

Something akin to a guffaw fell from your lips. “Well, first of all, thank you? Somehow you managed to compliment me in the rudest way possible, and I commend you for that. Second, I know you’re not like Steven and Marc. But I still love you all the same.”

The kitchen grew so quiet, Jake could’ve sworn he’d be able to hear a pin drop.

His heart began tripping over its own gallop of a pace. You’d said it so easily, so swiftly, as if loving him came as naturally as breathing. 

Jake found his eyes falling to your mouth, slightly puckered to the side in thought. 

Noticing his sudden change in demeanor, you started saying, “Jake—?”

“Can I kiss you?” he interrupted, glowering at you with a newfound fire crackling behind his eyes. 

You blinked once, then twice. Then you nodded.

A small sigh of content that made Jake far too excited for his own good escaped your lungs as he dove forward and melded his lips with yours, dipping you backward ever so slightly in the midst of his vigor. 

He kissed differently than Steven or Marc did. Steven was languid, careful, and tender whilst Marc was feverish, calculated, and explorative.

Jake Lockley, however, kissed like a mad man. He was all tongue and teeth, desperately furious with his motions, kissing you as if it was the very last time he’d have the chance to do so. His nose slotted against yours, brushing against your cheek as you caved into him, arms winding over his neck to pull him ever so close. 

His fingers immediately clutched at your waist, one moving upwards beneath your (Marc’s) shirt to lightly scratch over the skin of your ribcage and the other shifting lower to tug over the back of your thigh. 

Gods, you just felt so right. 

“Mmh, peach,” Jake growled into your skin as he traversed down your neck, biting at the spot just above your pulse point, which made a low, desperate noise scratch at the back of your throat. He’d do anything to hear that noise over and over again.

“Why do you call me that?” you panted out, fingers threading through his haphazard curls to haul him away from your neck and back onto your lips. 

“You like peaches,” he breathed into you, a groan of agony rumbling from his chest when you nipped at his bottom lip with a hum of approval. “Don’t you?”

A choked sound was all you could let out when he shoved you none-too-gently against the counter, bending over to accommodate for his eager lips over yours.

“I love them,” you whispered once he parted away to catch his breath. 

There it was again. The L word. 

Fuck, he couldn’t do this.

Suddenly, as if snapped back into reality, Jake halted any and all ministrations, nose only a hair's breadth away from your neck. You smelled so damn good, so tantalizingly tempting, lips raw-bitten and skin flushed with heat.

But Jake couldn’t. You didn’t belong with a person like him. With Steven? Yeah, of course. With Marc? The idiot loved you too much to ever let you go, even if he tried to. 

Jake would bring you nothing but pain and misery and the thinly-veiled threat of danger. 

“This is a mistake,” he said, voice rough with tremendous restraint.

He thought that if he kissed you, all these stupid feelings would wash down the drain, as if you’d be able to suck it all out of him like a goddamn love vacuum. But, no, it was as if just having a taste wasn’t enough. He needed the rest of you. He needed all of you.

But he couldn’t.

“Jake…” Your voice was quiet, breaking off slightly when he let go of you, stepping back while glaring a hole into the ground. 

With the maturity equivalent to that of a prepubescent teenager, Jake stormed out of the kitchen and into the hall, slamming the guest room door behind him so hard that the picture frames of you and Steven and Marc on the walls rattled. 

A week passed by until you saw Jake again.

You were in bed with Marc, shivering as he ran his palms down your waist, swatting his hands away while gritting out, “That tickles, Marc!”

He hummed noncommittally, pressing kisses down your shoulder, nosing your cheek affectionately. 

“Tell me about this one,” he whispered into you, taking your hand to trace a thin scar over the inside of your wrist.

“I was seven,” you whispered. “This boy pushed me off a swing in the playground. I threw my hands out and a rock got me bad—fractured my wrist, too. I don’t remember much, but I remember there was a lot of blood. I’m pretty sure the poor kid was the one that ran screaming for a teacher to come help.”

Marc regarded you with a look of pure adoration, thinly laced with amusement. “Did you really just call the bastard who pushed you a ‘poor kid’?”

You barked out a laugh and he pressed a lasting kiss over your faded scar.

“Alright, your turn. Tell me about this,” you playfully pressed your thumb between his brows. “You got a little divot here. Been furrowing your eyebrows too much, huh? And you wonder why I call you the grumpy eagle muppet.” When he rolled his eyes, you chuckled out, “What? Listen, it’s not my fault Khonshu got rid of all your scars! I gotta work with what I’m given, here!”

“That’s enough out of you,” Marc bit out, though you could tell he wasn’t really being serious with the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Okay, turn around. Sleep time, baby. Love you.”

You hummed in mild contentment, turning around so your back molded perfectly against his chest. “Love you, too, Marc.”

The rise and fall of his chest was deep, rhythmic, so calming that you were just on the brink of sleep—

Until it stopped.

You could feel the body wrapped behind you stiffen. Immediately, you knew this was Jake.

With a lump lodged in your throat, you hesitantly turned around, only to be met with Jake staring back at you, wide-eyed. It was dark, so you could just barely make out the upset tautness of his features.

Jerkily, he started moving to clamber off the bed, all but shaking you off of him like you were a pesky insect.

No. No, you wouldn’t stand for this.

“Jake,” you said firmly, reaching out to wrap your hand around his wrist. “Stay. Please.”

Mute, the man shook his head, legs slipping out from beneath the blanket. 

Desperate, you sat up, wrapping your arms around his midriff and pressing your cheek into his back as you said, “You deserve love, Jake. You deserve my love. Please, stay.”

For a moment, you wondered if he’d just push you off again. Disappear into that guestroom you were too scared to venture into when he left for work. Just when you were on the near precipice of relinquishing any and all hope, you could feel Jake’s shoulders sag. His head hung low as he sighed.

Wordless, he shifted around and you let go of him so he could slip back under the covers. 

Tentative, you laid down next to him, shifting so your head could rest over his chest. His arm jostled around to rest comfortably beneath your neck. 

Jake held you differently from Marc and Steven.

Jake held you as if he was afraid you’d break apart. Jake held you like he had to be ready to let you go at any moment. Jake held you like he was afraid to show you just how much he loved you.

You craned your neck upwards to press a light kiss to his stubbled jaw, then settled back down.

You heard Jake sigh, but this time, it was one of pure relief—utter bliss. It was quiet, but it was there.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered finally, nose tucked into your hair. “I’ll try to be better with you. I’ll try, peach.”

Nodding minutely, you intertwined your hand with his free one, playing absentmindedly with his fingers. “I know.”

Just before your breaths evened with sleep, Jake could only barely hear you drowsily mumble out, “I love you, Lockley.”

He knew you were already asleep, which made the feat of saying it back somewhat easier for him.

“Love you, too, peach.”

Nine!