#bckyclb

TXT: not cool, dude. we're not above hunting you down for sport and eating you up like a dog treat. clarks turn 👀

From the look Mox shoots Becky, it's clear he has no intention of doing as much.

They're in Pac's main gym, and Jon's been here for hours. He should have called it good quite some time ago, but he keeps finding the energy to get a few more exercises in after a breather. He operates by a pretty strict code, and he holds himself to it no matter how he's feeling.

If someone held a gun to your head, could you do one more rep?

Then you're not fucking done.

"Instead of bitching, you could JOIN me," he offers with what might pass as a wink. There's no bite to his words.

TXT : i will be here to pick up the pieces and watch my girl elevate to heights you can never even dream of.

TXT : unless that's too subtle, lose her fucking number.

bc sam can never leave well enough alone even tho i don't write dave on main, i will for this exact purpose.

contact: unknown. (msg --- delivered): cute. real cute. (msg --- delivered): you want my life so bad, mate. so bad that you hardly have an identity of your own. (msg --- delivered): the bullet club, my ex. what you planning to do next, huh? come over to the e? (msg --- delivered): i got the perfect contact name picked out for you, bud.

She woke him up with the promise of good trouble.

Gabe is back in Tokyo after a stint in Cincy helping Mo.x and his gang deal with fucks down from Cleveland again. He's hung over, his head is pounding with the after effects of blow, and he's attempting to shove his morning meds down his throat while she talks to him.

It's difficult to juggle one's zen and mental health when one is a globe-trotting gangster-slash-military-contractor, but this is the only life he's got, and he's not keen to abandon luxury for another bender in a foreign city again.

For the second time.

"Mmnghf," his his first response, followed by garbled words that she can translate or wait on him to repeat.

Another swallow of water.

"Of course we can bloody well get away with it, but it's a lot of energy for low payout. So this is about the long game- I know it is. Spill, or I'm out."

||

@bckyclb asked: 👅

Wow. Rude, Much? Sentence Starters. |  to  stick  your  tongue  out  at  my  muse.

Pink and pointed at the tip, even someone blind could've seen what Becky had done to the Hitman. Positioned between two peachy lips, a direct and targeted attack that left little room for cover. It was a tease. It was a taunt. An assault that Bret couldn't shield himself from; to bear witness to Becky's stuck out tongue birthed memories of old. Children's play, the sort of silliness that the Hitman used to pull with Nattie and the other Hart kids when they all were younger. When Bret wasn't so gray, when the muscles and bones didn't ache with every breath. Burdens that came from the career he loved, the life he lived, still, however, was Bret not entirely without his own means of defense. Silver eyebrows raised high, face painted in surprise and intrigue, a subtle smirk that signaled battle. From across the way, for distance and a crowd of others separated them, arms crossed over Bret's chest in stubborn defiance. A look, a gentle glare; he was never certain where Becky stood with the rest of the WWE - a hero, a foe, someone to cheer, someone to boo - but he knew where he did. Even when her choices never made sense, or when she took her life in directions he'd rather wished she wouldn't, Bret knew he and Becky had an understanding, a deep respect for one another. Their bond hadn't been lost entirely.

Quick, excellently executed, Bret's own tongue worked its way between his lips. Protruded outward, until it reached a fine point and could be noticed by Becky. Fast to slip back into his mouth, hidden by his famed soft smile and delicate regard, hopeful that no others caught sight. It would've been a shame that Bret couldn't handle to admit. Somewhat uncomfortable, somewhat weird; the Hitman couldn't be caught doing something so obviously ridiculous. It wasn't his nature. It'd ruin his reputation. It'd be hard to explain to the good boys and girls of the WWE. Renowned for cool looks, black leather and long, greasy hair; even older and wiser, there was a certain image that needed to be protected. They couldn't know that the Hitman was anything but stern and serious.

Slow to actually make his way toward her, once close, Bret made no acknowledgement that he recognized Becky. Merely turned to her direction, welcomed her space nonchalantly and breathed easy. Looked up to the heavens, pretended to not notice anything else, stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and rested on his heels.

"Y'know," Bret said at last, still gazing upward and admiring nothing, voice colored lightly by warmth and humor. "I'm pretty sure your tongue is supposed to stay inside of your mouth, not out of it."

___

TXT : fucking pussy gabe obviously 🤣 ( had to fight every urge to type it like fookin pussy bahahha )

contact: UNKNOWN. (msg - delivered): and another one? (msg - delivered): i don't have the energy to deal with more of you so