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aliyahwritings · 3 months ago

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THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (06)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 5.3k

Aliyah's Notes: after the calamity of ch5 i present u ch6.... enjoy it. or not. AND IM SORRY FOR THE ENDING 🔥😩😅😨

It's been days. Or weeks? You didn’t even know anymore. The calendar on your phone kept reminding you, but you stopped counting. Maybe if you ignored the world long enough, it’ll forget you existed. Maybe if you stayed in this apartment, you could disappear into these four walls like you were never here in the first place.

Numbers. You used to count them, obsess over them, keep track of every passing hour. But now, time feels... irrelevant. What’s the point of knowing how long you’ve been sinking when no one’s coming to pull you out?

The silence feels... safe. No one to judge you. No one to see the mess you’ve become. It’s funny, though—people always see what they want to see. The headlines called you a goddess, an untouchable force of beauty and success. But what would they say if they knew the truth? That the girl in their glossy magazines could barely stand to look at herself anymore.

You hated this. The lying, the pretending. Nina thought you were just going through a rough patch, but she didn’t know how deep the cracks went. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to be this anymore—broken, fragile, teetering on the edge again. You swore you’d never come back to this place. But it’s funny how easy it is to fall back into old habits, how fast the darkness creeps in when no one’s watching.

No one’s watching.

Maybe that’s for the best. Let them keep seeing the version of you they wanted to see—the confident supermodel, the girl who had it all. Let them believe the lie, because the truth? The truth was ugly. The truth was you’ve been staring at your phone for days, hoping—no, needing—for a message, for something from him.

But nothing.

He was in Missouri. Working, you guessed. You didn’t even know when he was coming back. He didn’t say.

You hated him for that. But you hated yourself more for caring. For letting him in, even when you knew better. For thinking, for just one second, that maybe—just maybe—there was something real between you, beneath all the lies you told the world.

But none of it was real. Not the dating, not the smiles, not the person they thought you were. You were a fraud. A perfect, golden fraud wrapped up in designer clothes and empty promises. And the worst part was, you were too tired to fight it anymore. Maybe this was who you were now. A girl who hid in her apartment, waiting for the world to forget she existed.

Or maybe it already happened.

The sound of the door creaking open started you, pulling you out of the spiral you’ve been sinking into. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. No one else had the key to your apartment beside her.

“Are you kidding me, Y/N?” Nina’s voice cut through the heavy silence like a knife. “This is the third time this week. How long do you think you can keep doing this?”

You didn’t respond.

Nina stromed in, slamming the door behind her, and you heard her heels clacking on the floor as she made her way to the living room. “You’re not answering your phone. You’re not responding to emails. You missed three shoots! People are asking questions, Y/N. What do you think I’m supposed to tell them?”

You stayed silent, curling deeper into the couch. Maybe if you didn’t look at her, she’ll go away. Maybe she’ll finally get the hint that you didn’t want to be saved.

But Nina wasn’t the type to back off. “No,” she snapped. “You don’t get to ignore me, not today. You need to get up. You need to fix this, Y/N. You think you can just hide away forever? Is that the plan? Because let me tell you, honey, the world won’t wait for you to get your shit together.”

She stood in front of you now, hands on her hips, glaring down at you like a disappointed mother. Her usually immaculate hair was slightly disheveled, and you could tell by the tension in her jaw that she’s been worrying.

“Talk to me, honey,” she said, her voice lower now. “This isn’t you. You don’t just disappear like this. What happened? Is it Rafe? Is it work? Are you back to…” her voice trailed off, but the question hanged in the air, heavy and unspoken.

You couldn’t look at her. The shame curled in your chest, making in hard to breathe. She didn’t know. She didn’t know how badly you’ve relapsed, how badly everything felt like it was slipping out of control again. And you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Not to her. Not to anyone.

“When’s the last time you even showered? Eaten something decent? Your career’s on the line. Everything we’ve worked for is on the line. You can’t just… give up like this.”

Her words hit like slaps, each one stinging, but you still didn’t move. You couldn’t.

Nina huffed, pacing now, her frustration spilling over. “I don’t know what happened between you and Rafe, and honestly, I don’t care. But whatever it is, you don’t get to throw your life away because of it. You’re stronger than this, Y/N. I know you are. So why the hell are you letting this break you?”

You flinched at the word “break.” Because that’s what it feels like. Like you’re already broken, shattered into a million pieces, and you didn’t even know how to start putting yourself back together.

Nina crouched down in front of you, her voice softening, her eyes searching yours. “Talk to me, honey. Please. Tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

For a moment, you almost did. You almost told her everything—the text, the relapse, the endless void you’ve been sinking into. But the words caught in your throat, choking you. What’s the point in talking when nothing will change?

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m fine.”

Nina’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re not fine. You’re far from it. You think I haven’t seen you like this before? You’re not fooling anyone, Y/N.”

She stood, her frustration bubbling back to the surface. “You need to snap out of it. Because in five days, you’re getting engaged to Rafe Cameron, whether you like it or not. And a week after that, you’re walking down the aisle. You can’t afford to fall apart now.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a lead blanket. The engagement. The wedding. The lies. It all felt so suffocating, so inevitable.

Nina crossed her arms, her voice firm. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get up, you’re going to shower, and you’re going to pull yourself together. Because tomorrow, you’ve got a charity event with Rafe, and you’re going to smile for the cameras and make everyone believe that you’re still that perfect, golden girl they love.”

You wanted to scream at her, tell her you couldn't do it, that you didn't even know how to pretend anymore. But instead, you nodded numbly, sinking deeper into the fog that had settled over your mind.

Nina sighed, her voice softening again as she headed toward the door. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. And I swear, Y/N, if you're still in this state when I get here, I will personally drag you to that charity event."

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving you alone with the weight of everything she'd just said.

You hadn’t slept. Not really. Just laid there, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how you were supposed to pretend like everything was fine when every part of you was falling apart. You could still hear Nina’s voice in your head, telling you to pull yourself together, to be the golden girl everyone expected you to be.

You dragged yourself out of bed, your body heavy. Your legs felt weak, and your mind feltl worse. Everything was numb, but somehow you still felt the pain. You stumbled into the bathroom, turning the water on without thinking. The cold spray hit your skin like tiny needes, and you stood there for a while, trying to let the string wake you up. But it didn’t work—you were still in that fog.

When you finally stepped out of the shower, you didn’t even bother looking in the mirror. It didn’t matter. You grabbed the first thing you saw—a plain black sweater, loose and oversized, and a pair of jeans that didn’t quite fit right anymore. You didn’t even try with your hair, just pulled it back into a bun. No makeup. What was the point? It wasn’t like anyone cared what you looked like today.

When you got to the office, the tension hit you the moment you walked through the door. Your stomach twisted as you made your way down the hallway, each step heavier than the last. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your chest tightening with every breath. You shouldn’t have cared. You shouldn’t. But as you pushed open the door to the conference room and saw him sitting there—Rafe, looking like he hadn’t been bothered by a single thing—you felt the anger bubbling up, hot and sharp.

It started as a familiar ache that had been building ever since the night he walked out of your apartment without a word. Two weeks. Fourteen days of silence. Fourteen nights spent waiting for a text that never came, hoping for even the smallest explanation, something to make sense of the hollow space he’d left behind.

Day 1. Monday, 2:42 AM

You: “Hey. Are you home? LMK, just to be safe.”

Day 2. Tuesday, 8:18 AM

You: “I’m still so confused about what happened last night, but let’s talk when you have a minute.”

Day 3. Wednesday, 5.32 PM

You: “Look, if you’re mad at me, just say it! I thought we were good, what the hell?”

Day 4. Friday, 11:04 PM

You: “It’s been days and I still don’t understand why you left like this.”

Day 5. Sunday, 3:27 PM

You: “Fuck you. I don't know why I keep texting. I know you’re seeing my texts, even though I’m on delivered. Just tell me if you’re done with this.”

Day 5. Sunday, 10:41 PM

You: “Why am I acting like I’m the one who fucked up? I didn’t do anything wrong. You left me like I was nothing, and your only explanation was a shitty rom-com excuse. I thought we were friends, Rafe.”

Day 5: Sunday, 11:36 PM

You: “I hope you rot in your shit ass apartment, but trust that I will show up to one of your stupid games with a sign that says “Small Dick Ghoster” in big, glittery letters. And I hope Chiara will hug you so hard that she’ll end up strangling you to death. Fuck you, again!”

And there he was, sitting there like none of it had happened, like you were still just strangers playing a game. His posture relaxed, that effortless confidence radiating from him, his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him, completely indifferent.

It infuriated you—the ease with which he moved on, the way he could look so composed, so completely unbothered, as if he hadn’t abandoned you in that moment when you were raw and vulnerable. Like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing.

Every part of you screamed to confront him, to demand an explanation for the silence, the absence, the complete disregard. You could feel the hurt clawing up from your chest, tangling with the anger that burned hotter with each passing second. He was so close, but somehow, he felt miles away.

So instead, you steeled yourself, locking down the hurt, burying it beneath the anger that simmered just beneath the surface. You wouldn’t let him see the effect he had on you, wouldn’t give him the power to know just how much his absence had shattered you. No—he would get nothing from you. Not a word, not a glance, not a single sign of the turmoil raging inside you.

You walked past him without a word, each step heavy with the weight of the anger you swallowed down. Let him sit there, pretending like nothing was wrong. Let him think he could ignore you, dismiss you, erase you from his life without consequence. Because you would make sure he felt every bit of the coldness he had left you with, every ounce of the hurt he’d carved into you.

Ignoring him was the only power you had left, the only way to keep the anger from spilling over, from breaking you down entirely. And if he thought he could continue on as if the past two weeks hadn’t happened, then he was going to learn just how wrong he was.

Nicolas cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. “Hi, you two—we’ve got a lot to go over, and the timeline is tight. The engagement is in five days, and the wedding is scheduled for a week after that. So we need to finalize the details today—food, decorations, dresses, the guest list…”

You couldn’t focus. The words blurred together a dull hum in the background as you stared down at the table. Rafe said something, his voice casual, but you tuned it out. You didn’t want to hear him.

Sabrina spoke next, her tone brighter, more enthusiastic. “The audience is really enjoying you together, by the way. Ever since your date, and especially after the pictures from Kelce’s party where you two were cuddled up? People are in love with the idea of you and Rafe together. So, good job, guys.”

Your stomach churned at her words. Cuddled up. Like you were some happy couple.

“And tomorrow,” she continued. “You’ll need to make another public appearance together. It’s a charity event for cancer awareness. A perfect opportunity for more good press. The public is expecting you two to show up as the perfect couple—affectionate, in love, all of that.”

In love.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood. This was the part where you were supposed to smile and nod, agree to hold his hand and play the role of the devoted future fiancée. But all you felt was the tension building, the weight of the lie pressing down on you until it was suffocating.

Rafe shifted in his seat, and you could feel his eyes on you, but you still didn’t look at him. Rafe felt an uneasy twist in his stomach. You looked… different. Disheveled, almost. Your sweater hung losely over your shoulders, practically swallowing your frame, and he could see dark shadows under your eyes that hadn’t been there before. You seemed smaller somehow, your usual energy muted, replaced by something tense and fragile.

Rafe’s gaze dropped to your hands, noticing how your fingers fidgeted restlessly, twisting and tugging at your sleeves. Your leg was bouncing under the table, tapping out an anxious rhythm that only he seemed to notice. Every small movement, every nervous habit—you looked like you were holding yourself back, like there was something simmering beneath the surface, ready to break free.

You still hadn’t looked at him, hadn’t given him a single glance, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. You’d been messaging him, and he’d been… well, avoiding it, convincing himself it was for the best. But seeing you now, seeing the wear and tear he’d left behind, he couldn’t shake the guilt.

Rafe’s chest tightened. He’d expected you to be angry, maybe annoyed. But this? You looked worn down, frayed at the edges, like you've been carrying a weight no one else could see.

You didn’t remember most of the details they were talking about. Your mind drifted in and out of focus as they went on about the guest list, the food, the decorations. All you heard were words—dresses, flowers, venues. None of it felt real. It was as if you were watching someone else’s life unfold in front of you, just sitting there, an outsider in your own story.

“The wedding will be televised, of course,” Sabrina says, flipping through her notes, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of it all. “And with a full press presence. We want every detail to reflect both of your public personas. Elegant, grand, but also with an intimate, personal feel—something that tells a story about who you both are.”

Who we were. I almost laughed at the irony. I didn't even know who I was right now, much less who we were.

“We were thinking of something grand but elegant. A modern luxury wedding. White roses, lots of gold accents. Maybe something at the estate in the Hamptons?”

You glanced at the board, at all the glossy, pristine images of weddings that could belong to anyone. None of them felt like you.

“Do you have any preferences?” Sabrina asked, smiling like this is the most exciting conversation in the world. “Colors, themes, anything that’s important to you?”

"Actually," you finally broke your silence, your voice coming out quietly, but the words landing heavily in the room. "I’d like the ceremony to reflect... my background." You could feel Rafe's eyes on you again, but for once, you didn’t care. This wasn’t about him.

Sabrina blinked, taken aback, but she quickly nodded, jotting down notes as if she were open to whatever you had in mind. "Of course, that could be beautiful. Were you thinking about specific details?"

You hesitated for a moment, uncertain if they’d take you seriously, but you pressed on. "Yes. The colors… the decorations. I want there to be vibrant colors—not just whites and pastels, but deep greens, maroons, and gold. The way we’d have them back home. And for the flowers… jasmine and roses. That’s what we use for weddings where I’m from. I want it to feel like... like part of my heritage."

Nicolas raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t expected you to care about any of this. But he just nodded, his pen moving across his notepad. "We can definitely arrange that. A traditional, multicultural theme would add a unique touch to the event, I think. It’ll definitely resonate with the press and the viewers."

You didn’t care if it resonated. It wasn’t for them—it was for you, a sliver of authenticity in this whole farce.

Then Sabrina’s voice broke into your thoughts. "And of course, the dress. Have you given any thought to what you want? Or would you like us to arrange for a stylist to go over options with you?"

Your heart twisted at the mention of the dress. The one thing you’d always imagined as a girl—the dress you’d wear at your own wedding. Only, you’d never thought it would be for this.

"I’d like to include some of my culture there too," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe... a fusion. Something elegant and modern but with hints of traditional South Asian bridal elements. Like embroidery or... beadwork. Maybe even henna if it wouldn’t look out of place."

Sabrina seemed to light up at the idea. "That would be stunning. We can definitely work with that! I know several designers who specialize in fusing traditional and contemporary styles."

She was still talking, but the air around you felt thicker, as though the room was closing in. You could sense Rafe’s gaze without even looking at him, the weight of his silence pressing into you.

You zoned out again, your mind wandering back to the last wedding you attended. The colors, the music, the way the bride’s lehenga shimmered under the sun as she walked down the aisle. You’d always thought your wedding would be like that—full of life and celebration, surrounded by people who loved you.

Instead, you were planning a wedding for the cameras, for people who didn’t know you.

The sudden, sharp knock on the door cut through the stillness like a jolt of cold water. Your head shot up from the pillow, heart hammering in your chest. For a moment, the world felt like it was still. The quiet of your apartment, the thick fog still clouding your thoughts. You didn’t want to get up. You didn’t want to face the world outside of this bed, this cocoon of emptiness you’d wrapped yourself in for days.

Another knock, this one louder, more demanding.

“Y/N!” Nina’s voice came through the door, sharp and impatient. “You better not still be in bed, because I swear—”

The door swung open before you could even make a sound, Nina storming in, wearing the same determined, unbothered expression she always had when she was on a mission. You tried to bury your face back into the pillow, but she wasn’t having it. Her hand reached down, grabbing the covers and yanking them off with force. You shivered as the cold air hit your skin, the warmth of the blankets yanked away along with any shred of comfort you’d been clinging to.

“Get up.” Nina wasn’t asking. She was commanding. “You’ve got a charity event today, and Rafe is already at the venue. We don’t have time for your pity party.”

You squinted at her, still half-wrapped in your sheets like a burrito, and mumbled from underneath the pillow, “Can’t you just… I don’t know… handle it for me? Go in my place. You’d look great in a gown.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I’d look amazing, but you and I both know I don’t have that kind of charisma.”

“True,” you admitted, peeking out from under the pillow.

Nina raised her hands in mock surrender. “Exactly. Now, up. I’m not playing with you today.”

Before you could even protest, she yanked the covers off you with a dramatic flourish, leaving you to shiver in nothing but your oversized T-shirt. It was a miracle you didn’t roll off the bed in the process.

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.” Nina didn’t wait for you to even get a grip on reality before heading straight for your closet, rummaging through your clothes like she was on a mission. “You’re going to look so good today that Rafe might just start thinking you actually like him.”

You shot her a glare that could’ve frozen water, but she just smirked, tossing a black dress onto the bed like she was some fashion fairy sent to save you from yourself.

“I’m not going,” you said flatly.

“Oh, yes, you are.” Nina threw a matching pair of heels onto the bed with the same casual flick of the wrist she used to dismiss your protests. “Because you will look stunning, and you will show up.”

You sat up slowly, rubbing your face. “What is it with you people? Why does everyone keep trying to drag me out of bed? It’s like I’m the world’s most reluctant celebrity.”

“Because you are.” Nina grinned, holding up your dress like she was presenting the Holy Grail. “But, hey, guess what? You’re really good at it. So stop sulking and get your glam on. You’re the star of the show today.”

You let out a theatrical sigh. “Oh, joy.”

Nina didn’t even flinch. “I’m not asking for a performance. Just put on the damn dress and show up. You can pretend to be miserable, and I’ll pretend I’m not a miracle worker for getting you out of here.”

You hesitated for just a moment, then dragged yourself out of bed with a grunt. “Fine.”

“Oh, by the way, Aisha’s going to be there. She practically begged me to make sure you show.”

Your eyes snapped open. Aisha Patel. Your best friend and, quite honestly, the only person in your life who could drag you out of bed with a single text. She’s been your best friend since you’d arrived in the States. She’d been away for five months—longer than ever before—working on some high-profile project in Switzerland. You hadn’t seen her in ages.

“You’re kidding,” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “Aisha’s coming?”

Nina smiled smugly. “Yep. She’s flown back for the event. Can you imagine the drama if you don’t show up? She’ll never let you live it down.”

You sighed, a smile tugging at your lips. “God, I missed her.”

“Me too,” Nina said, her voice softening for just a second. “But you still have to get up. Like now.”

You looked at the dress Nina had already picked out, a sleek white gown that somehow made you feel both glamorous and like you were about to attend a royal gala. “Fine. I’m up. I’m dressed.”

Nina, who was already rummaging through your closet like a pro, grinned. “You look absolutely beautiful, honey,” she noticed your weight loss but decided to not speak on it, in fear it’ll make you relapse… if only she knew. “Chiara’s also going to be there...”

You froze, the mention of Chiara Romano sending a cold shiver down your spine. You’d told Nina everything about the Chiara encounter—her subtle digs, the way she made you feel like you were just another passing phase in Rafe’s life. She’d made things uncomfortable enough at Kelce’s party, and now you had to face her again?

“What? Fucking why?”

“Her father’s the one running the whole damn event,” she explained. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of her or her family because they’re pretty famous, especially in the entertainment and events world. So, get ready for a day full of small talk, fake smiles, and people who will pry into your private life.”

You sighed. “How perfect is that?”

You stood in front of the mirror, trying to shake off the heavy weight of everything swirling in your head. You glanced at the clock. You were running out of time.

You reached for your hair tie, pulling it through your tangled locks. Your hair had grown longer than you remembered, and you decided to tie it up in a messy, yet elegant bun—one that would allow a few soft, curly strands to escape and frame your face. It was casual but chic—classic you. You let a few strands fall loosely, giving the bun a less formal, more effortless vibe. After a moment of satisfaction, you moved on to the makeup.

A soft, dewy glow covered your skin, nothing too dramatic. You didn’t want to feel caked in layers today, just enough to enhance your features. You applied a touch of blush to your cheeks, just a hint, to keep the look fresh. A thin line of mascara lengthened your lashes, and your signature lip combo was the finishing touch. Simple. Comfortable.

As you turned to check yourself one last time, you heard Nina's voice from the other room.

“Y/N! We need to go now. Rafe's texting me and he’s getting antsy. He’s apparently already at the event!”

You sighed, feeling the familiar rush of anxiety settle into your stomach. The mirror reflected a version of you that was ready for the world, but the world, especially tonight, wasn’t ready for this version of you. But as the pressure of the event built up, you couldn’t deny the uncertainty gnawing at you.

When you made your way into the living room, Nina was pacing, her phone glued to her ear. She shot you a quick, approving glance. “Looking good. Let’s go.”

As you grabbed your clutch, ready to face whatever tonight had in store, the doorbell rang. Your heart skipped a beat. Was it Aisha? Maybe she’d arrived early, wanting to meet up before the event?

But when you opened the door, your breath caught.

Standing in the doorway wasn’t Aisha.

It was Rafe.

He was in a suit—sharp, looking like he belonged in a magazine ad for high-end fashion—but his eyes, dark and intense, held something more than just a desire to impress. He had the look of a man who knew he had messed up.

His words hit you before you could even process them. “You look stunning. I wanted to make sure you’re okay... before all this.” The sincerity in his voice made your heart thump a little faster, and you hated yourself for it.

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stood there, blinking at him. You hadn’t expected him to show up—especially not with that kind of intensity in his eyes.

You exhaled slowly, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest, your posture defensive. The audacity of this guy.

“Really?” You scoffed, trying to mask the vulnerability creeping up your spine with sharp sarcasm. “Now you care?”

Rafe seemed to falter at that, but he quickly recovered, taking a small step closer, but not enough to make you feel cornered. “I’ve always cared, Y/N. You know that.” His voice was quieter this time, and the sincerity in his eyes almost made your resolve crack.

“Do I?” you shot back, stepping out of the doorway and giving him a once-over, your gaze icy. “Because you sure had a funny way of showing it.”

Rafe winced, a flash of guilt flickering in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “I messed up, okay? I should’ve reached out. I didn’t know what to say, but I should’ve just... shown up.”

You rolled your eyes, the anger simmering beneath your skin rising again. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, not from the sight of him, but from the frustration that had been building over the past two weeks. “You didn’t know what to say? You think showing up fixes two weeks of silence? Just like that?”

He took a step forward, his face tightening, as though he was bracing himself for a confrontation. "I wasn’t sure what to do," he said, his voice lowering. "I thought... maybe you needed space. I thought if I gave you time, it would be better." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his expression. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

You stared at him for a long moment, the audacity of his words settling like a lump in your throat. “Space?” you asked, your voice low, incredulous. “You thought ghosting me for two weeks would give me space?”

Rafe’s face twisted in guilt, but it didn’t matter. You weren’t going to let him off the hook.

“Did you at least see my texts?” you demanded, anger rising in your throat.

"Y/N, you’re needed at the car right now!" Nina called, stopping Rafe in his tracks of answering. Before you could walk away, Rafe reached out, his hand closing around your wrist, pulling you back gently.

"Wait," he murmured, his thumb brushing your skin.

You stared up at Rafe, your breath caught in your throat, uncertainty swirling in your chest. The air between you two felt charged, a thousand unspoken questions hanging in the balance. Your pulse was racing, but before you could voice any of them, Nina practically shoved you both into the elevator. Her hand pressed the button for the ground floor as she threw your heels at you, the sharp click of the stilettos punctuating the tension.

You caught them on instinct. The elevator descended, and your mind was still spiraling, trying to piece together what the hell was happening. What the fuck—this distance between you and Rafe?

But just as the elevator doors opened, the sound of a familiar car door slamming outside caught your attention. A quiet thud, followed by the sound of heels clicking against pavement. Your instincts were on alert, an uneasy feeling crawling under your skin.

And when you turned to look, you saw someone stepping out of the car.

Someone who shouldn’t be here.

“I was wondering when we’d get the chance to catch up.”

chapter seven

908 notes · View notes

exhaslo · 5 months ago

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Over-Time Ch13

(CEO!Miguel x Shy/Clumsy!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4,Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9, Ch10, Ch11, Ch12

Warning: MINORS DNI, SMUT!!! sexual thoughts, slow-burn, mentions of sex, bullying, cussing, fluff, touch starved

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Never have you felt more confident than you have now.

The comfort and warmth Miguel was giving you, was nothing you have ever felt before. The sheer thought that such a man like him could want you this much...Well, it just gave your ego a much needed boost.

The only moment you were able to free yourself was when the two of you arrived at your place. Miguel broke the kiss for a mere moment as he followed your lead to your small apartment. Honestly, you were a little nervous.

Did you clean before leaving?

Were your clothes still on the floor?

"Looks like I have my work cut out for me," Miguel whispered as he kissed your shoulders, "Afraid to show me your place?"

"I-It might be a little messy."

"Oh, you haven't seen messy yet."

A shudder ran up your spine as Miguel pushed you inside, his lips ravaging yours. You could hear the door shut behind him as you struggled to kick your heels off.

The heat started to return as Miguel's hands began to roam your body once more. The sheer anticipation of the earlier intense session becoming more now was making you wet. Having Miguel long and thirst for you felt so nice.

Your body was craving Miguel. Recalling how he made you feel earlier only made this moment more delicious. Gasping softly as you felt your back touch a wall, you whined softly, wanting to reach your bedroom.

"So many bras," Miguel teased as he opened your door, "Why don't we add another one to the group?"

"I knew I didn't clean," You said with a small whimper of embarrassment.

Miguel just chuckled as he sat you on the bed, cupping your cheeks as he brought you in for another kiss. You felt the bed sink as Miguel began to hover over you. His weight making you sink further into this lustful hole.

Your dress slowly rising as Miguel rested his crotch against yours. Excited, you spread your legs and let him rut against your dripping core. Like lightening, you could feel the pleasure start to overtake you, making you his.

"Good girl," Miguel whispered against your ear as he stripped you of your dress, "Lovely."

"Miguel," You whimpered as he took your bra off next.

"Patience, my dear. No one will interrupt us this time."

Leaning your head back, you gasped as you closed your eyes. The sensation felt better than before. Miguel was slowing his movements, savoring every moment of this. You almost felt impatient at his speed, but at the same time, enjoying it.

Miguel's lips trailed down from your neck to your breasts. His tongue swirling against your nipple while his other hand groped and massaged your other breast. As he focused there, his rutting became rougher.

"Mphm~"

Biting your lower lip, you tried to suppress your moans. Your cunt was dripping wet, clenching to nothing but air. You wanted to feel more of him. You wanted Miguel to make you his.

"You're making this so hard," Miguel chuckled as he undid his pants.

"S-Sorry, it just feels so good," You admitted shyly.

"That's good,"

Miguel stole your lips again for another kiss as he undressed himself. Your hands reaching for his chest, stroking his toned body. This still felt so unreal.

Your eyes widen as Miguel's fingers circled your clit. Your moans grew louder as you squirmed in place. Miguel just kept chuckling at your reaction as he kept your legs spread. His fingers toying with your clit, enjoying the view.

"H-Haah~ M-Mig! I-I'm gonna~" You whimpered a moan as you reached your climax.

A rush of heat washed over you, slowly dying down as you caught your breathe. Miguel kissed your head before slowly raising your legs. Glancing towards him, you focused your vision towards Miguel's large dick.

Worry started to blend into your excitement. Biting your lower lip again, you gasped sharply as Miguel slowly entered his tip. It was painful as he kept pushing his way inside you.

"(Y/N), you're doing such a good job," Miguel groaned against your ear, "Taking me in so well,"

"Hn!" You arched your back as he stretched your walls.

"Feel how big I am? How well I fit?"

"D-Deep," You finally muttered, clenching against his dick, "A-And hot."

Looking into Miguel's eyes, you hummed as he wiped your tears away. Once more, the two of you shared a passionate kiss before Miguel whispered that he was going to start moving.

As Miguel pulled out, you felt a strange emptiness wash over you. Before you had time to register anything, Miguel slapped his dick right back inside you. A loud moan escaped your lips as you flung your head back.

You swore you saw stars as his tip hit your cervix. Jolts went up your spine as Miguel thrusted once more. With another moan, you started to feel immense pleasure with his thrusts. His dick filling you with each pump.

"So loud just for me. What a beautiful sight," Miguel groaned as he picked up his pace.

"Ah~ Mhm~ M-Miguel~" You cried out, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Your vision started to blur as you felt that heat from earlier start to rise again. Each thrust made your body hotter. This pleasure was nothing like you've ever felt before.

"M-Miguel~"

"Cum for me, (Y/N)."

With another few rough thrusts, that rush of heat washed over you once more. Your vision blurred as you cried out Miguel's name. Your pussy clenching his dick as you gushed all over his cock. Feeling light headed after such an intense orgasm, you tried to relax...

Tried.

----------

Miguel groaned at the sight of you turning into mess against him. The way your pussy fluttered and gushed all over his dick made him want more of you. Miguel needed more of you. It's been so long since he got to enjoy himself.

"Good girl," Miguel whispered.

Watching you pant for air, Miguel just smiled. He held your hips before continuing his charade of thrusts'. Your moans grew louder and more needy. Your body twitching as his dick slapped back inside you.

Miguel could see the glaze in your eyes. You were getting drunk off his cock already. This made his ego boost. With a grunt, Miguel felt his own climax approaching.

"Hah, (Y/N), I'm close," Miguel groaned softly.

You were babbling moans as your body began to twitch again. Miguel was bringing you to another orgasm again. How easy was it to break you and make you his. Grunting, Miguel hurried his pace before come to a slow stop, coating your insides white.

Taking a moment to catch his breathe, Miguel watched as you climaxed as well. Your body taking its time to relax as he slowly pulled out. You merely whimpered softly, your eyes slowly fluttering closed.

With a soft chuckle, Miguel was carful to pick you up, carrying you to the shower.

-------------

Your body felt heavy. Opening your eyes, you slowly adjusted your vision to the light. You were in your room. Recalling last night, you face turned bright red. You and Miguel had sex...and it was the most amazing night of your life.

"Morning, (Y/N)." Miguel hummed as he entered the room, "Good thing you felt my schedule free today,"

"Ah-" Clearing your throat, you winced at how dry and scratchy it was.

"Sorry, mi amor (my love). I may have pushed you a little further for your first time. I'll be more careful next time." Miguel apologized as he gave you some water and some pills.

"I-It's okay...I-I....I enjoyed it..."

"So did I," Miguel pecked your lips, stroking your cheek as you drank the water, "Want some breakfast?"

"I'd love some."

----------

"And you're sure he stayed here all night?" Dana asked with a huff.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Hm, looks like I have to take another approach then."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Chapter

@timidquindim @decentsoupperson @ivkygirly @reader-1290 @daddyfroglegs @eepybunny0805 @ddreabea @iamperson12280 @migueloharasoulmate @tojishugetiddies @koko-1025 @hyeinwluv85s @daisy-artfield @migueloharastruelove @a-lil-whore @hcqwxrtss123 @the-pan-liquid @tojisfav @pochapo @bubblegumfanfictions @brighterthanlonelythoughts @ghstypaint @mangoslushcrush @synamonthy @scaleniusrm @moonspectorx @dorck26 @a060403 @lunablackcosplay @soraya-daydreams @lovefanfic1 @mymrsweirdnessshipperstuff-blog @pretty-pink-princesss @corpsebridenightamare @razertail18 @gachagator @droolingmuttt @miguelsfavwife @ryzguy06 @raideaters-blog @manishkaworld @keidilla @byjessicalotufo @pigeonmama @k3ythesapphic @acesangels @stealingyourturts @angel-xx-1 @amberbalcom14 @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @oscarissac2099 @keepghostly @zeyzeys-stuff @k3ythesapphic @nightingale1011 @uncle-eggy @safixiovi @flaps200 @dahehow @weirdothatwritess @gerblinradio @electronicchaoschaos @mafiaanomaly @keyisloved @unwrittenletter @reader4life @leenasgirl200 @oscarissac2099 @mari0-o @cinnamoro1l @leryg0 @hizzielover @resident-clown @girl-of-multi-fandoms @sana-408-blog

#miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #across the spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel x fem!reader

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dojunie · 26 days ago

Text

MISDIAL; LJN [CH6] DND

[★]; [MISDIAL MASTERLIST] [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

info;

lee jeno x fem!reader

college au

chaptered

very slow burn

genre; not-quite-friends to lovers, older brother mark lee, brothers best friend lee jeno, light angst, yn is a menace to society, story/character driven

warnings for this chapter; none

chapter wc: 11k

a/n: i don't even have an excuse. when i tell you i was struggling with this... anyway, to not dwell on the bad, lets talk about the good; i rewrote the ending and finally feel excited about it, so hopefully i dont face another deeply evil and unforgiving block again. thank you for sticking around :)

current tl: @hibernatinghamster / @jenoxygen / @eaglesnotravens / @donutswithjaminthemiddle / @jvjsssnaa / @huangrenhyucks / @luvenshiti / @shiningdery / @jaeminsbebu / @aliceinwhateverland / @bebsky / @gem-gem / @jkjkseo / @jenosbliss / @pewpewpwe00 / @ti–red / @philanarose / @softbbyg0rl / @aaasteroidsky / @carelessshootanonymous / @en-boyz / @jlsavyy / @roseymerrie / @bangchanisemo / @skuezk / @jaehyuns-adorable-dimples / @ourbeautifulaffair / @jeonnyread / @jvjsssnaa / @episkeyjeno / @bockhyun / @jenojammin / @zarastrawberry / @peachie-bear / @itadaramaterasu / @alymii / @cuteejeno / @episkeyjeno / @nohunlee / @ooojisoo / @luv4jeno / @jydivrs / @pinkysinnerbaby / @jenojenoyes / @maeyoung / @axmdocs / @nctzennikki09 / @tynlvr / @saucyjaeyun /

OF ALL THE THINGS A GUY COULD CATCH YOU FAKING, BEING ASLEEP USUALLY ISN’T THE MOST MORTIFYING.

Usually, you take care to point out.

Because nine times out of ten, getting called out for pretending to be asleep is something to be mulled over with a laugh. Like when you pretend to doze off in the middle of a boring story to make your friends roll their eyes and get to the point, or when you’re young enough for it to still be feasible, in an attempt to get your parents to carry you to bed after a long car ride home. You know. That type of cute, charming thing.

But when there’s nothing cute or charming about the night you’ve just had, Jeno telling you point blank that he knows you’re awake (and has known you were awake the entire time) feels less like a joke that you’re both in on, and more like you’ve just been dropped naked into the middle of Times Square.

“Pizza doesn’t stay hot forever you know.”

Mortification rips through your body like a live current and you jerk around as if someone’s just cocked a shotgun behind your back.

You freeze afterwards, your head only turned enough just enough to peek over your shoulder, like there’s still some speck of a chance that Jeno isn’t actually talking to you— but that speck is swiftly sucked into the vacuum of reality when your eyes meet.

He’s smiling right at you. Eye-crescents and all. Arms folded over his chest, leaning back into the couch cushions like he’s just asked for you to change the channel instead of rouse from a fake nap.

“I was starting to think I’d have to roll you over.”

God forbid.

“How—” Your voice is several octaves too high for the feigned nonchalance you’re trying to push. You swallow. It doesn’t help. “How did you... know?”

“When I used to sleep over at your parents house I’d hear you snoring through the walls when I passed your room. Even through a foot of wood and plaster it still sounded like you were choking to death right out there in the hallway with me; after the pizza guy left I realized it was way, way too quiet in here. Put two and two together.”

On a different day this answer would’ve made your face burn for the next half an hour but considering the other bomb he’s just dropped, it doesn’t even register on the radar.

After the pizza guy left?

“You knew I was awake the entire time you were talking?”

“Of course.”

For five too-many beats, you’re staring at him like he’s just started speaking Simlish.

Your first instinct is to grimace, hard. Because how fucking stupid you must've looked curled up on the couch like that when he’d known from the very beginning that you were awake, stone still and pretending you couldn’t be seen like a toddler hiding behind the window curtains, Jesus— but before the embarrassment of that can really take shape and cringe you into a coma, the actual problem with his confession comes to light.

He… knew. He said all of that knowing that you were listening. High school, the graduation, the day you both met, everything.

He said he liked you back.

“What?” you finally manage. “But— Why? Why would you tell me all of that? Now?”

“Because after what happened on Saturday, I felt like I was being…” For the first time all night, maybe all week, Lee Jeno breaks eye-contact first. “I’m still having trouble figuring out the specifics but ‘unfair', might be the best fit. You told me how you felt and I only stood there and listened even though I knew I could’ve told you that it wasn’t nearly as unrequited as you thought, but I got nervous and then said something dumb and everything fell apart. Even if you still never talked to me again afterwards I needed to explain. To make sure you understood that it wasn’t just you who felt how you did.”

He laughs a little, sheepish, like he’s embarrassed. “I guess I overdid it with the trip through history, though. Just wanted you to know I was looking at you, too.”

You’re staring at him and he’s staring at the ground, neither of you seemingly knowing what to say to fill the following silence, when you see another thought shadow over his face and his gaze find you again.

“And I didn’t want you to think it was because of Mark.”

The mention of your brother snaps you out of your stunned reverie in an instant. "What?"

“I was scared of changing things between both me and you and me and him, back then. He didn’t tell me anything about you. I— That’s something I needed to say no matter what. I didn’t want you to think he’d do something like that.”

Without really meaning to, your eyes narrow.

Because. Well. Despite the words that have literally just left his lips about why you weren’t supposed to blame Mark for Lee Jeno never telling you how he felt while he still felt it, Mark Lee is already not your favorite person right now, and tar-like agitation bubbles to the surface anyway.

“So he might not have said anything to you. Okay. Sure. But because of the way he acted, you were under the impression that you’d lose him as a friend if you did like me. Right? You told me that yourself. You refused to even acknowledge the idea that you might’ve ‘liked me like that’ because it was clear how Mark felt about anyone who showed even the slightest interest in me. You said you ‘knew better.’”

You try to scoff. It comes out a little more like a sad, tired huff instead. “So yeah, actually, I think I will continue to think that Mark is the reason you didn’t say anything, because that’s the truth. He spent years and years and years finding something wrong with every guy who looked in my direction and because you felt like he’d throw you away too, you knew how I felt and did nothing when you felt the same way. No matter how you slice it, that’s what happened. That’s why I’m— That’s why I was so upset on the balcony. You understand that, right? Because if he hadn’t, Jeno, then things might’ve—”

Worked out for us, is what you’d been about to say, before you caught yourself.

Chills blossom up your spine. Wow. If those words aren’t a shrapnel-loaded bomb of obvious longing and regret, a flashing neon-sign clear with your inability to get the hell over the past, then you don’t know what is.

You must still be drunk. Or exhausted.

“He’s your best friend. We’re never going to see it the same way.”

The next words feel so heavy on your tongue, but you manage a smile anyway. “But you can forget about it now, if that’s what’s been keeping you up all week. Everything’s out now, right?”

Everything is clearly not out, if his split-second-too-long beat of silence means anything. But for your own sanity you pretend you don’t notice it. You pretend you can’t feel the tension underneath his perfectly blank expression, you pretend that your own secrets aren’t heating up in your mouth like hot coals, you pretend— like you’ve been doing a lot in his presence lately�� that you’re completely fine with everything and anything and all of this especially. You’re fine.

You will be fine.

“Right,” Jeno says. “All out. So we’re… okay?”

“We’re okay.”

“No more avoiding?”

“Avoid—?”

Avoiding. Yeah. The past few hours have been such a clusterfuck that you nearly forgot the last six days of pointedly being anywhere other than where he was, pawning off the ‘coincidence’ on preparing for the showcase.

“I wasn’t… avoiding you. Not totally. Not explicitly. I was busy.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You haven’t looked in my direction once since last weekend. I was starting to think you’d seriously never talk to me again.”

You scowl. “Are you going to sit here and tell me you’re confused about why I might not have wanted to see you so soon after what happened on the balcony? Embarrassment was eating me alive. You should be lucky I stuck to being busy, instead of going with the Plan B of faking my own kidnapping.”

He laughs. Your eyes flicker back to him. The sound is soft and muted but it’s real; his eyes disappearing with it, the first time in what feels like days that the smile has really reached the rest of his face. It’s more reassuring than it has any right to be. When he says his next words, standing up to head for the kitchen, you can even manage a genuine smile in return.

“You didn’t sleep away your appetite, right?”

And of course you didn’t.

Actually, once you’re reminded of the pizza sitting on the coffee table (this time without anxiety subduing the hunger in your stomach) you realize that you’re properly ravenous; the last things you’d consumed today were a chocolate muffin and four cherry-flavored jello shots. And the hunger is clear, probably, in how you’re already halfway through a slice when Jeno returns with a pair of plates and two popped soda cans.

The game show (apparently European in production and definitely weirder than previously assumed) somehow becomes the main entertainment while you both eat; X-Men First Class isn’t brought up again despite it still clearly spinning around in the DVD player.

Things stay quiet.

Not the loaded kind of quiet, or any sort of painfully awkward silence. Just… quiet. Oddly relaxing. Much too comfortable. Once you’re done stuffing yourself, your fingers wiped of tomato sauce remnants and soda long ago finished, the couch pulls you further and further into its pillow-like cushions with every passing minute.

The first thing that either of you say after half an hour is when Jeno asks you for a translation for an English thing a contestant says that the subtitles don't catch, and your response comes after a badly stifled yawn. He, unfortunately, notices this.

“Why are you torturing yourself by staying up to watch this? If you’re tired, go to sleep.”

“M’ not that tired,” is your automatic reply. “And I want to know who wins. Cassandra needs that Prius.”

He sniffs under his breath, quietly, like you’re already asleep and he’s trying not to rouse you. You probably look half gone— you’re staring at the TV through slits, your posture on his couch closer to horizontal than vertical— but you don’t want to admit that you’re running on empty. Maybe it’s residual little-sister-ism, refusal to agree simply because someone else suggested it first, but admitting that you’re spent feels like defeat when he still looks completely conscious.

“This is a rerun.” Jeno clicks something on the remote. “Of a show from 2012. You could just look up what happened to Cassandra.”

“Not the same. I need to see her win live, so she can rub it into Helen’s face. She’s so snooty.”

A beat, and then Jeno hums. “She is snooty, yeah, but the show has another ten minutes left. She’s going to be snooty for another five of those before the finale. Why don’t you brush your teeth in the meantime? Since you’re not tired?”

The lilt of his voice makes you glance at him. It’s familiar. Mark trying to convince you not to eat an entire bag of candy at once, Mark trying to bribe you with a popsicle to get you to do your homework, Mark trying to trick you into accidentally getting ready for bed by challenging you to a race.

Distantly you wonder if this tone, too, is another thing Jeno has subconsciously picked up over the years from watching how your brother interacts with you.

“You don’t need to baby me, you know.”

“Of course I know. Only babies make up reasons to stay up when they’re clearly exhausted. You’re not a baby. Right?”

You can’t even glare. It would give away that he’s completely onto you. And yet, he smiles like he’s already got you in the bag.

“Exactly,” you mutter, “No babies here.”

“So you understand that Cassandra will still be around when you’re done washing up?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Come on.”

And he’s up off the couch before he can even catch your rolled eye. Annoying.

Even more annoying is the fact that he’s right. He didn’t say as much when he’d suggested you brush your teeth sooner rather than later, but you knew it was because he thought you didn’t have much longer in you, that you were going to be too far gone in fifteen minutes to have any energy left to get to your feet and wash up— once you get through opening the new toothbrush he gives you, speeding through scrubbing each of your molars with his absurdly fancy toothpaste (because of course he has Premium Ultra Mega Super White Charcoal Anti-Cavity in Spearmint and Sunshine sitting on his counter instead of a regular man’s Colgate, considering all of the perfect teeth sitting in his mouth)— and as soon as you flop back down onto the couch just in time to watch snooty Helen get her comeuppance, a physical weariness settles into your bones and all but cements you to the couch.

It’s so serious that you don’t even realize your eyes have closed until they fly open again at a shifting of the cushion beside you; Jeno, dropping a giant gray duvet on the couch after returning from the bathroom himself. A duvet. A blanket. Sweet, sweet, sleepy salvation.

“Thanks. This looks perfect.”

“Only one of those is for you.”

“One? There’s more than one here?”

“Yeah.”

You blink up at him. “Why?”

“Because I’m sleeping out here too?”

Holy crap. What? This almost makes you sit all the way up. “What sense does that make, in your own house? Why the hell would you sleep out here when you have a perfectly good bed twenty feet away?”

“Because it’s—” Only now does he seem to realize how odd this looks, “It’s sleepover etiquette.”

“Sleepover etiquette?”

“I don’t know,” he says quickly. “I didn’t make the rules, I’m just used to it happening like this. The only time I sleep in my own bed when someone is over is when Jaemin is here, because he’ll sleep in it even if I don’t, but anyone else, we just divvy it up on the couch. Sleepover etiquette. No one gets the bed, or everyone gets the bed.”

As crazy as it sounds right now, it rings true. At your own sleepovers, anything under five friends and you’d all be piling into the bed of whoever hosted the event: squishing together like giggly sardines, waking up and not knowing where one of you ended and the other one began. But Jeno equating this— your definite last-minute intrusion in his house— to a sleepover? Like this is some every weekend thing?

“As noble of a sacrifice as that is, I can’t ask you to sleep out here. You realize that I’m an interloper, right? That you’re doing me a favor by letting me crash here? Hardly the circumstances of a normal sleepover.”

A long second passes as he appears to genuinely think about this, and for a moment you think he’s going to take your advice and try to get a good night's rest after everything else you’ve demanded of him today, but—

“It’s normal to me. You’re sleeping here tonight. That makes it a sleepover. Which one of these do you want?”

Non-negotiable, he's saying. We’re both sleeping out here, take it or take it, punctuated by him flopping down onto the couch beside the pile of blankets. You want to sigh but you should’ve known. It’s chivalry until the end with Lee Jeno.

So you ignore your brain screaming about how weird this is, you and him out here bunking like buddies, and just take the blanket he hands you. You settle in underneath it, cozier than you’re willing to admit, and refocus your attention on the next thing that’s started on TV after the game show; something just as foreign and bizarre but entertaining enough to keep your attention until the near silence weighs down your eyelids instead.

Mark’s apartment is never this serene. Whether it’s the jet-like humming of the fridge out in the kitchen, or the noisy college students below you and their random but guaranteed twice-a-week smash tournaments, or the rattle of the air conditioner above your bed that you’ve been meaning to look at for nearly a month now.

The quiet is… nice. Weird, but nice. You can hear your own breathing. You can hear Jeno’s breathing too; shallow, slow, and even.

It’s how you know he’s still awake twenty minutes later.

He commented on your snoring but little does he know, he snores too— just not as violently. For the premier of Spider-Man Homecoming coming out on DVD, Mark had a celebratory sleepover in the basement of your parents house that you were cordially invited to (along with two of your own friends,) back in your sophomore year. You all huddled up amongst the couches and recliners with millions of blankets and billions of pillows, everyone just falling asleep wherever they laid; and though you could’ve sworn he’d been halfway across the room when you closed your eyes that night, you’d woken up the next morning with Jeno’s forehead pressed into your shoulder and nearly screamed.

You didn’t, though. You sucked it back down just in time.

Instead, you sat there and ogled him in the still-blue sunlight, reveling in how it was even possible for a human with such sharp bone structure to look so squishy when he slept.

It was also how you noticed that, when he’s asleep, his nose makes this tiny but unmistakable whistling sound— like a tiny person is up there blowing through a kazoo whenever he exhales.

There’s no whistle sound now.

“When did you stop liking me?” you ask.

And to his credit, even though you’re listening very hard for any sort of change, Jeno’s breathing doesn’t miss a measure. There’s just a second of silence before a quiet shift of fabric, maybe like he’s rolling over to face you, but you’re not sure because you’re staring at the ceiling like you might explode if your eyes meet. Which you might.

“I don’t know,” he says, just as plainly as you’d asked. “I don’t remember there being a day where I decided I should.”

“Okay.”

“What about you?” he’s surprisingly quick to add. “When did you stop liking me?”

“...Would it be a cop out if I just said the same?”

“Without a doubt.”

You manage to crack a smile, but a yawn cuts it off. “Sometime after your graduation, I think. I don’t have a concrete day for it or anything. I only remember realizing that while you were gone, I was thinking about you less and less. After a while the idea of you stopped…” Hurting, as much. “Hovering.”

“Right,” he says. “Yeah. That makes sense." He clears his throat. "That you’d forget me a little, I mean. Once you started going out more.”

Another yawn on your end. This time your eyes aren’t as eager to reopen, and the exhale saps the very last ounce of energy you’ve got. What time is it? One? One-thirty?

Majorly past your bedtime.

“I didn’ forget you,” you reply belatedly, but it comes out more like a murmur, a little lost in the noise of you shifting around to get more comfortable. “There’s no forgetting someone like you.”

If he said something in response it was either too quiet to be heard through your cocoon of blankets or simply came after you fell too deep into the first REM cycle. Distantly you thought you heard something, a breath of an answer, but by the time you placed it as a possibly whispered, “You either,” you were already much, much too far gone.

Pancakes.

You wake up to the smell of pancakes.

Jeno’s apartment looks so different in the sunlight that for a second, even though the memories of last night trickle back faster than expected once you open your eyes, you almost don’t recognize the place when you sit up.

Snapshots pop into your brain like fireworks as the seconds tick on; the showcase, the party, punching Jeon Soyeon in the face. Your brother’s best friend driving you to his house as you cried in the aftermath, confessing his feelings two years past the expiry date, the both of you falling asleep out here like you’re a couple of old pals who do this sort of song and dance all the time.

In the span of 24 hours, you’ve faced more highs and lows than you have all year.

And before you can even wipe the crusties from your eyes, the worry sets in.

Soyeon wasn’t popular for no reason— would her minions be coming after you, now? Had they already started? Bombarding your social media, spreading rumors, flocking protectively around their Queen Bee after you dared to lose your temper on her last night? What fresh hell would you be walking into when you finally checked your phone?

And what about Somi? You’d probably left her with quite the mess after causing such a scene; did the party continue alright? Did you ruin the cheerful atmosphere? You didn’t even get to say goodnight.

And… And Mark, too.

But you weren’t even sure where to start when it came to him.

God. Maybe for the sake of your currently-not-awful mood, you should just not start. About him, or last night, or any of the things that are surely going to be a pain in the ass to deal with in the following days. Those headaches will still be there in a few hours— sorting out the most immediate issue of the person who’s house you’re hiding in, will not.

It’s a sunny, cloudless morning in Seoul.

You turn to the smell of the pancakes and find Jeno standing in his kitchen with one earbud in, back to you. He’s bobbing his head and murmuring under his breath as he flips the batter in the pan, head to toe in what looks to be work-out gear; black leggings under charcoal basketball shorts, one of those skin tight athletic tanks stretched taut across what you can see of his shoulder blades from your dent in his couch.

You’re in the middle of being annoyed at how broad he is when, despite being careful to not to ruffle the blankets or anything, Jeno glances behind him. You’re caught off guard by it— because what the hell? Does he have a secret eyeball hiding amongst those locks of inky black hair?— but then you belatedly understand that it’s the lack of noise that’s tipped him off. With how violently you snore, a sudden silence is basically your jingling cat-bell of attention. Annoying.

“I was just about to wake you up,” he says. “Do you mind flipping the last few of these so I can take a shower really quick? Breakfast is just about done.”

“You went to the gym?”

It’s less a question, more of an observation, but Jeno hums in agreement. “The one in the building, I didn’t leave you for too long. I would’ve waited until tonight if I didn’t already know that you never wake up before 11.”

There’s a momentary blip of something odd in your brain at the concept of him just knowing something like that about you, but it’s gone— by force— as fast as it appears.

“Okay. Just have to flip?”

“Just have to flip.”

And so you just flip. Jeno passes you with a smile as he leaves the kitchen, looking the perfect picture of casual, as if this is an everyday experience. It’s so casual that it makes you wonder how this might look to an outsider, someone with no context for what last night was like— and then it makes you acutely aware of how loudly the 15 year-old version of you would be hollering right now if she could see five years into the future and witness this scene herself. You, in Jeno’s clothes, flipping pancakes in his kitchen on a beautiful Saturday morning, as he showers in the bathroom you’d shared last night, washing the toil and sweat of physical exertion off of his body.

Yeah. Without context? 15 year-old you probably would’ve screamed until her head exploded.

Jeno thankfully isn’t gone for long, and by the time you hear the faucet turn off, you’ve finished with the very last pancake. You pile it on top of the half a dozen others, a beautiful stack of fluffy dough and sugar. (And, okay, sure, you’d gotten a liberal with the chocolate chips on the last few after realizing you’d misjudged the cooking time on some of the earlier ones and left them chocochipless, overcompensating by pouring all of the remaining dollops into the last two or three for the sake of not wasting them— but whatever. Even with the gooey, more-chocolate-than-bread pancakes sitting on top, your work could surely still make the cover of a Martha Stuart cookbook.)

You don’t see him come out because you’re moving the plate of food to his dining table, but you know he’s close because he laughs when he spots the brown pancakes. You know he’s laughing at the brown pancakes, because:

“You’re really pushing the limit of what can be considered breakfast with that last one there, don’t you think?”

“You’re not going to care what meal of the day this is once you actually taste it.”

“Why? Because it’s hard to tell the time when you’re in a sugar-induced coma?”

You sniff. “If you’re so worried about your health you could always let me have it. I made a few that don’t have any chips. You can have those sad ones then.”

A moment passes and you turn to look at him. Bad choice. Hip bones and pale skin everywhere— it’s like a flash-bang of narrow waist, courtesy of Jeno raising his arms (and therefore the hem of his t-shirt) to dry the last drops of water from his hair with the towel he’s brought out with him. You rip your eyes back to setting the table before he notices, feeling like your eyeballs have just been physically zapped.

“I never said I was worried about my health,” he replies, wandering a little further into the kitchen. “Split it with me?”

There’s no need for that. There’s like, three of them. We can each have one. But for some reason you instead say, “Only if I get the half that has more chips.”

“I thought that was already obvious,” he smiles in return.

Fifteen minutes later, with two-thirds of your stack messily decimated and his entire plate basically as clean as it was when it came out of the cupboard, Jeno must decide that your morning of peace has gone on for long enough.

“Mark called me last night,” he announces.

(Technically he says it very normally, at a perfectly acceptable volume for general conversation, but because you’d both lapsed into silence after a few sentences of small talk at the table— a compliment from him about your showcase, about how cool you’d looked up there, how impressive your choreography was; a mumbled thanks from you, that there was another one happening after winter break— it comes out like an announcement anyway. An announcement you’re none too happy to hear.)

You’re hoping he doesn’t notice how your face goes a little stiff. “Did he?”

“Mm. He said he got worried because you weren’t answering your phone.”

You probably would’ve been dodging his calls regardless but the truth is that your phone is still somewhere in Gawon’s car and has probably been since before the party even started. You’d realized that last night, after changing your clothes in his bathroom and not finding it in any of your jacket’s nooks and crannies; seeing in your mind the exact door pocket you’d left it in, then thinking you’d definitely remember to grab it before you got out. You didn’t.

You could only imagine the carnage of notifications you’ve amassed since last night.

“And?”

“And, once I told him you were alright here, he said he’d leave a voice message that he wanted me to pass on to you. I told him I’d let you hear it in the morning once you had the energy, after you slept off whatever was in your system.”

Hesitantly, you meet his eyes.

“Are you ready for that?” he asks carefully. “I haven’t listened to it, if you want to be alone when it plays.”

“What’s the point in that? It’s not like he isn’t going to relay my scolding to you later anyway. Press it.”

“He’s not going to scold you—”

You flick your gaze at him, silently asking if he really wants to get into this again, and apparently he thinks better of whatever gushingly optimistic sentence he’d been about to follow up that observation with. “Please just press it.”

He presses it.

“Hey— Hey, tiger.”

And then Mark is here. Vocally. In the flesh. Through the uncomfortably clear speakers in his best friend’s phone.

“I hope you’re doing better than you were when I last saw you.”

The cadence of his voice twists up your lungs for a reason you can’t immediately place, and then you realize it’s because he’s speaking in English, which he only resorts to when he has too many things to say and not enough ways to say them. This makes your insides sink even further.

“Listen, before I get sidetracked, I want you to know that I know what I did was… stupid. The last thing I should’ve done was help her up after what she said, but I— I was so angry that I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t know about any of… that stuff, you and her hanging out or whatever, until she said it, and that probably would’ve ticked me off anyway because of some other things I had going on with her, but then she mentioned whatever happened there— that she apparently left you at some night club, alone, with some fucking guy—?”

A sigh and a ruffle this time, like he’s passing his hand over his face in agitation. It takes so much for him to curse in front of you and yet he’d just dropped the most serious one of them all like it was nothing. But while this would usually send your blood running cold, it doesn’t. Because it… it kind of doesn’t sound like he’s actually mad at you. What?

“I asked her if it was true because I was so... Honestly I didn’t realize how it looked until after you left, you know? Like I was siding with her or something? I asked her if it was true because I couldn’t believe that she’d do something like that to you. Not because I would’ve ever trusted her word over yours or something, she’s already proven… God, okay, this message is already at like, two minutes…”

Another sigh. This one is much more miserable than the previous.

For some stupid, distant reason, as the shock wears on from the realization that he isn’t mad at you, you find yourself wondering if Jeno is having a hard time following along. The only class he’d ever come close to failing in high school was English.

“Can you just call me? Please? Or better yet, can you just let Jeno drive you home? I’ll explain everything so much better once you’re in front of me. M’ sorry, again that I… You’ve got a great right hook by the way. You shouldn’t have punched her, violence is never ever the answer. But she was leaking like a faucet for long after you left, Tiger— might’ve snapped something in there. Really laid her out.” A short, weak laugh, and then,“Yeah. Please call. Or come home? Please.”

The message ends with a cheerful beep.

And you sit there in silence for a good, long moment.

Because that wasn’t anything like the drawing-and-quartering you were expecting.

If anything, Mark actually sounded angry on your behalf. He’d helped Soyeon up, probably without thinking, because he was asking her if she’d really done something that awful to you. Not because he actually…

“You’re gonna let me do what he wants right?”

Jeno’s expression had, at some point during your staring off into space, contorted the closest you think you’ve ever seen it get to an outright, I told you so. And you guess he did. You didn’t get scolded.

“I— I was going to stop at my friend's house to get my phone,” you say, still a little shocked. “Left it in her car last night before I got to the party.”

“Where does she live?”

“Gamyeon.”

Jeno only shrugs. “We'll pitstop then.”

“You— You’re going to drive me all the way to Gamyeon?”

“Isn’t it only twenty minutes out of the way?” He blinks. “How were you going to get it before I was going to take you home?”

“I… I was pretty gungho about sneaking out of here at the crack of dawn via Uber, last night?” It comes out like a guilty question. “I had a bit of a plan of action. But that was before I woke up to the smell of pancakes, of course…”

“The pancakes you didn’t know I was making until half an hour ago? At 11AM?” he asks innocently. “If what you really mean is that getting up at the crack of dawn turned out to be a little ambitious for you, you can just—”

Jeno laughs as your hand shoots out to swat him. He smartly decides to change the subject, and this new topic ends up being about the dishes; specifically about him loading them into the dishwasher while you go and gather your belongings into the little drawstring book bag he’d left by the bathroom for you. When you ask him why you don’t just change back into what you had on last night so he doesn’t have to go without his hoodie and sweatpants for however long it takes you to do laundry, he shrugs it off. “You look more comfortable in this than the dress. And I’m at your place more often than I’m in my own, it’s not like I’ll miss it for too long. Keep it for now.”

(And you can’t argue with that. Especially not when he’s right. These sweatpants are way nicer than the tightly ribbed-nylon of Gawon’s mini dress.)

While brushing your teeth, you wonder what to do with the toothbrush.

Leaving it feels… odd. In a stupid way it almost feels like you’d be leaving it to return to. Like there’s any chance that after today you’ll ever be spending another unannounced night in this apartment, which there isn’t if you’ll have anything to do about it. But taking the toothbrush with you, or throwing it away, feels weird too.

In the end you decide to just toss it in your bag and take it back to Mark’s. Jeno won’t say anything about it, you know he won't, but if he miraculously does seem to care, you can just say that you’ve been meaning to get a new toothbrush and that it’s not like he has any use for this one anymore anyway. Maybe you’ll even offer to give him five bucks to make up for the thievery. (God, why are you thinking so hard about this? Like he's going to waste his time chasing you down for a fucking toothbrush?)

And after all that brainpower he doesn’t even say anything. Once he comes out after using the bathroom himself, if he’s even noticed it missing he doesn’t let it show. He just asks if you’re ready to go, and when you nod, that’s the end of it. He leads you out, follows you down the corridor, and then pushes the button for the elevator to come and pick you both up. Easy as pie.

It’s only when you’re in the descending cabin that it hits you, that this is the last time you’ll be here.

You try not to think too hard about why your lips inherently want to frown at that idea.

Twenty minutes to Gamyeon feels more like five, with how much catastrophizing you’re doing in the passenger's seat. Soyeon and her crew will have surely started the city-wide search for you by now, right? Should you be telling Jeno to take back roads? To roll his windows up on this beautiful late August afternoon, so no one from SNU recognizes either of you from the party and tries to run you both off the road? God.

“Can I borrow your phone?” you blurt.

And even though you’d literally asked him for it, you’re a little astounded when he just hands the thing over without question. You shouldn’t be though. He’d done the same thing with the music change request three weeks ago.

(Still no password, either, when you swipe at the screen. What is this guy's problem?)

“Do you need to call someone?”

“No,” you murmur, already scanning through the pages to find Twitter, “I want to see if Soyeon put a hit out for me yet.”

“What? Why would she do that?”

You blink over, a little dubious that even someone as sweet as him can’t fathom why Soyeon could have it out for you after what you did, but he doesn’t look like he’s joking.

“Uh, I don’t know, Jeno. There’s a possibility that she might be a little upset since I punched her in the face a few hours ago.”

“You didn’t even hit her that hard.”

You balk at him. “Did you not hear the part where Mark said I might’ve broken her nose?”

“I did.”

“And it’s confusing to you that she might be really, really mad at me for that?”

“No,” Jeno mutters. “It’s confusing to me that you think she wouldn’t have come to her senses by now, considering how close she came to getting her ass kicked last night. As far as she knows the only reason you didn’t get to finish her off was because I got in your way. If Soyeon isn’t stupid, she’ll understand that it’s in her best interest to stay off your radar from now on.”

He sounds so unsympathetic that your jaw nearly drops. And he’s not even done. Like your worry has uncorked his own agitation, now.

“I wouldn't have pulled you off of her if I’d known that she was the one who sent that freak out after you behind the bar, by the way. I didn’t hear anything either of you said before you hit her. if I knew why, I would’ve let you get a few more swings in, at least. Sorry.”

“Sorry! You’re apologizing for not letting me beat someone else up?”

“Yes,” he says unflinchingly. “This once. Don’t go around getting in fights for the hell of it though, I won’t be there to haul you to the cool-down corner every time.”

He’s joking now, lightness returning to his smile as he turns into Gawon’s neighborhood, but you’re still a little stuck on how serious he’d gotten just now. Never in your life would you have expected Jeno to be in your corner when it came to your less than stellar impulse control; and not only condone it, but applaud it, just because Soyeon had done something that could’ve gotten you hurt.

...Jeez. Something like appreciation (but more ravenous and embarrassing) worms its way into your heart. You allowed it to simmer there for a one warm, full second before stamping it out with the heel of self-preservation.

You don’t even get to check Twitter. Gawon’s apartment building is more squat than most, only four cozy stories all encapsulated within an open-air stairwell, which means you can keep an eye on Jeno’s car all the way up to your friend’s front door. Coming unannounced, you’ve already prepared yourself for the possibility of her not being home (and therefore having to deal with her scary roommate instead) but thank God, it’s her round sleepy face that opens the door after your quick three knocks against the wood.

She doesn’t remain sleepy looking for long though.

"Holy shit!” And without greeting, Gawon yanks you into her house. “You— Well, first things first, you’re here for your phone, right? Let me go and get it, I brought it inside, but bitch, you have some explaining to do!”

Considering how loud she’s being, the scary roommate must not be home this weekend. You wince. You’ll be getting the full degree, then.

“People are texting me that I haven’t talked to in months just because they know I’m friends with you! Does that make sense?”

“It’s that bad?” you ask warily, as she disappears into her bedroom.

“Bad? Is what bad?”

“Soyeon’s warpath.”

“Soyeon?” Gawon returns to her living room with your phone in hand, eyes wider than you’re expecting. “Uh. No. After last night—” She frowns. “You haven’t talked to your brother yet?”

“No? I haven’t been home since before the showcase. And your car ate my phone so I haven’t really talked to anyone else since last night either.”

But her eyes get even bigger, if that’s possible.

“So you have no idea what happened after Lee Jeno plucked you out of there, then?”

“No.” Your grimace is nearly audible as you sit down, sensing trouble. “You guys didn’t just laugh, turn the music up, and party even harder? You know, like I was hoping you’d all do after that mess I caused?”

“Oh, yeah, we did that,” Gawon says with an unconvincingly casual shrug, before finding your eye and trying (and failing) to hide her widening grin. “After your brother tore Soyeon apart in front of everyone for fucking you over!”

“He— What?”

“Dude, it was crazy, Mark— I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him raise his voice even once but the second the door shut after Jeno took you away, whatever it was she said that made you punch her finally seemed to compute in his head, you know? And he just went, ‘You left her alone with someone she told you was creeping her out?’ like, so loudly that you’d swear it was just the two of them in that whole house!”

For the second time in ten minutes, your jaw has hit the floor.

“And I thought Soyeon would start yelling back at him or something, but she’s just standing there staring at him like she’s stunned, probably that it’s him of all people laying into her, saying that he almost can't believe how selfish and pitiful she is, but oh yeah, yes he can, because only someone that doesn’t have respect for themselves would do she did to him last year; that he would’ve helped her if she just asked. And you should’ve seen her face when he said that. It looked like she’d seen a ghost.And he didn’t even air out whatever it was that she did, which I’m salty about, because… What did she do, you know? I’m so curious! But whatever, that’s not even the best part.”

Not the best part? How? This is pretty fucking insane to you already.

“Mark backed up after dropping that bomb like he was about to leave, to go after you maybe, but then he turned and got right back in Soyeon’s face, and said, ‘I don’t want to see you in front of her again, Soyeon. Take this advice as my parting gift, yeah? Because she’s not going to let you get away with only a graze next time, and you better believe that I’m not going to get in her way either.’” Gawon squeals. “All badass like that, I almost fucking screamed! He and all his friends left after that but I swear everyone was talking about it for the rest of the party. Your brother probably has quite a few new admirers…”

You’re staring at her in an awed silence. Mark stood up for you, too. After hearing everything Soyeon said, he still stood up for you. It really wasn’t like how you thought it went at all.

A few hours ago you’d thought your brother was done with you for real, and that Soyeon would be coming for you with pitchforks for embarrassing her in front of all those people at Somi’s party. And now you’re learning that, without your input at all, those two problems have sort of canceled each other out. Your brother threatened Soyeon into leaving you alone on your behalf.

(And if you weren’t so weirdly flattered, you might’ve been incredibly offended. What is it with him and Jeno and talking like you’re some sort of rabid dog that goes around fucking people up for fun? You’re not that violent!)

“That’s… kind of awesome,” you admit, trying not to smile as you stand up from her couch. “And very, very reassuring. Thanks for the rundown. Maybe I’ll actually be able to show my face on campus on Monday without worrying that I’m about to be struck by a G-Wagon.”

Gawon laughs as she follows you back to the entryway. The two of you chat about a few smaller things before you tell her you have to go, mostly about the plans for dance class on Monday now that the showcase is over and how worried Somi was about you after you left in such a tizzy last night, when she stops you right after cracking open her front door.

“But you know,” she begins, “None of that was what I was referring to when I said you had some explaining to do, missy.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No! Well, people were talking about it, sure, but not nearly as much as the other thing you did in front of everyone last night.”

“Which was?”

“Elope.”

You blink at her.

“I’m talking about the denim-wearing superhero that swooped in to save you from yourself. Hello? Lee Jeno?”

Oh. Your expression flips from confusion to alarm in the blink of an eye.

“People were talking about that? What is there to talk about? He’s my brother's friend!”

“Duh. That’s why people were talking about it. You know how much they love to make up stories about who-was-seen-doing-what-with-who. And honestly even as your friend I have to say that it was pretty fucking crazy last night watching this guy practically teleport across the room to get to you. And yes, you argue that he’s your brother's friend, blah blah, it’s obvious that he’d help, blah, but you fail to notice that Lee Jeno was standing around in a group of all your brother's other friends too. Why didn’t any of the others do something, then? Why specifically Lee Jeno— especially when that guy is the most quiet and subdued of the lot of them? Everyone was tittering about that.”

Her face slips into something a little more suspicious when you only swallow unsurely. Unsure, because you actually don’t know either. You, obviously, had been a little preoccupied before Jeno appeared behind you; you had no clue what he or the others had been doing in the moments before he hauled you outside. Learning that he’d been the only one out of all of them to jump into action makes you feel off-center.

“But as the awesome friend that I am, I told all the people who came up to me looking for details to get lost, because I’d obviously be one of the first to know if you had something going on with Basketball Hottie, and I don’t. And I was telling the truth, right? I would know if something was going on there. Right?”

“Of course!” you reassure quickly. “Which is why you don’t know. Because nothing is going on there. Nothing will be going on. Ever.”

She squints.

“I’m serious! Jeno’s just a really good guy. Super chivalrous, down to the bones. He takes his duty as Mark’s best friend very personally, so he gets involved in stuff with me that the others might not figure out as fast. It’s nothing crazy.”

Another beat passes before she unfurls her arms. “…Okay. I mean, I assumed as much. It makes sense. Especially since Somi said you’ve all known each other for something like, a hundred years— no wonder that he’d basically see you as a sister too after so long, I guess.”

You’re not at all expecting that statement to sting, but it does, in a surprisingly raw way.

At least Gawon doesn’t notice your smile falter, because she’s too busy asking her final question as you step out past her front door. “How’d you get here this early, anyway? Cab?”

“Ah, no. Jeno—”

It comes out without thought, a millisecond before you realize the mistake you’re about to make. Both you and Gawon freeze, staring at each other in the silence that follows, before she goes, “Jeno brought you here? But you said you didn’t go home last night.”

Then, as your head swung back and forth in refusal but no explanation came out with it, she tilted her own head in disbelief. “Where… Where did you sleep, then?”

And the final killing blow comes as her eyes drift down almost absentmindedly to the chest of your gray sweatshirt. Jeno’s sweatshirt. Seoul National University Basketball, it says, splashed boldly across the front. Direct. Recognizable. Unmistakable.

You turn around and start to run right as Gawon gasps in pure, wanton betrayal. There’s no explaining this. Not now. Not today. Even if you had an hour to spare right now to sit down and relay every second that passed last night in a way that made her understand this absolutely isn’t what it looks like— which is that you’re totally lying about nothing going on between you and Lee Jeno— Gawon only believes what her eyes physically see in front of her, and even you aren’t naive enough to think that this won’t be the most glaringly suspicious thing she has ever seen.

You’re halfway down the stairs when her voice catches up with you.

“It’s nothing crazy, huh? It’s nothing crazy, you liar! Just wait until I catch you on Monday, girl! We’ll see exactly what’s not crazy between you and Mr.Chivalrous!”

Approximately two minutes after closing the front door behind yourself after walking into your brother’s apartment, you’re crying again. Mark is too. He’s the one that started it. It’s just a lot of tears all around.

Everything kind of comes out at once. It begins as spewed apologies on both ends for last night specifically— him for ever letting things get bad enough that you’d genuinely think he’d ever choose someone else over you, and you for being such a brat for the last few weeks (the last few months) when you’d always known deep down that he only ever did the things that annoyed you out of desire to keep you safe— and then it unfurls into apologies for everything, eon-old grudges that were held for no other reason than something to lord over the others head, grievances that turned out to just be the miscommunications, the type of things that immediately stop mattering in the long run when people remember that they can lose each other easier than they think.

After about a half an hour of this (what Mark used to call ‘coming home’ when you were younger, the inevitable rekindling after a period of heightened fighting between you both) you both come away with a few things to think about.

For him? It’s official. You’re not a kid anymore, and he shouldn’t still be treating you like one. No more attempting to put curfews on you, or telling you where you can and can’t go, or telling his friends to censor themselves when they’re over because of your precious and innocent ears, amongst his other million older-brother-isms. You’re both adults now. He can suggest things. He can speak to you like he would his friends about the things you do that worry him. No more lectures. (Unless you do something really, unarguably stupid, he caveats.)

For you? A serious, genuine attempt towards better decision making.

You’ve been bestowed a new motto to ponder every time an opportunity arises for mischief in your life. What Would Mark Lee Do? A question meant to make you really think about whether the thing you’re thinking about doing is going to make your brother crazy. And if it is? Then you have to tell him about it in advance, so he can at least bail you out if it goes belly up.

And that’s honestly perfectly fine with you.

The last rule he slips in revolves around your tendency to disappear without warning. Absolutely no more sneaking around, he says. If you exit this apartment when he’s not home, he gets to know about when and where. Not because I don't trust you, he’d been quick to add, but because the world itself can be a scary place sometimes. Which you don’t exactly… disagree with. Especially after this most recent incident at Nabi Bar.

You’d pushed back a little bit on this one though, preemptively annoyed by the thought of having to text him every single time you leave— your friends liked spontaneity, early morning brunches or midnight-sets at EDM pop-ups— and you were a chronic charger-forgetter, often running out of this place with only thirty-percent or less to your name. You didn’t like the idea of his trust teetering on nothing but your (admittedly sub-par) ability to remember to do certain things before you left the house.

Mark only pulled his own phone out in response.

You watched him tap a few things, swipe, and then turn the screen around to show you the order he’d just placed for two succinct little items: a brand new Apple AirTag and a cute, neon-green pom-pom keychain to stick it into.

“To match the color of your phone case,” he said cheerily. “Put it on your keys, and you’ll never have to worry about forgetting! Perfect, right?”

Yep, you smiled sarcastically. Perfect. Like one might an excitable dog, or a toddler with a tendency to run, you’ve been given your very own tracker.

(He knows you’re kidding. It’s built into the Little Sister Gene to complain, but in the grand scheme of things, you’re actually rather pleased by the compromise. Less secrets means less stress, and it’s not like he’s doing it so he can watch you like a hawk or anything— it’s for those times he can’t reach you and just wants to know where you are. You’ll wear that pretty little piece of technology on your wrist like the hottest new Cartier bangle if it means going where you want, when you want, without worrying about worrying your brother.)

It’s half past one when the conversation loosens up to other things, like you demanding the play-by-play of what he’d said to Soyeon and him flushing up to his ears as obliged, embarrassed in hindsight by how angry he’d gotten (but not regretting it, he’d sheepishly admitted), and then to the concept of lunch, Mark offering to fry something up while you get a head-start on the mountain of homework you’ve been neglecting for studio time ahead of the showcase.

It’s a quiet afternoon, which you’re thankful for. Whether it’s because Mark simply hadn’t planned for the others to come over or because he expressly told them not to, it ends up just being you two, a family-sized bag of Doritos, and a few episodes of Running Man.

(You hadn’t realized just how much you missed it until then. How much you missed him. How long it’s been since you’ve done something like this without waiting for the other shoe to drop— for him to get mad at you for something you did or didn’t do, for you to get mad at him for getting mad at you. And it’s kind of embarrassing tearing up while people fall and slip and slide through an obstacle course covered in dish soap, so you tell Mark that it’s because you got a fleck of cool ranch dust in your eye when he turns to look at you after your sniffle comes out a bit wet.

It’s obvious that he doesn’t believe you, and a week ago you can’t help but think that this would’ve led to an interrogation. Is something wrong? What happened? Did something happen? Are you in trouble again? What did you do?

But today he lets it go. He stares at you for a second, hands you a napkin, pinches your cheek, and then lets it go.

And that almost makes you cry again for real.)

The evening sun creeps down in the sky like a thief, a cloudless day melting into a brilliant dusk; all of the windows in Mark’s apartment are drawn and the living room is lit up like the inside of a tangerine lamp. You’re lazing around on the couch while your brother showers, deeply entrenched in a Cup Pong battle Somi (which had only come about after she facetimed you, demanding that you spill all detail about what the hell happened while she was down in the car park last night, to which you’d somewhat begrudgingly relayed the story yet again: Mark, Soyeon, The Punch, Jeno, Jeno’s apartment, etc., and she’d cursed at you for being apologetic for causing a scene in her house because ‘that bitch totally deserved it,’ she insisted) when an unexpected name pops down from the top of your screen.

An unexpected name boasting an even more unexpected message.

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] Found your earring in my bathroom

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] Guess it fell out sometime last night

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] You want me to come drop it off tonight?

[You, 7:12PM] ???

[You, 7:12PM] what sense does that make

[You, 7:12PM] you would come over here just to drop off a singular earring??

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] Juyeon is throwing a house warming party three blocks from you guys, I'm already in the area

[You, 7:12PM] oh. well. it’s not like you don’t come over every other day anyway

[You, 7:12PM] just bring it with you next time

[You, 7:12PM]…thank you for finding it though

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] No problem

That’s more definitive of a metaphorical hanging-up of the phone than anything, isn’t it? You thought so for about thirty solid seconds, scrolling back over to your thread with Somi and distractedly taking another shot at Cup Pong, before you were proven wrong.

[Lee Jeno,7:13PM] Okay I was also asking because I wanted to see if you were alright

[Lee Jeno,7:13PM] You and Mark, I mean

[Lee Jeno,7:13PM] After I dropped you off this morning I already felt a little bit like I’d thrown you into a pressure cooker with nothing but a thumbs up

[Lee Jeno,7:13PM] Then he texted the group chat an hour later to tell all of us to get lost, that his place was off limits for the rest of the day even though he’d already had a movie night planned. I figured that meant your chat with him either went really, really poorly, or that you two were just catching up and didn’t want to be interrupted

[Lee Jeno, 7:13PM] I thought if I saw you with my own eyes I’d know the difference, but with just the text alone, I’m having a hard time…

Oh. Wow. He’s never texted you this many words or this many times before. And just to check in, too?

[You, 7:14PM] no need to worry !! we made up in a pretty big way actually

[You, 7:14PM] after you left we had the big sit-down and figured a lot of things out

[You, 7:14PM] he probably told you not to come over because he has like eight million Tiktoks he’s been wanting to show me that he couldn’t because we were fighting, and now that we’re okay again he plans on holding me hostage until I laugh at every single one

[You, 7:14PM] these last few hours have been a bit of a nightmare in that sense but otherwise it’s

[You, 7:14PM] good?

[You, 7:14PM] we’re good

[You, 7:14PM] thanks to you

[Lee Jeno, 7:14PM] I’m just happy to be the chauffeur. Nothing to thank me for

Well… Not quite. Usually you can let the bone-deep chivalry slide, it’s his ‘thing’ after all, but this time the consequences of what could’ve happened are too big to ignore.

[You, 7:14PM] there really is, though

[You, 7:15PM] i don't think Mark and I would’ve gotten out of this as intact as we are without you this weekend

[You, 7:15PM] i really, really do need to thank you

[You, 7:15PM] for this morning

[You, 7:15PM] and for last night

More memories flutter by, different iterations of Lee Jeno unarguably saving your ass from some sort of peril, and you grimace further.

[You, 7:15PM] and two weeks ago, for Nabi Bar.

[You, 7:15PM] and last week, for Wooyoung’s party

[You, 7:15PM] thanks for… everything, really.

[You, 7:15PM] i’m happy you’re Mark’s friend

His bubble comes up for a long, long time after your last message. You watch it disappear and reappear at least twice before his next message comes in… and even then it’s woefully short for how long he’d taken to type it.

[Lee Jeno, 7:16PM] What do you mean?

[You, 7:16PM] i mean that I’m happy Mark… has you

[You, 7:16PM] there aren’t many people that would be nearly as cool as you’ve been about babysitting their best friends sibling so many times, is what I’m saying

[Lee Jeno, 7:16PM] But I wasn’t babysitting you.

Oh. Is that what this air of confusion is about? Semantics? Jeno, the thoughtful guy that he is, not wanting you to see what happened this weekend as babysitting because he doesn’t want to hurt your big-girl feelings?

[You, 7:17PM] ah

[You, 7:17PM] okay

[You, 7:17PM] we won’t call it that, then!!

[You, 7:17PM] Mark is still lucky to have you though

[Lee Jeno, 7:17PM] I didn’t do anything that I did last night because I was thinking about your brother

Again, you can only blink. A reply from Somi pops down for half a second before you swipe it away to reread Jeno’s last text, sitting up in confusion.

[You, 7:12PM] then why did you do it?

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] Because it was you

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] Nabi Bar, Wooyoung’s, last night, all of it. Everything. The only thing I was thinking about was you.

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] Mark didn’t have anything to do with it. He stopped having anything to do with it the second you came back to Seoul.

In the minutes you’ve been focused on the screen, the sunset has bled away most of its brilliant orange. Now the sky is more purple than anything, pale lilac peeking through the buildings across the street. Along with the lack of sunlight, the temperature seems to have dropped in the apartment; the air conditioner’s breeze threatening to raise goosebumps along your cheeks and thighs and knees now that the sun isn’t here to combat it.

But you’re not feeling cold. Quite the opposite, actually.

In a matter of seconds you’ve actually begun to emanate enough heat to rival your elderly Toshiba laptop from 2012.

Your brain kind of feels like that Toshiba too. Like you’ve just clicked the left mouse one too many times and now 100 tabs have all opened up at the exact same instant, all playing the same snippet of audio at maximum volume— You. You. Thinking about you. About you. Worried about you. Just about you— all of them desperately trying to frame those words in a way that doesn’t set off the crush of childhood’s past laying dormant in your head.

But even the delusional part of your brain is pulling a blank on this one.

Because while you may be unhinged about Jeno most of the time, you are not unhinged about Jeno all of the time, and there are moments when even you can’t rationalize your way out of what’s staring you right in the face. Sometimes, however rarely, you see things for what they really are. Or what they are not.

And the string of texts that Jeno has just sent to your phone is not, in any conceivable way, a conversation that makes sense, when not even 24 hours ago you and Jeno essentially shook on the fact that everything would be going back to normal after last night. So we’re okay, he asked. We’re okay, you’d said. And you took that to mean things were on track to return to status quo. You’d go back to greeting each other when he came over, the occasional small talk and string of jokes, nodding at each other on campus, that sort of thing. You’d go back to just being the peripheral little sister. He’d go back to just being your brothers friend. The way life was before that night at Nabi Bar.

But in what world does, ‘He stopped having anything to do with it the second you came back to Seoul,’ fit into that equation at all? In fact— doesn’t that break the equation entirely?

Because what… what would you be to him then, without Mark?

Your lungs stutter a little wantonly. You don’t think you’ve ever asked yourself that question. And now that you have, your mind is prodding at doors it’s never acknowledged the existence of before. When you imagine yourself in his eyes, it’s only ever been through the relationship you have with his best friend; and that, in turn, has colored the way that you react to every single thing he does or says.

If he’s saying now that’s not how he sees you and that’s not how he’s been seeing you, then that re-contextualizes… quite a few things, doesn’t it?

The last three weeks of him going out of his way to help you, for one?

Your phone buzzes again in your palm.

[Lee Jeno, 7:14PM] Things are getting kind of crazy over here, Juyeon just brought out a t-shirt gun so I think I have to go

[Lee Jeno, 7:14PM] Mark moved movie night to Tuesday. I’ll bring your earring over then, so make sure you’re home. Maybe you can also explain why your toothbrush is missing from my bathroom.

Sure. Perfect. Any way to avoid replying to the previous batch of texts, you’ll accept in a heartbeat. You fire off some half-baked response, a few ‘ha-ha, yeah, totally’s, to disguise just how hard the gears in your head are spinning, though nothing feels very ha-ha yeah once you fling the phone away. You slump back against the couch cushions, even more mentally exhausted than you’d been a few hours ago with Mark.

The only thing I was thinking about was you.

What an insane thing to say, you miff, belatedly embarrassed. You can almost see his mouth forming the words, his voice as deep and annoyingly honest as always. What the hell are you doing, Lee Jeno?

Shit. Are you just reading way too far into this? Or are things really not nearly as okay between you both as he wants you to think they are?

[★]; [MISDIAL MASTERLIST] [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

a/n: please let me know what you think, this chapter beat my ass left right and sideways... ontwards ch7 my friends...

a/n ii: this chapter is dedicated to @jnnul btw their mention of misdial on their tumblr wrapped cheered me up enough to force myself to sit down and figure this fucking story out LOL

154 notes · View notes

patroxlos · 6 months ago

Text

home base . ch7

"friends who use their phones in bed" - 5.4k words

ultraman: rising (2024). kenji sato x reader

can be read as a stand-alone. However, if you want to read their first kiss, you may do so for added context.

master post. ao3 link.

previous: ch6. "friends who are stuck together"

next: ch7. "friends who are for the people"

cw: EXPLICIT. First time fellatio. frottage.

Two weeks after your first kiss, you and Kenji get more comfortable with your new dynamic as friends with benefits.

And even in the heat of things, you still find something to argue about.

---

Los Angeles, Ten Years Ago.

“Any plans for tomorrow?”

You look up from your dinner as your Auntie Emiko asked. She sits across you at the dining table where you sat beside Ken. “Hm…I think we might stay in again for the day. Right, Ken?”

Ken is in the middle of shoveling some more grilled salmon into his mouth when you redirect the attention to him, and he nods in agreement, his voice muffled. His mom and you have matching looks of disgust on your face as he tries to speak with his mouth full.

“…yeah. It is stay-in day tomorrow,” you confirm.

Emiko looks puzzled. “But Kenji doesn’t have practice tomorrow. Don’t you guys want to head out to the city?”

“We don’t really know what else to see,” you say a lame excuse. In response, she curiously looks at you then at Ken, who finally swallows his food.

“You both rarely leave your room lately when last month you were bouncing to explore the whole state.”

“Training really tires me out,” Ken smoothly responds, rolling his neck from side to side in an exaggerated stretch. “Leaves me with no energy to want to do anything else. After a week on the field all I want to do is lie back.”

She pauses momentarily as she looks at her son, and you force yourself to maintain a calm demeanor. Is she onto us? “Maybe…when you have your days in, you can leave the door unlocked and open?”

Before Ken can protest, you subtly step on his foot to tell him, Don’t complain.

“Is this because you feel lonely, Auntie?” You ask sweetly. Emiko looks a bit taken aback by your question. “I understand it might feel like you’re all alone in the house when Kenji and I are holed up just playing video games together.”

“I…I guess it does…” She let her guard down slightly around you. She can expect Kenji to pull something, but you? The daughter she never had?

“How about tomorrow morning we head to brunch? Just the two of us! We can even schedule a last minute appointment to the salon,” you spun the dream mother-daughter bonding day. “We’ll be back in time for Kenji to wake up at noon.”

“Hey I don’t wake up—”

“Of course we can spend the morning together.” Your auntie places her hand over her heart, touched. All business with the door and how they spend their time completely forgotten.

She does not need to know what you and Ken do in your spare time nowadays.

And with the door locked for the evening, she definitely does not need to know how the sweet little girl she is so fond of has her head in-between her son’s legs.

“What was that earlier?” Ken asks, breathless. He sat up by his arms as he looks down at you, tracing with his gaze the path your lips followed, edging closer to the front of his boxers. You left the lights on, and it reflects off your trail of saliva on his inner thighs.

You don’t respond immediately, busying yourself with the soft, flexible skin good enough to bite. You expect everything about him to be taut and firm, an athlete to his core. It’s cute that he can get so pliable when your touch melts him like so. You anchor your palms at the back of his legs to hold him open as you continue to tease his thighs.

You hear your name tumble out of his mouth when your tongue swipes a fat line at his growing bulge, against the salty wet spot of his boxers, his muscles tensing under your hold. “You really want to talk about your mom right now?”

“I…I— oh…” He can’t think straight when you start nuzzling your face against his swelling size. “Shit—”

You continue to lick him through the fabric, his musk filling your senses. You try not to giggle when you feel him twitching eagerly against your tongue. You lift your head to give a small kiss once more to his thigh. “Mind taking it off?”

You’re still fully clothed, in your sleep shirt and shorts, compared to him. Shakily, he pushes himself to sit up properly. His hands reach for the elastic band of his boxers, trying his best not to look too eager when you help him tug it off his legs. Without the fabric keeping it down, his dick jumps to attention, long with a slight curve towards his right.

“Take it slow…” he encourages you, his voice a little breathless as you lower your head closer to his wet tip. He deeply inhales when you clasp your left hand around his base. His eyes screw shut, the anticipation making his toes curl.

A pleasant prickle crawls up his spine when he feels your warm, moist breath hit the head of his cock.

Your hand slides up along his thick vein, following his natural curve.

And as soon as it started, he feels a draft of cool air down below when you move away.

“Wait.” You back up and reach for your phone nearby on the mattress. “What’s the next step again?”

Ken freezes, and opens his eyes.

You’re busy tapping out your lockscreen passcode.

Ken flops backwards to the bed, his palms covering his face in frustration. “Oh, fuck me—”

“I’m getting there,” you snap as you scroll through your digital notes.

He groans impatiently, his erection growing painful as it stands proud in the air. His legs are still spread wide. “Just put your mouth on it, I said I’ll teach you.”

“And I said to wait.” You crawl back between his legs but your gaze doesn’t lift from your phone. “Maybe you should sit at the edge of the bed and I’ll kneel down? Or maybe sideways in case you want to finger me while we—”

“The current position is fine…” He tries to sit back up but you push him down with a hand on his chest.

You begin to mutter to yourself, running through the steps you have written down. “Mmm… warmed you up, yeah…consent?” You look up from your phone to Ken expectantly.

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, you did have my consent,” He hisses.

“Okay…hm…take of your shirt, kiss down your chest, tease your inner thighs…leave a few marks?” You glance down, at his legs. “Haha, yeah, nice—”

“Are you done? Because I’m growing soft here.”

“Hey, keep it hard, I’m doing my best,” you whine.

“Well all this talk isn’t helping.” He swats your hand away and successfully sits up, his elbows resting on his knees as you still sat in between his legs.

You roll your eyes and put down your phone to remove your shirt, exposing a modest bra. “There, have something to look at.”

“Can you at least take off your—” He does not finish the sentence as you throw the bra at his face. Grumbling some more, he tosses it to the side.

Normally, fooling around with you isn’t so clinical. Ever since your first kiss by the pool almost two weeks ago, it’s hard to remember a time when his hands aren’t on you. Your normal trips around town are now defined by rough makeouts in alleyways and end in hurried handjobs at the backseat of his jeep when you cannot wait to get back home. Your touch is an aphrodisiac at this point, and he fears he may overdose. Maybe you should have had separate rooms, because he is starting to feel the recklessness of his libido.

Because when you asked him the previous night if he could help you learn how to give a blowjob, he nearly skips training earlier today in anticipation for what is to come.

Apparently, no one is going to come at all now with how Type A you are with something as instinctual as oral sex.

Normally he will find it cute how your nervousness can translate to overpreparing. However, he needs to figure out how to turn your brain off.

“Okay, look…” He reaches forward to touch your bare shoulder. You hesitantly rest your phone on your lap as you hear him out. “How about you lie down and I eat you out? How about that?”

“No,” you reject him immediately, like how you rejected him the dozen other times he asked, offered and even begged. “I want to do you first.”

Even if you’re both equally stubborn, Ken still tries to be patient with you. Slowly, he shifts closer, pressing himself against you as he begins to rub your arm. “But, princess, how are you going to know whether a guy is doing it right if you won’t let me go down on you?”

“I don’t think this arrangement allows for pet names,” you huff, and he rolls his eyes. “Besides, I don’t get why you want to that much.”

“Baby,” he sees your eyes twitch, “it’s because you taste good.”

You slap his knee, flushing from the obscene compliment, but you can’t say anything back.

Taking it as a good sign, he lets his hand drift a bit lower to your waist, giving you a light massage. You let out a deep sigh, and you lean forward to give him a kiss, reaching forward to clasp around his girth. Your other hand loosens its grip on your phone, and it falls off your lap and onto the ruffled navy bed covers.

He groans into your mouth deliciously with every shallow pump. Your lips are gentle, yet deliberate, and he marvels at just how good you move against him when you were a stammering amateur weeks ago.

You pull away, slowly, yet your hand still loosely holds him. Your thumb lightly swipes the slit of his head and his mouth falls open.

“You always make me feel good,” you murmur. “I want to make you feel it too. Wanna prove to you that I deserve it. You teach me so much so I want to show off what I now know.”

“God you’re so stupid.” He laughs without malice. “You don’t have to blow me to prove anything. I already told you that if the guy likes you enough it’ll always feel good.”

“You don’t like me that way though,” you point out. “So I need to prove my skills.”

“What skills?” He makes a face. “You can’t automatically expect yourself to be the blowjob expert on your first time. Just feel it out and avoid showing teeth. It isn’t something you can just practice—“

You turn away.

“…you practiced?”

“…I wanted to impress you?” You fiddle with your phone. “I studied really hard and tried to apply what I learned—“

“Woah woah, did you— did you, with other guys—“

“No! No, I never…I practiced in other ways.”

Neither of you understand why his body sags with so much relief when you say that, or why it mattered if you did anyway.

Still, he needs to pry. “So…how?”

“God I’m not telling you, you pervert.”

“Your hand is on my dick.”

You smear said hand against his face, his pre-cum wiped against his nose. He laughs and grabs your wrist with his left to keep your hand there.

“What are you doing?” You tug to get your hand back but he keeps it right in front of him.

“Just look at me.” His exhale tickles your fingertips.

And without breaking eye contact, his mouth opens a bit more, then closes softly over your index and middle fingers.

“K-Kenji?”

He responds with a gentle suckle, his lips passing your second knuckle. You feel the rough texture of his tongue run over your fingertips, pressing flat against its pads. A soft whimper leaves you, as a familiar heat unfurls from deep within. He notices the way your legs unconsciously shift closer, seeking pressure to alleviate your spreading itch. He chuckles, and the vibrations run through your body and settle just below your navel.

The entire time he continues to watch you, catching every quiver of your lip and twitch of your brow. He’s let go of your wrist at this point, yet you hardly notice, your eyes fixated on how your fingers disappear into his mouth.

You only break from your stupor when he scrapes you with his teeth.

“Ah— Kenji!” You flinch, and he chuckles as you take your fingers out his mouth.

“And that’s what I mean by no teeth, except it’ll be ten times worse down there.”

You cradle your hand to your bare chest, then slowly nod in understanding. “Okay…I see…”

“Did it feel good?” He smiles wider when you glare back. “Don’t be shy, baby, tell me.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sweetheart.”

He lives to make life harder for you. You push down your pride. “Yes, Ken, it did.”

“How good?”

“Don’t.”

He grabs your waist to pull you onto his lap, and you hardly resist. Your legs fold beneath you as his own straightens out. You stabilize yourself on his shoulders, and as you properly sat onto him, you feel his dick wedged between your abdomens. You can feel him throb against your clit, only separated by two thin layers of fabric.

His head dips down to the top of your breasts, his hair tickling your nose as he begins to lightly kiss the start of your cleavage. He stretches the band of your shorts before snapping it back against your hips. “You’re overly dressed.”

“H-Hngh… can’t take it off tonight until— ah, shit—let me taste you.” Your stubbornness will be the death of you.

“Dumb rule,” he sasses back, before he cups your right breast to push it upwards to his mouth.

You nearly cry out, the hot wet sensation on your nipple and the soft massage of your breasts are a dangerous combination. You rock your hips forward on his lap, greedy for more. His teeth grazes your nipple in response, hissing harshly when he feels the underside of his cock scratch pleasantly against your shorts.

Your head is thrown back, and your eyes are tightly closed. His hair brushes against your chin as his tongue makes its way to your left breast. He smiles against your soft flesh, rolling your hard bud around in his mouth. “Shit, you’re getting close from this?”

You sharply tug his hair, pulling him off your chest, too embarrassed to admit that you are. Yet, instead of the annoyed grunt you expected, the pain on his scalp causes Ken to let out a strangled moan. Oh, you are stunned, he’s freakier than you thought.

He grins, bringing his left hand up to cup your face. You rest your cheek in his palm and your lips part, sighing at his foolishness. He rests his thumb on your bottom lip, coaxing you to open up further. “Your turn.”

“Hm?” You hum against his touch.

“Show me.”

Maintaining eye contact as he had done, you gently kiss the tip of his thumb, until you take it whole into your mouth.

“Oh fuck…”

His right hand grasps your hips to guide you into a rocking motion on his lap. You pant as you grind against him, the head of his cock tapping against your belly button. He presses down on your tongue, as you lean more into his palm for support. As your panting slows, you begin to suck lewdly on his thumb to stop yourself from being too loud.

You are close. Shit.

And he can tell from your sloppy pace as you grind against him without any real rhythm, to the fucked out look in your eyes. The only goal bouncing in your empty brain is release.

“Can’t even talk?” He teases. His balls feel heavy and painful as you suck his thumb, and he aches to feel your mouth elsewhere. “Open wider, princess.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, showing you’re not as out of it as he expected you to be, but still you comply. His thumb slides out, replaced by his index and middle finger. Your eyes flutter closed, puckering your lips to take more of him in. You gag as his fingers nearly brush the back of your tongue, and the sound shoots straight to his dick. You haven’t even fit it fully in your mouth yet.

“Fuck…god you’re so hot. You’re also so, so stupid.”

You let out a garbled protest, still every bit of the fighter you are, yet he pushes his fingers deeper into your mouth until your front teeth nearly scrapes against the base knuckles. Your chest heaves at the sudden intrusion, yet you clench your thighs at the sides of his lap.

“Do you think I’d do this for just anyone?” He interrogates you, fully knowing you can’t respond. “You’re so smart, baby, but god can you be so fucking clueless.”

The other hand on your hips slides towards your shorts and dips low over your clit, rubbing circles over the fabric as you reach your high. Ken’s ego swells as you suck his fingers harder, your senses going overdrive from the pleasure.

“You’re getting off to this?”

His fingers are spat out of your mouth when you fall forward to rest your forehead on his shoulder, trembling from his touch. “Fuck you, Sato. Fuck you fuck you—“

“That’s it, ride it out…” He coos, kissing the side of your head as he slips his hand into your shorts to directly stroke you through your orgasm. He lightly pinches your bud. His other hand pats your hair soothingly. “You can bite, I don’t mind.”

You sob as your teeth bluntly sinks into his shoulder, and he groans from the pain and the dampness that coats his fingers. His dick weeps against your stomach from neglect.

You raise your head as he cleans his fingers with his mouth, groaning at your taste. “Oh god—” he curses even if this is far from the first time he has had a sample of you.

“Don’t…be dramatic,” your words are slightly slurred as you calm down from your high.

He kisses you in response, his neediness spilling out and his grip digging into your waist. He swallows your gasp as he guides you down to the mattress, caging you down with his body. “Please…” He murmurs against your lips when his thumbs hook on the band of your shorts.

He begins to pull it down by an inch.

You roughly push him away by his shoulders, appalled. “Motherfucker, you’ve been trying to distract me.”

“And I was so close too,” he grumbles when you catch him, and he tries to lean back in but you hold him at arm's length, your hands splayed against his defined pectorals. “You get all ditzy when you’re in it.”

“No.”

“Fuck, please just a little taste…” He lifts one hand from your shorts to cup your mound, your wetness having seeped through the cotton. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

You kick him lightly on the shin in response, and he rolls his eyes. You push him off of you, and he does not resist, but he still pulls you close to his side as you sit up on the bed. His hand tries to dip once more into your shorts but you stop it just as it tries to pass your navel. “I just came.”

“That’s even better.”

You shove him back down onto the bed, trying to resume your position from the start of the night. His dick blooms an angry red now, frustrated from being ignored for so long. “That looks like it hurts,” you comment as you settle in between his legs again.

“It does,” he confirms, pushing himself up by his arms as he lays bare, all for you.

You have always been intimidated by his length, and every time you hold it you worry at the back of your mind just how on earth it would even fit if you two ever cross that point. Of course you’ve never told Ken— he doesn’t need to know you’ve deeply thought about how he might feel inside you, or how the curve of his dick may pulse against your walls.

“Are you just going to stare at it?” He snaps you out of your thoughts. Ken tilts his head to the side, a bored look on his face.

Flustered, you shake your head immediately. “I-I just need a moment to…”

“You know, there’s a way to ease your nerves.”

“Really? What is it?”

“So the first step involves my tongue against your—“

“Ken. I’ll smother you in your sleep.”

“You know how many girls would kill for their boyfriends to go down on them?” He continues.

“Well you’re not my boyfriend.”

“Exactly, because boyfriends don’t go down on you. And with your type for guys I definitely don’t think any of them would be as generous as me right now,” he says as if it is fact. He’s conceited, but wouldn’t you also be if you were in his position?

Think about it. No one else can give you as good of a first time as he can, because no one knows you like he does. He pities you, really. Because no other guy would be as patient and careful as he is with you. They won’t take the time to hold you the way he does, to feel for what you like and push your comfort zone. No, all other boys just care about getting their dick wet, and they won’t even look half as good as him. You’re too pretty to settle for anyone less than himself. Six foot and still growing. A wide chest, slim waist. And he knows you know he’s a lot bigger than average. He has visible abs for god’s sake, does that mean nothing to you? It’s terrible but he is such a good, giving best friend. He could’ve left you alone to kiss mediocre boys and eventually marry a mediocre man, most likely someone your parents picked out for you. And you’ll never know the touch of what you deserve. He’s doing this for you. So at least when you go on to pursue whoever can give you that mediocre love, you’ll always know there’s someone better out there. It’s cruel to curse you to a perpetual state of wanting, but he can’t help it. You deserve the world, and you need to feel what it’s like to have it all, even if you may never find what you had with him ever again in someone else.

And Ken wishes he can say all that to you, but he knows you’ll just bash him on the head for even implying that you can’t get any better than him. Except he won’t even be implying. You just don’t get it— he can’t imagine anyone being good enough for you.

Unaware of his internal monologue, you search around for your phone. “Okay, but let me run through my notes again—”

You reach for it when you spot it close to his foot, but he reaches for it faster. He grabs your phone and flings it towards the sofa.

“Ken what the hell—”

He pulls you back between his legs, stopping you from chasing after it. “Don’t.”

“You could’ve broke my screen!” You nearly shout even if your phone is safe amongst the sofa pillows.

“I’m a varsity baseball player. You think I don’t know how to aim?”

“I can’t believe you—”

“Do you want to suck my dick or not?”

“I do!” You say weakly. You really do.

“Then you need to get it in your head that you’re being an idiot.”

You try to slap him but he grabs your wrist.

“Not every guy is blessed to have a pretty girl willing to even touch them, and if it’s you? You’re practically doing charity. All you have to do is bat your eyes and drool a bit and they’ll come before your lips even touch the tip.”

You’re…oddly reassured.

“Sweetheart,” he continues, sarcastic. “Why do you think we’ve been messing around this entire time?”

You’re confused, but answer anyway. “Because you’re helping me learn how to—”

“Wrong.” He cuts you off. “We don’t have to makeout all the time to teach you how to do it.”

You think for a moment. “Practice?”

“We cuddle.”

“Okay, that doesn’t mean anything—”

“Exactly. It doesn’t mean anything. So why are you trying to tackle this like I’m grading you?” He gets you there.

You actually don’t know what there is to be nervous about. And why are you giving him the satisfaction that he does make you nervous?

“Listen, we’re not dating, and I’m mature enough to admit that this ‘teach ‘me’ thing is just an excuse. You like this. I like this. We’re friends who make each other feel good and there’s nothing weird about it.”

His grip loosens on your wrist, but holds it just the same.

Your shoulders slump, realization sinking in. Kenji is right.

He presses your hand onto his chest, and gently, he drags it downwards. You swallow, still scared, but you let him take charge. “I’ll talk you through it,” he murmurs. “So don’t think.”

You feel him purposely brush your fingers against his toned core, just to let you feel how deep the ridges are. You snort, and give him a look to say ‘really?’ Arrogant prick. Show-off.

He ignores you, and soon, he guides your hands to touch the pulsing base of his cock. “Gently,” he whispers, “It hurts a bit now, since all your stalling gave me blue balls.”

“That’s not a real thing,” you scoff, but you soon lower yourself down with your face a few inches from his tip.

“I thought I’m the one teaching you. Your only job right now is to listen.”

“Did you shave?” You giggle, not listening at all as your other hand gently cups his balls. You feel his freshly-shaven stubble.

He hisses at your touch, and nearly bucks into your face, but he steels himself with his waning self-control. “Shut up. I thought it’ll make you more comfortable.”

“Is that why you were nearly late to practice today? I thought you just needed an extra long shower after what we did this morning.” You give him shallow strokes down his length, light enough to ease the blood pressure that built up inside.

“Just…if you want to tease a guy…try licking around at the base first,” He changes the subject, entering his teaching mode.

“Hm…” You nod in understanding, ducking your head down lower just for him and slowing the shallow pumps of your hand.

Tentatively, you lick the bottom of his base, tasting the salty tartness of his sweat. You close your eyes to gather a sense of courage, and soon, you let go of your shame and carefully begin to give him long, broad strokes highlighted by the roughness of your tongue.

You hear a strangled noise from above but you paid him no mind, getting lost in his flavor. The masculine musk clouds your judgment and you bump your nose against his pubic bone. With one hand still cupping him, you brought your lips down towards his balls, planting an open-mouthed kiss on them before carefully putting them in your mouth to suck.

You felt him jolt beneath you, your name ringing out to the room. “Oh, fuck—“

His fingers brush against your cheekbone when he rushes to grip his legs. His nails dig into his skin while you remain oblivious to his waning self-control. Because who taught you that? Not him.

His mouth is locked open. His chest rises and falls as he tries to maintain a semblance of sanity. Ken is so pent up right now, he’s worried he won’t be able to hold himself back from releasing prematurely.

But here you are— dick resting on half of your face, as if measuring your head against it, with your mouth on his balls and your sultry eyes lazily blinking open.

You whine when he hastily pushes your face off of him, and his dick twitches from the sound.

“Don’t look at me like that,” his voice is hoarse.

“Was it bad?” You ask, confused as to why he suddenly made you stop.

“I-It’s okay. It was good.” He’s going to blow any minute now. “I…I need you to take it slow.”

“Okay,” you nod, leaning back down.

“You can, uh, kiss up the shaft from the base,” he struggles to remember how to talk. “Then when you get to the tip—“

You push your head close to his crotch before he can say anything more, and he nearly keens when your longue laps at his protruding vein, following it up to his tip. Your head is spinning, eager to please and to draw out even more sounds from his throat.

You let a puff of hot air hit his angry head. You look up for assurance.

His cheeks are dusted with a light pink, eyes unfocused, but he still manages a weak nod. “Yeah…yeah, just spit on it.”

You gather your saliva in your mouth, and let it dribble on his cock. He curses, louder, and you’re glad that the Satos are rich enough to afford thick walls.

Because when your lips finally envelope his head he loses his filter.

“Shiiit….Baby that’s it, just take it—ah— take it slow… Remember to breathe through your nose, yeah? Yeah— oh fuck babe…”

You struggle to pay attention to his words, but you slacken your jaw to accommodate his size and try to breathe as he said. You are getting dizzy from how full your mouth is. You rub your own thighs together, your brain swimming with the thought of this inside you, and you clench over nothing.

Mindful of your teeth, you try to move a bit further down, greedy to see how much more you can accommodate. He notices, and immediately his hands reach for the sides of your head to stop you. “D-don’t push it…” he slurs. “You’ll choke.”

Your eyelashes flutter, and you feel tears forming at the corners of your eyes. You don’t mind that at all.

Still, you’re realistic with yourself. You can’t make it to half of his length without gagging, and you feel him twitch in your mouth when you do. He likes it when you’re noisy.

You grab his hips to hold him down, aware of how he’s struggling not to buck up into your mouth and fuck your face. His fingers massage your scalp as a thank you for the added leverage.

“Does your jaw hurt, princess?” He reaches for the hinges of your jaw. His thumbs press down and lightly massaging your face. “Fuck— I can tell by that dumb, pretty look on your face that your brain s’all empty.”

You hollow out your cheeks, and your tears fall as you bob your head up and down dutifully. He wipes your tears as they slide down your cheek, cooing about how cute you look.

“You’re so good to me.” He brushes your hair out of your eyes. “You like sucking dick this much, huh, girl? — Oh god, that’s it. Drool some more for me sweetie… You’re a natural. Wouldn’t have guessed from how much you hate shutting up.”

You let your bottom teeth poke out slightly, and he pulls your hair as a warning. “Hey, ah-ah, behave.”

Your tongue is placed flat against the bottom of his cock, warm against his pulse. He lets out a relieved sigh, patting your cheek condescendingly. He can’t help but want to be a little mean to you. “See, baby? Don’t even need me to tell ya what to do. You lying about being shy? Only wanted to hear me say how much I like you?”

It’s so embarrassing how much you needed him to say more.

His grunts grow staggered, and his breathing picks up. He tugs harder on your hair as he gets closer to his release. The burn on your scalp feels so good when you’re deprived of oxygen.

“I-I’m…gonna…” He tries to properly warn you. “Don’t swallow. You’re not ready.”

He tries to pull your head off of him but you’re stubborn, sucking down even harder. You hate it when he tells you not to do something.

He curses out your name. “Fuck, I’m being serious, don’t—”

You flinch at the hot release that hits the back of your throat, and you sputter around his cock as the amount quickly overwhelms you. It leaks out the corners, dripping down his length and onto the sheets.

He wishes he can take a picture of your fucked out, tear-stained face. You look up, his cum still on your lips when you take your mouth off him. “That good?”

God, you’ll be the death of him.

A/N: hi i hope this wasnt awkward it's my first time publishing anything explicit fsdihodfs.

this was about to be a 15k word chapter with three acts: bedroom, gas station, first time— they all take place one after the other. the chapter wouldve been called "friends who run a marathon" bc it was just marathon sex lmao i wanted to convey that the two kind of fall into this hedonistic routine That is Actually Kind of Bad for them! still...15k words of you two fooling around like who wants to read that in one go (i did. i rlly did. i rlly didnt wanna split this chapter but it narratively makes sense fsdiohdfs)

i was starting to feel bad about how long it will take me to update if i stuck w the original plan so I decided to split the chapter into two and reserve the gas station and first time for chapter 9! next chapter we will go back to the main timeline. i dont want to write them too much in their teen years bc they are a lot crazier when theyre young adults, which is why i wanted to cram it all in one long chapter.

#kenji sato smut #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x you #ken sato x reader #cross posted on ao3 #first time bj

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cuips-not-cute · 9 months ago

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"What do you wanna do for this one?" Steve asks, gently probing. Eddie's picking up and examining every item on his desk, setting each down with a little huff.

He's restless. Twitchy. It makes Steve want to tie him up so he stops moving around so much, makes him want to fuck him til he's gone all sweet.

"Um," Eddie says, turning a Little League trophy around in his hand. "I'll get back to you on that."

He moves to Steve's closet next. Pulls the doors open with a dramatic sigh.

"Eddie?"

"One second."

Eddie's disappeared completely. Walked right out the door and down the hall.

"Eddie!"

Steve rushes after him, spies him rooting around the bathroom sink.

"Ah-ha!" Eddie exclaims, reaching up on his very tip toes to grab something from the shelf above the mirror. He smacks his lips to the thing once he's got it, presenting his finding to Steve.

"A hairbrush?"

"Mhm." Eddie lays it delicately in his palm, curling his fingers around the handle. "This is what I wanna do."

"You want me to...brush your hair?"

Steve's amenable. Eddie's got very nice hair. He just doesn't know how this counts as a tape.

"No," Eddie says, and his eyes have gone all shiny, his voice a little breathless. Steve's pretty sure he get whatever he wants doing this.

"Stevie, I want you to spank me."

"Oh," says Steve, dumbfounded. "Yeah, uh. Okay."

Eddie's hand finds his curled fingers over the hairbrush. He starts to take it back.

"You don't have to," Eddie's saying, tugging sightly. "Like, I'll survive—"

Steve yanks the hairbrush away from Eddie's fumbling grip. Holds it with both of his up by his face.

"No, dude. I'm just thinking."

"Okay," Eddie breathes. It sounds like a whine. He's jammed his hands in his pockets, taken a big step away from Steve.

Steve looks at the brush in his hand. It's the one he uses after showers. It's large and round and plastic, and the bristles are full of his own hair.

He cleans it. Tosses the ball of hair lint in the trash can behind Eddie. Smacks the back of it against his palm.

It stings.

"You sure you'd like this?" Steve asks, flipping the thing experimentally. "It kinda hurts."

Eddie laughs, startled. "Yeah, man, that's like, the point."

"...right."

He smacks his palm again. Eddie's pupils dilate, his mouth goes slack.

And oh, Steve likes that.

from ch6 of my fic, blinking red light❤️

#st #steddie #steddie fic #brl #blinking red light #cuips writes #sub eddie munson #bottom eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #dom steve harrington #top steve harrington #soft dom steve harrington

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viktoriaashleyyx · 6 months ago

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This is a pro Tamlin, anti Rhysand self insert revenge fic. All characters belong to SJM, but she wasn't treating them right. Tam x reader, Tam x Rhysands Sister (OC), First person narrative. This will also reference Elucien and Neris in the future but we aren't there yet. Contains slight violence, poisons, broken bones. Also profanity. I'm not sure what else to tw if I miss something let me know. This is my first fic. I honestly don't know how to find word count, but it's roughly 4 pages on word docs. Criticism welcome. Rhysands Sister is back and she's pissed. Rhysand gets his ass whooped and Tamlin gets shown love. Enjoy.

Ch 2. Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10

Tarquin BC

Chapter 1:

I crash landed on a stone surface. A balcony of sorts? It was well built if it was, considering how long I've been falling, I'm shocked I didn't crash right through it. I know now that making a deal with the gods is a lot like making a deal with a damn djin.

“Who goes there??” A booming male voice barked. I could hear swords drawn. Fuck where am I? My ears were still ringing, vision blurred, and chest heavy from the impact. I blinked my eyes open to find a winged male looming over me. Another illyrian? Have I finally made it home? Fuck, then that means I am in the night court. Damnit, 7 fucking courts in Prythia and I just happen to land here. At my brother's court.

This ones expression shifted from threatening to complete shock as his gaze landed on my eyes. “Sky?”

At my brother's court and at his fucking house, Freya has a sick sense of humor. I slowly sat up, ignoring the hand the illyrian extended to me.

“Your wing!” He gasped. So thats what that throbbing pain was. My wing seemed to have been snapped in the fall. “You need a healer, go get Madja” he commanded the other brute.

“Don't bother” I dismissed, standing up slowly. I pulled a small glass vial out of my pocket, a healing potion, I always kept a few on hand, never know when you're gonna need it. I downed the bitter red liquid as I've done a thousand times and grabbed the dagger off my hip. I put the handle in my mouth and bit down on it as I grabbed my own wing and straightened out the bone. I held it right for about a minute until the potion worked its magic. It hurt like crazy but I was careful not to show these idiots, the fear and shock on their faces was satisfying if I am being honest.

“I'm guessing you are Azriel and Cassian, though I can't tell which is which” I admitted, trying to seem just polite enough to leave.

The one next to me spoke first “I'm Azriel, he's Cassian” okay, Azriel short hair, Cassian long hair “this is Mor and Amren and she is Feyre, High Lady of the Night Court”

“So my brother is dead?” I had hoped my excitement would come off as concern.

“No, no, they rule together, as equals” Cassian spoke

“Got it” this conversation is dragging. I need to leave.

“It's so nice to meet Rhysands sister, we thought you were dead, I'd heard so much about you” Feyre gushed, “Rhys is out on important business at the moment but he should be back soon.” I had no use or interest in this small talk.

“How old are you?” I looked at her as if to study the young thing in front of me. I was never good at pleasantries. I spent a good while in isolation and I tend to just blurt out the questions on my mind.

“I am 21” Feyre replied sharply, yep I angered her with my lack of class.

“Ew, 21 years? Ugh, my brother always did like them unreasonably young.” I'm just gonna keep going with it, hopefully she'll throw me out.

“My age is not a disability” Feyre snapped.

“It's adorable that you think that.” I'm in too deep. Oops. “Anyway, I am sorry I crashed into your home, I had little control, but I would like to leave now.”

“You will apologize and bow to your high lady.” Cassian growled. Azriel stepped in front of the door.

“She is not my high lady, I am not a citizen of your court, in fact, I am starting to feel like a prisoner.” It's not lost on me that I have bore the title of Queen, multiple times. In both cases I have dismantled the monarchy entirely, setting up a system in which the people vote on who leads them. Her title meant nothing to me. I bow to those deserving, not the one who rely solely on birthright. But she doesn't need to know this. I have more important things on my mind than to argue with a child "I will request one more time, you move and allow me to leave.”

“Or what?” Azriel snapped. Unmoving.

I did not want to show this much of my hand just yet, knowing this magic is not native to Prythia. But, if they want to twist my arm, so be it. A swirling purple circle opened up under me and I fell though, closing it quickly behind me. Portals were my favorite magic to do, in more cases than once it ensured my freedom.

Landing softly on my feet, I took in my surroundings. Cool air, rolling green hills, and the sounds of birds chirping in the distance, the Spring court. I was finally home. I eventually spotted the manor I spent so much of my time at as a child. Mother didn't make me train with the illyrians as she did my brother because she feared the treatment I would receive, also by the time I came along she had befriended the ladies of the other courts. We would spend weeks here at times, the children would play together and the mothers would discuss adult things we didn't care about. One of those things being alliances, and what better way to encourage an alliance between Spring and Night than by an arranged marriage.

I didn't mind them encouraging me to play with the cute blonde shapeshifter. He was kind and silly and only a couple years older than me. The other kids, mainly Autumn boys, were rough and volatile, and I just had no interest in what they considered fun. When I would get flustered by my wings knocking things over and getting in the way, the youngest Spring boy would remind me how beautiful they were, or how powerful they made me. The few times he would get a chance to practice his fiddle, I would dance and twirl, even if it was just the arpeggios. He was the 3rd born, and I the second and a girl, they didn't expect either of us to become High lord.

The manor was about a mile away, I shot up another portal to the door, I was tired after all and, if I'm being honest, a little excited to be back.

When I reached the door it was broken in half and wide open. I creeped inside, cautiously. It looked to be abandoned. Dirt and dust coated the walls and floors, priceless artifacts shattered and books thrown from the shelves. I noticed claw marks in the furniture. “Please just be alive, after everything, I can’t be too late.” I whispered to myself. My heart sank as I looked around.

Further into the dilapidated manor, I heard muffled voices coming from the kitchen. “Get out.” a tired weak growl. I ran to the entrance and just as I rounded the corner I saw my brother's boot kick in the chest of.. Tamlin. He began spitting up blood.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” I hissed at my brother.

Rhysand whipped around towards me, Tamlin looked up from the floor, eyes wide.

“You're alive??” Rhysand darted towards me and I shoved him to the ground, rushing to Tamlins side. I knelt down beside him, held his head up from where he laid on the floor and pulled another glass vial out of my pocket.

“It'll be bitter but swallow” I commanded gently. He didn't argue, he took the healing potion and I kissed his forehead as I laid him back down gently to address my brother.

I stood tall. Nothing but pure rage in my violet eyes toward my brother. I always hated how much we looked alike. “THIS is the ‘important business’ you told your wife you had to take care of?”

“I thought he killed you, he hurt my mate.” Rhysand admitted, no remorse.

“And I finally make it back home after 300 years in exile to find you kicking mine” I state through gritted teeth.

Rhysands eyes narrowed “your what?” It was obvious he wanted me to retract my statement, not going to happen. I didn't waste my time away, I knew I was more powerful than all of Prythia, I had to be, in case I had returned to Amarantha still terrorizing the place.

“You heard me.” I maintained his gaze. In a split second he lunged for me and I reached my hand out into the small portal that appeared to my side. I grabbed one of the curved blades I was gifted by the warriors I previously trained with. These blades were specifically enchanted to drip poisons into the wounds they create. This one? Bloodbane, or as Prythians call it, “Faebane.” I slashed him across the face in a controlled move, just enough to leave a scar and allow the poison to sink in.

He screamed in pain and looked back up at me. My eyes fell entirely black and cracks formed across my face as I spit my curse at him, lifting up his chin with my sword to make him look me in the eye “IF YOU, OR ANY OF YOUR LACKEYS, ENTER THE SPRING COURT BORDERS AGAIN, ALL OF THE AIR WILL BE DRAWN FROM YOUR LUNGS, AND IF YOU CANNOT GET OUT BEFORE YOU PASS OUT WE WILL FEED YOUR BODIES TO THE PIGS.” I relaxed, my face returning to normal. “Now get out.” A portal opened below him and he fell, leaving him only halfway up the steps to the House of Wind.

I turned my attention back to Tamlin, he had sat up, the healing potion having done its job, looking up at me with a million different emotions on his face, shock, fear, concern, confusion and relief. I sat down next to him, draping my legs over his. He embraced me like I was going to disappear any minute. “You're alive. Or I am dead, I do not care as long as I have you in my arms again.” he sighed as we just sat there on the floor.

I awoke the daemati powers I hardly used as I pressed my forehead to his. A gentle knock on the walls of his mind, and he allowed me in. I shared the memories I held dear for all these years, of us playing in the fields of Spring, the days he would spend with me in the gallery his mother gifted me, watching me paint, the mischief we would get into and the giggles we would share. His face relaxed into a soft smile as I kissed his cheek.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

@ladythornofrivia asked to be tagged❤️

#pro tamlin #anti rhysand #tamlin x reader #tamlin x oc #my first fic yay!#tamlin fanfiction #rhysands sister #tw violence

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httpscomexe · 4 months ago

Text

Runaway 5

Summary: Logan reaches his breaking point when he finds out Scott touched you

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Logan Howlett x Hybrid!Reader

Warnings: (Individual warnings per chapter) This is a dark chapter. Language, blood, violence. This will be a non-con fic starting in future chapters.

Word Count: 4419 (Find all chapters here) CH6

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again.

P.P.S I mean it, this is going to be very violent.

“Good Morning sugar glider.”

“Wade, that is a completely different animal.” You giggle, pouring yourself a glass of lemonade that Logan had bought from the store for you, who, by the way, was currently snoring like a pig on Wade's couch, a fluffy pinkie pie blanket laying over him.

“Still cute…” He mumbles, one side of his lips quirking up as he stays quiet enough so even Logan's dreams can’t hear him speaking to you.

“Wade hush, you know Logan doesn’t like it when you flirt…” You whisper, taking a big sip from your glass and scrunching your nose at the sour taste.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Then it shouldn’t bother him.”

“Wade, he just cares…” You mumble, and Logan stretches on the couch, sitting up, and immediately looking down at his body, searching for you, but looking behind him when he can’t find you.

“Bambi?” He groans as he sits up, his age showing. You skip over to him like an excited child waiting for their birthday present, grabbing your hairbrush from the table.

“Goodmornin Logan!” You say excitedly, sitting on your knees and heels next to him on the couch.

“Good morning Bambi…” He yawns a little, draping his arms over the back of the couch as you wiggle the hairbrush in front of him.

“Well.” Wade says from the kitchen, making your ear twitch as you look back at him. “I have some important business to tend to…” You watch as he shoves a cupcake from God knows where into his mouth. “So, you and your guard dog get to watch the house. I’d say Al could, but you know. She isn’t the best at watching.”

“I can hear you, you fucking asshole!”

“She does a great job at listening though.”

“Where are you going?” You wonder, and you feel Logan's hand suddenly resting on your thigh.

“Just some uh… unfinished business. I’ll be back tonight.” He nods at Logan, sort of in a ‘calm the fuck down’ way. You turn back around to look at Logan, and his eyes drift down to you, his mouth closing as if mid sentence, and you grip the hair brush a little tighter in your palm.

“Okay…” You look back at Wade, who’s patting himself for something. “Well we’ll see you later then… Bye Wade…” You curl up a little against Logan, and he tries to take the hairbrush from you, but you snatch your hand away and give him an angry look, making his eyebrows quirk, a smirk rising to his face that tells you he’s unimpressed.

“Bye you two…” He passes by you two on the couch and makes his way for the door, swinging it open before closing it behind him.

“Let me see the brush honey.”

“No.” You shoot back almost immediately and you watch as his chest moves up and down with a deep breath. “Why’re you so mean to Wade?”

“I’m anasshole to everyone, Bambi.”

“Especially Wade.”

“Just hand me the brush, we can talk about this later.” He holds his hand out again, and you hand it to him, a frown on your face. “Come on, down.” He points at the floor between his legs, and you get down between them, his hands automatically moving over your hair with the brush gliding through your tangles.

“Why can’t we just talk about it now?”

“Baby, I just woke up.” You hear a growl come from the back of his throat.

“So did I, but I wanna hear about it.”

“Well that’s just too bad.”

“Logan-”

“No.”

“Logan I- Ow!” His hand suddenly grips onto a bundle of your hair and he pulls it, making you follow the pain to sit up more on your knees, your back leaning further against the couch between his legs and you look at him as he leans forward.

“I said no. Did you forget what no means?” He growls, gripping your hair tighter when you don’t answer. “I asked a fucking question.”

“Yes… Wait. No.” You whimper, tears brimming your eyes as your fingers wrap around his wrist, trying to urge him to let go.

“Then what part of it do you not understand?” He moves his hand to wrap more around your hair, pulling even harder, and it felt like your scalp would be bleeding.

“I’m sorry-” Your voice shakes, fingers now clawing at his wrist. “Please, I won’t ask again…” You start to cry, hiccuping a little.

“If you ask again, I’m going to do much worse than this…” He warns, letting you back down, and loosening his grip on your hair, but he keeps holding it, knowing you would try to crawl away.

“M’sorry…” You whisper, and you feel the brush move through your hair again, his hand moving away from your re-tangled locks, some tears running down your cheeks.

“Don’t do it again…” He growls quietly, and Wade's bedroom door opens before Althea comes out and heads straight for the kitchen fridge, feeling around in the back of it.

“Where the fuck are my cupcakes? I bought two…”

You were lucky. Getting out of the house to hang out with Ororo. She had stopped by the house and knocked on the door just before Logan went to the bathroom to take a shower, and she wondered if you’d be able to hang out, just you and her since Jean canceled on her, which she had apparently expected.

“I mean yea, if it’s just you.” Logan told her, looking back at you with a nod of approval, followed by you quickly tying on your shoes and springing to your feet with a big smile on your face to move next to Ororo.

“I’ll have her back around when the mall closes.” She promised, and you gave Logan a big hug before following her to her car, hopping in the passenger seat, then you watched cars fly by on the way to the mall.

“Alright, see anything you liked?” Ororo comes up to you, some sweaters in her hands that she planned on buying as she watches you look at some clothes.

“No…”

“You’re being quiet.” She chuckles, gently flicking your nose.

“Sorry, usually Logan goes shopping for me, I’m not used to it.”

“Well, are there any clothes you’ve been wanting that Logan won’t get for you?” She walks backwards for a moment, urging you to follow her before turning around to walk straight to the counter and buy her arms full of clothing.

“No… I haven’t been here.”

“Jesus, that asshole keeps you locked up like a puppy in kennel training.” She mumbles, smiling at the cashier as he rings up her items.

“He’s not an asshole…”

“Oh yes he is Bambi.” She takes out her wallet to pay. “Are you hungry?” She turns to look at you as she hands her card to the man behind the counter.

“A little.” She takes her card back as the machine beeps, and she takes her bags.

“Well, let's go find the food court.” She walks ahead of you, and you do a little jog to make it back to her side, your eyes scanning the different people in the mall.

It made you a little self conscious, maybe even a little uncomfortable. The looks you got from normal people. Looking down on you for the big deer ears on the sides of your head and the tip of the deer tail that was peeking out of the sweater you’d stolen from Logan's clothes.

You were getting weird looks from children for fucks sake, and it only made you feel worse as you stayed close to Ororos side.

“Hey, you alright Bambi?” She wonders,wrapping her arm around your shoulder, and she follows your awkward gaze, your arms crossed embarrassingly over your stomach.

“I don’t like being here.”

“Hey, this isn’t a mutant free space, it says mutants are allowed here.”

“Yea, but everyone still stares…”

“I’d stare too.” She pauses, and you look up at her. “You’re unique. It’s not often you see a hybrid in public.” She tells you, holding you closer. “Especially one that's considered a mammal. Plus, you’re with me, so people know you’re not a bad one. Also did I mention.” She leads you into the food court, the smell of pretzels and pizza smacking you in the face. “Hybrids, they aren’t nearly as hated as mutants.” She shrugs, leading you to one of the little sandwich stands. “And that’s because they’re cute.” She boops your nose, letting go of your shoulders, and you both stand in the line.

“They are very cute.” Your ear twitches at the familiar voice, and her arm wraps around your shoulder. “Didn’t know you’d be here.” Jean smiles down at you.

“You canceled?” Ororo looks over at her.

“Yea, then I canceled what I canceled for and your location said you were here anyways. Guess you replaced me pretty easily, huh?” She jokes, and you look down at her other hand to see she was attached to Scott, and he nods at you as a hi.

“Did I hurt your feelings? I hope I did.” Ororo teases, and Jean lets go of both you and Scott to stand on the other side of Ororo, Scott moving a little closer to you, and the line only moves forward by a few people. Why was it so busy in the sandwich line of all lines?

“Never thought I’d see you away from Logan.” Scott tells you, quiet enough so the other two girls couldn’t hear your conversation.

“Well, we're not glued together.”

“Oh I know, he just likes to keep you in his pocket is all…” You open your mouth to argue back, but he was right. “Mhm, that’s what I thought.” His hand reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m not arguing with that…”

“On my side? Or his side.”

“I’m definitely not taking sides.” You chuckle a little, and he shrugs, a smile forming on his lips.

“Scared to take mine?”

“Scared to leave his…” You admit, and he tilts his head.

“Are you okay…?”

“What do you guys think?” Jean suddenly interrupts, looking over Ororo to find both of your eyes. “Or were you not listening?”

“We weren’t listening.” You both say at once.

“Do you guys wanna go to the spa? Cause if not you can both go look around the mall and hang out while me and Ororo do.” She asks, and Ororo nudges her a little.

“Yea I don’t wanna go to a spa.” Your tail tucks a little, the last thing you wanted was some random person touching you.

“And obviously I don’t” Scott shrugs, and you all finally make it to the front of the line.

“What can I get for you four?” Some teenager asks, looking at Jean first.

“Can I get the turkey special?”

“And for me the ham special.”

“I'll take a chicken.” Scott answers last, and you don’t say anything.

“Bambi, what do you like?” Jean asks you, and you stare at the menu.

“She’ll have a Cubano, I think she’d love that.” Scott tells the kid, and you internally thank him.

“Alright, that's one turkey special, one ham special, a chicken, and then one Cubano?” Ororo nods, and she takes out her wallet again, sticking the card in the paying machine and taking it back out when it beeps, then she hands the card to you.

“Here, you and Scott go have some fun and explore while Jean and I go to the spa once we get the sandwiches.” You take the card, mouthing a thank you before putting it in the back of your phone and the four of you step aside.

Once the sandwiches are ready, Jean and Ororo say bye before heading to the spa, Scott leading you in a different direction. You knew Logan wouldn’t be happy if he knew Scott was there, that he would be absolutely pissed if he knew. But you also didn’t want the three of them to know that. They were already worried about his possessiveness as is, and the last thing you wanted was him keeping you from hanging out with them at all. He’d be mad at Ororo too, thinking that she lied to him.

Again…

“So, what do you wanna check out first?” Scott wonders, making it his turn to wrap his arm around your shoulders.

“Um… I don’t know what there is.”

“Well, I could show you one of the dress stores, maybe you could try some on for me?” He offers, bringing his hand down to take yours after looking back to make sure Jean was gone. You look down at your hands, and your heart skips a beat. It felt as if Logan was watching you, like the second your hands touched, some invisible fucking flame just went through your body and told you to fucking sock Scott in the face. But you liked Scott, he was trying to include you, trying to make you feel special.

“Sure!” You try to smile, trying to seem excited and not at all cracked out nervous.

“Awesome, I’m just gonna head to the restroom, then I’ll get back to you, okay?” He lets go of your hand as you nod, and he walks into one of the restrooms that come up. Another man enters almost immediately after him with a covering of his head, and your ears twitch.

He smelled familiar.

Of course he wasn’t gonna let you go to the mall with Ororo without some sort of protection. Aka, him watching over you.

“Now where are you going? You’re supposed to be helping with this.” Althea waves over at the half finished desk, some screws in the wrong holes.

“I know.” He growls out, and Althea ‘looks’ at him (the wall) through her blind glasses at his tone. “I just want to check on Bambi.”

“Let the damned girl enjoy herself for once damnit.” She talks to the wall as Logan throws on his thick flannel, grabbing his truck's keys from the coffee table.

“She won’t even know I’m there Althea.” He growls again, then tosses the door open to leave, the sound of some wood falling to the floor the last he hears as Althea calls out ‘motherfucker.’

He was watching you. A hat pulled low over his head. Yea, he was a little pissed when Jean and Scott suddenly showed up, but he calmed down as he heard the surprise in Ororos voice. She didn’t expect Jean to still suddenly show up. And she definitely didn’t expect Scott.

He watched as Scott ordered for you, a smile being brought on your face that made him want to strangle you both at the same time. You shouldn’t be able to smile at anyone that way except him. Then he stood up as you all separated, you moving with Scott.

Then he touched you.

He put his fucking arm around you, and Logan felt his rage run through him like a freight train, his fists clenching at his sides, claws coming out just a little before going back into his skin. If he had stared any harder, his veins would be popping out of his neck.

He fucking touched you.

And it wasn’t just his arm around your shoulders. No.

He fucking grabbed your hand.

And you didn’t do anything about it.

He was fucking pissed.

He walks past you, making sure the hat stays covering his face to stay unrecognized as he swings open the bathroom door, letting it close behind him as he moves to the side, letting another man leave the bathroom. Leaving the two of them alone…

The clink of metal and the sound of the AC is the only thing that can be heard in the bathroom as Logan waits for Scott to leave the stall. And once he does, he immediately freezes, watching as Logan takes the hat off his head, setting it down on a sink.

“Howlett?” Scotts voice shakes a little. Logan hadn’t even done anything yet, but just him being there was enough to send waves of fear through his body for some reason, prickles of goosebumps shooting through his arms. If he was a dog, he was sure the hair on the back of his neck would be standing up.

“Scott…” He growls, slowly stalking towards him, and Scott only takes steps back, his hands instinctively being thrown up in defense.

“Wanna fucking explain that shit?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me…” His claws suddenly shoot out, his fists clenching tight as his nails dig into his skin.

“I didn’t-”

Logan lunges forward, his claws pointing out in front of him, but they just stab into the wood of the thin stall doors. Scott was fast enough to close it and lock it.

“Open the fucking door!” He growls out, ripping the metal extensions out of the stall before banging the side of his fist on the flat surface, the entire wall of stalls shaking with the force.

“Calm the fuck down!”

“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down!” He growls back, kicking at the stall and the hinges creak a little, the wall vibrating again, threatening to fall over.

Meanwhile, you were outside, your ears perking up at the sound of yelling and banging, frozen in place as you debated running in there.

“Open this fucking stall door RIGHT now!” Logan's fist clenched back down at his sides. “Or I swear on your motherfucking life I will tear this cheap piece of shit of it’s hinges and my fucking claws will find their way into your fucking throat…-” He growls out, some spit coming out of his mouth and landing on the door in front of him.

“I’m not fucking coming out after you just-”

That was all he needed to say. Logan suddenly punches the door, hard, pounding a hole through the cheap wood before punching the other side as well, making two holes big enough for him to reach through them and tear at the door, Scott taking the time he’s distracted to hop over the stall, using the urinal as a ladder to get over the side of it.

Logan grips the sides of the stall with his fists, using barely a little of his fueled up adrenaline to rip the door off more than just the hinges, the wood stuck in the tile floor ripping out a little. He looks inside of the stall after throwing the door aside, watching as it crumples off parts of the tile wall and they clatter to the ground.

Scott knew it would be pointless to fight back, considering Logan would just heal right back up.

“Where the fuck did you go you fucking pussy?” Logan moves one stall to the right, Scott being quiet as he locks the stall to the left of the destroyed one, before crawling over the wall again, slowly making his way further and further to the right. But all he was doing was pumping Logan full of more anger. He was sure to do more than just hurt Scott at this point.

He swings open all of the stalls to the left, some of them flying off their hinges as he kicks them open before he storms over to the ones on the right.

“I’m not playing these fucking games…” He mumbles, going into one of the stalls with a door and closing it, locking it behind him.

Then he kicks at the wall itself, next to the door. And Scott freezes up in the corner of the handicap stall he was cowering away in.

He kicks it again, and the entire wall of stalls seems to creak as they all threaten to fall. But he kicks it again, and this time he hears the wall holding it up crack as the bars come loose.

Then he kicks it again.

The loud crash was enough for you to make up your mind. A few heads turning and walking towards the bathroom but you’re faster as you swing the door open and force it shut and locked behind you, just in time to see Scott be thrown from one side of the bathroom to another, the force throwing him unseen by you as a wall blocks your sight. Scotts back crashing into the wall and you hear his bones crack as he comes in contact with the wall, and pained groan leaving his lips as your feet move on their own to run up to him, but a large hand grabs your shoulder and throws you to the side, your own back hitting a different wall.

“Get the fuck out…” Logan's voice growls, and the fear you were feeling before suddenly clicks in your mind, but you don’t move as you watch him crouch down, grabbing the collar of Scotts shirt before picking him up to his feet and slamming him against the wall.

“Bambi-” Scott groans out, trying to make you leave, but Logan's entire hand suddenly grabs Scotts’ face, lifting his head off the wall before harshly slamming it back against the wall, some blood spurting around the white tile, and your eyes widen in fear.

“Get the FUCK out!” Logan looks down at you, and you flinch at his tone, still unmoving. Then he lets go of Scott, dropping him to the floor before approaching you now. He bends down, his hand gripping around your ear, but just as he’s about to pick you up, he growls and lets go, suddenly tumbling to the floor and Scott grabs your hand, lifting you up quickly and you lose your balance for a moment before catching yourself.

“Get out…” Scott tells you, and he screams, turning back towards Logan as three claws are suddenly poking through the flesh of his arm, high enough so you can see the outline of the three tendrils through Scotts skin. “AH!” He screams louder, and Logan throws him again, pulling his claws out of Scotts skin and blood drips and spurts from his arm, spilling onto the floor. “GET OUT!” Scott screams again, but he’s met with Logan grabbing his shirt, slamming him against the exit, his fist colliding with Scott's face a few times before he grabs his shirt and slams him against it again, then he backs up and kicks his stomach, Scott hurling up blood as it drips down his skin and the door suddenly flies open, sending Scott flying to the middle of the open mall, some people screaming as they quickly move out of the way and watch in terror as Logan stalks back over to Scott, you peeking from inside of the bathroom still.

You stare down at Scott who’s curled up in pain on the floor, the meat on his jaw torn open from the force of Logan’s punches, the crack in his bone visible as his jaw hangs slack, his lips apart, some teeth obviously missing and fallen to the floor; covered in blood and coating his face with a mixture of spit and his vitals.

“Bambi what the fuck-!” Ororo grabs you and pulls you back a little, standing in front of you like a shield suddenly.

You keep staring over her shoulder, watching as Logan digs his claws into Scotts side.

He didn’t have enough strength now in his body to bother moving. The pain in his jaw was unbearable, like someone had stuck a thousand needles into his throbbing muscles before punching his mandible and breaking each pinpoint, spreading the little pins throughout his face. It was already bruising, swelling red and visibility throbbing, and he screams in agony as he tries to close his teeth, biting down on the numbness of his cheek, but the scream only brings him more pain, the opening of his broken jaw sending fluctuating pain through his skin, and it made him feel light headed and cold.

He barely even notices it when Logan starts attacking his sides, digging his claws into his abdomen before pulling them out and stuffing them back into him over and over again.

People scream in the crowd, some people tearing their phones out of their pockets and shouting things like ‘somebody help him’ and ‘is that Wolverine?’

Oh yea…

He wasn’t brought into public yet. It wasn’t exactly easy to ask the press to make a video telling the entire world that yes, Logan is dead. But happy birthday, we got another.

Anyways.

His claws continue their assault, stabbing in and out of Scott until his flesh is torn apart and obscene noises blur out the gasps and words of stand-by-ers.

Obviously Ororo wasn’t stupid enough to help Scott. Logan would rip them both apart. She just half hopes that Jean would come around and get into the fuckers mind.

But no, they all instead watch as he tears Scott apart, piece by piece as gummy like chunks of his large intestine fly out of his body on Logan's claws and land somewhere else on the tile. It wasn’t even just murder anymore, it was full fledged hatred.

Scott was already dead, he was lying under Logan, twitching as parts of his organs are strewn about, Logan still savagely tearing into his stomach now and parts of his chicken sandwich are ripped from his stomach, leaking and coated with blood down what’s left of his skin.

“Logan!” You cry out, fearful eyes of innocent people landing on you, Ororos hand holding you back as Logan's claw digs into Scotts chest. “LOGAN!” You scream again, this time pushing past Ororo who tries to grab at you, missing by just an inch as you run to Logan's side, but just as you’re about to grab his arm just before it plunges back into Scotts chest…

Jeans finally shows up, hurling herself at you before you can touch the feral animal ripping into poor Scott like an actual wolverine would rip into a rabbit, easily tearing flesh and ripping through bone.

His hand leaves Scotts chest again and he stands up, looking down at you and Jean, Jean lying on top of you protectively, something pulsating in his hands.

“Logan-” He squeezes, blood exploding and spattering Jeans face and part of your face in Scotts red blood. Then his eyes roll a little, as if dizzy, and you look over to see Jean concentrating, relaxing only a little when Logan falls to the floor with a thump…

🏷️: @shybluebirdninja @atomicheartbroken @hazydespair @kindazombie @themaidenofdarkness @rebeccawinters

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echantedtoon · 5 months ago

Text

A Lovers' Circle (Poly Haishira x Reader) Ch6 Date Weekend: Saturday

(Warning for some nudity mentioned in the boys part but absolutely nothing rude or nsfw!! Also it's cannon Hinatsuru and Makio can cook like really good in Kimetsu Gauken and Mitsuri.knows ballet from what we saw in s4 with flexibility training. My own headcannons are being slapped into here! AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME!)

Taglist: @shadyd3ar @jcrml @tengensangel

@miniverse-zen

Remember if you want to be added to the taglist lemme know

The colorful assortment of delightful sweets filled the eyes with childlike wonder. Cream and icing. Glaze and powdered sugar. Milky chocolate and sweet vanilla. All of which melted in the mouth and shook the senses with sweet dreams of sugary delight.

In in Mitsuri's case starting to stock up on food.

You sat down at the table with the other girls after the fun game of push ups. Taking your time to look around at the big but nice looking kitchen. Kyojuro must've had a good paying job if he could afford this. The nicely furnished space had pretty much a top of the line appliance set up complete with a nicely polished giant cherry wood table. Of which was stuffed to the brim with food. Three boxes of extra large pizzas took up the far left right corner, next to it was a box of hot wings, and a few six packs of different sodas and what was left of the canned coffee after Sanemi ravished through Obinai's gift. Two pink boxes filled up with day old sweets like donuts and mini cakes, what was left of the ohagi you made, and a few burgers Giyuu picked up. And a small pot of something you couldn't make out but it smelt like beef broth. Maybe a beef soup or hot pot?

It certainly was a lot of food but considering how many people there and how big Gyomei and Tengen were.

"Let me get you some food," Hinatsuru offered gesturing to the boxes of pizza stacked on the table. "We have pizza, burgers, cake- What would you like?"

A hand held up to her. "Oh no. It's ok. I can get it myself."

"Nonsense. You're our guest so I'll get it for you."

"Well alright then. Some pizza please."

"Sure! Pepperoni, sausage and mushroom, or meatlovers?" Hinatsuru was already shuffling towards the boxes Mitsuri was already rummaging through.

"Pepperoni is fine. Thank you!'

You only smiled politely as the others say down or most of them grabbed ahold of whatever food was available for them, but you noticed only one of them had a tray instead of a plate. Mitsuri had taken out a large tray, the kind you'd use to carry breakfast in bed to someone, and just started piling on food after food item onto it. There must've been at least two or three slices of every kind of pizza they had, three small cakes you could make out including a fourth one just added to it, a few burgers peeking out from just under the pizza, and right now her main target was the pot.

The smells of beef filled the air with a snack of her lips looking inside excitedly. Producing a bowl from no where she proceeded to just scoop out boiled eggs, mushrooms, chunks of beef- Oh. So someone did bring a hot pot. But she wasn't done yet. She practically pulled two bottles of the soda to herself as a can of coffee got caught up also in her grasp and your poor ohagi was her next victims. Three ending up on top of their fallen pizza brethren. She plopped down right across from you as you continued to stare wide eyed. You didn't even notice Hinatsuru placing down a plate and cup of more soda in front of you.

"Here you go!" She smiled at you but slowly blinked noticing your wide eyed surprised look. "Miss Y/n?" Her face followed your direction and froze as she and everyone else saw the massive pile of food Mitsuri had in front of her and the fact that she was already shoveling a whole mini strawberry shortcake into her mouth. "M-Mitsuri!"

"Hm?"

She happily looked up at the half horrified half worried faces around her, cheeks puffed up like a chipmunks. Huh? What was with those looks? She made sure not to take everything this time. It was only when green orbs caught the state of the girl in front of her. It was then that the before mentioned talk about everyone being on their best behavior and ensuring that they made a good first impression for Gyomei punched her brain in the memory bank. She sat there quietly and wide eyed, cheeks puffed up, and some strawberry syrup on her chin. Somewhere to the far right Makio groaned and facepalmed loud enough to a smack sound to be heard.

You blinked and that motion seemed to spur Mitsuri's panic as she quickly swallowed and held up her hands. "Um- Uh- ...HEY! No one touch this food!" She nervously laughed before pushing the tray away from her nervously smiling self to the middle of the table, a few boxes getting pushed aside as she did so. "Y-You know that I-..Uh! I-I always make sure there's a nice healthy serving out aside for the guys! Haha! Hmm!" She tapped her chin in thought glaring at the stacked up tray in pretend scrutiny. "Yep! Th-This will definitely be enough for all of them! Haha!"

She froze as a couple hot wings wobbled and fell lower on the pile of food she had created. Someone mumbled a 'nice save' somewhere as your eyes slowly looked away from her and down at the pile of food in front of everyone... before your face scrunched up into a funny looking face before you opened your mouth and-..

Started to laugh??

A series of giggles enveloped from her mouth and a hand reached out to cover those giggles to no avail as everyone stared at her.

"....Ok. Did we already break her or is she making fun of us?"

Your head shook as a hand waved. "N-No. It's just that-..Well, It's nice you're all going through all this effort to make me comfortable but Gyomei's already mentioned about this." To her surprise the tray was slid back over in front of Mitsuri who looked widely at you. "As I said before I want you all to be yourselves around me since I genuinely want to meet Gyomei's friends, so please don't hesitate to eat."

Mitsuri stared stunned by your smile, looking you up and down.... before just smiling back to her food and a second later she literally bit a burger clean in half as she hummed contently. Her happy face and bloated cheeks made more giggles escape her mouth.

"That's quite the appetite you have there," you pointed out without being rude, "Do you like sweet, savoury, or spicy things better?"

She swallowed what was left of her first burger quickly before answering. "SWEETS! But I don't mind others things either! Bitter and sour things are good too if you make them right!" As if to hammer home her point, she practically devoured an entire hot sauce covered chicken leg minus the bone. The hotness didn't even seem to bother her because a slice of blueberry cheesecake was next. "Shoo yummy!~" She gushed between snacking.

Despite it you still smiled at her completely unfazed. Her eating was fast and not normal by any normal person's standards but unlike Jake's she wasn't rude about it at all. She wasn't chewing loudly or open mouthed, she didn't try to hog everything, and she DEFINITELY wasn't trying to get anyone's else's foods or getting food anywhere. ..Well except for the traces of said food on her mouth which you handed over a couple napkins she thanked you for. The others seemed completely unfazed by her appetite so this was probably a usual occurrence for them.

"So you aren't like grossed out or anything by..?" Makio gestured towards the pink haired girl like it was obvious.

"Not really. Why would I be?" You shrugged before picking up a piece of your own pizza. "She's not being rude about it so why should I care? Although I am a bit surprised at how much she eats. When Gyomei told she she had a big appetite I wasn't expecting it to be so literally. Not that it's a bad thing of course!"

Surprised looks land silence was what everyone gave you minus Mitsuri still eating the quickly shrinking pile of food. Eventually Shinobu broke the silence with her brows raised high.

"Holy shit...Gyomei found a dam unicorn!"

"Shinobu!"

"He did.' shinobu rolled her eyes at her sister's scowl. "She said to be ourselves around her right? How is she supposed to know us if we aren't?'

"But the cussing? Really? First Nemi and now you."

"I really don't mind," you smiled at her. "I'm not offended at all. Really."

Kanae blinked but frowned at Shinobu's wide smile.

"Subject change!" The blue eyed girl, Suma if you remembered right, shot up a hand and waved around her full arm. "This entire thing was to get to know her better! So let's do that instead!"

"Good idea, Suma!" She quickly changed the entire subject probably to avoid any awkwardness. "So. Y/n, how did you meet Gyomei? He told us briefly but I don't think he explained the entire thing."

You paused a moment staring off into nothing. You smile had turned to a thin line and you turned to her so slowly that she thought she might've said something to offend you. "....Have you ever had a really bad date?"

Her pink eyes blinked. "I-...Well, it did rain once when I was on a double date with Kyo and Makio. We didn't get to do anything we planned."

"Oh. Well trust me. You haven't heard nothing yet. Let me tell you EXACTLY how I met the most kindest man of my life...after meeting the worst most vile human. It all started when this rat's parents paid my Auntie to set him up on a date. She's a REALLY good matchmaker you know and that's why they paid her and she needed the extra money because her car broke down, so she asked me to go out with him. I figured it was just a free dinner so what did I have to lose? BOY was I surprised!"

You told them the entire story. Starting from the very beginning from before you even met Jake the Snake to how he late he was to how Gyomei.actually noticed you first to how he acted and on and on. Most looked on in pity or disgust but Shinobu never lost that small smile. You nearly lost your appetite again remembering that night but the memory of Gyomei's smiling helpful being brightened up your entire outlook.

"So one thing led to another and we ended up going on a coffee date." You shrugged drinking a little bit of the soda Hinatsuru was nice enough to get you.

"That's so mean! How could a man be so cruel and rude?!," Mitsuri loudly protested.

You shrugged again. "Spoiled too much by his parents I guess. But that's all in the past now." You smiled Brightly. "Gyomei is much more better than most of the men I've dated. Tonight is our third date actually."

"AW!! THAT'S SO SWEET! IT'S LIKE YOU BOTH MET OUTTA A FAIRYTALE!!"

"How did you guys meet anyways?" You were curious about how these people met and got together especially when they were all polyamourus. You've never heard of twelve people in a relationship before but you guessed there was a first time for everything.

"Most of us are actually childhood friends and we met way back in elementary school!," Suma piped up and bit down into a pizza slice.

"Yeah..most of them. A few of us didn't meet until like nearly graduated from highschool..." Makio shrugged. "But it is what it is."

"That reminds me. How did you three end up marrying Mr. Uzui? I've heard of having more than one partner but this is the first time I've ever seen someone be married to three people at once before. Um..no offense."

"None taken." Makio waved you off with a bored look to her face. "It was arranged between our parents a long time ago, I don't think Tengen's old man was too happy at the idea of him dating Kyo back in highschool and decided to give him a few beautiful ladies to change his mind."

"Oh that's awful." A hand covered your mouth. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It all worked out in the end."

"Really? He just agreed to it?"

"Yeah. He figured just going through with it would be easier, and we all got married right out of highschool..." Her gaze looked far away from the table as if gazing of into nothing. "..You know he offered all of us to divorce the day after? Said he wasn't going to force any of us to stay if we didn't want to."

Your brow rose at her. "But..you didn't?"

"No. I could've though. I could've divorced him and then left. Maybe I'd be somewhere studying something like cooking or maybe I'd be married again to a really, really handsome rich guy who's a renowned millionaire complete with little kids and a nice big dog. ...I could've had that, or I could stay with a guy who's 'flamboyant' butt cried when I said I loved him for the first time."

"Aw!" She was lightly surprised when you gushed. "Did he really cry?"

"Oh yes. I remember that." Hinatsuru finally got a cheeky look on her face looking at her other wives. "You two remember that right? He was so worried that Kyo would be mad at him for falling for us and he was so scared that we hated him from the start that he cried for a whole hour."

"I REMEMBER THAT!! HE'S SO CUTE!!"

"Yeah. Besides, where else are we gonna get a free portrait?"

Her joke wasn't lost on you either and a giggle escaped you. So they all grew up together? That's a cute love story! Well you guessed minus Tengan's wives who everyone met in highschool technically but you still were curious about one thing in particular.

"I do hope you don't mind me asking this but I'm curious about something," you slowly spoke catching most everyone's attention other than Mitsuri who was almost done with her giant tray. "If you don't want to answer it's fine, but how did you all.. Y'know. Well-.." You were trying to try to find a way to word it without sounding rude. So you made a half circle motion around the table gesturing to everyone.

"Find out we were all poly?," Kanae asked answering you.

"YYYes. I'm sorry if that's a sensitive topic."

She shook her head, pretty hair swaying. "Not at all. You've been nothing but respectful this entire time and honestly you're one of the few people who didn't make it weird." She shrugged her shoulders holding up her hands. "To be perfectly honest with you, it just sort of happened. Mitsuri used to date my sister back in middle school but they broke up and then she started dating Sanemi-" She gestured to Mitsuri. "-and she dated Obanai for a little bit before we all just shifted to who we wanted to have our main love be!"

"Oh..I see. So how did the whole main partner thing was figured out?"

"Simple. While I love all my partners, Sanemi is the only one I want to officially marry and start a family with." Her head tilted at you with a worried brow. "Do you think that's strange?"

A him escaped her throat as her eyes glanced over in thought. "...Well I can't say no because I guess to someone like me who isn't in a relationship like yours it would be weird. But-" orbs looked directly back to her pink ones. "I can't really judge you. Mostly because your relationship isn't any of my business so I shouldn't stick my nose where it doesn't belong, but also because it's really incredible."

"Hm?" Pink eyes blinked confused. "Incredible how so?"

"You guys have the healthiest relationship I've ever seen!"

Kanae. Blinked. "What?"

You nodded. "I mean I've seen arguments but if-.. Sanemi, I think was his name, really wanted to punish Tengen I think he would've punched him square in the face. But it just looked like one big couples fight to me..Not the really bad kind but I don't think-" You stopped seeing everyone stared at you again. "Um..Was it something I said?"

"I told you. A dam unicorn."

Kanae shot her sister another glare before sighing. "Well to answer your question, we really just sorta melded together once we realized that there was more than mutual feelings. It took some time for everyone to come to terms with it especially Nemi and Obi but it works out for us."

"And your families?"

Clink-

You blinked as Hinatsuru suddenly placed her fork down and went quiet, a sad look suddenly found on her face making you blink and then noticed that everyone else had similar looks either looking away uncomfortable or sad. Mitsuri's eating had also ceased leaving her holding up an empty burger wrapper. Eventually Shinobu sighed.

"Some of our families have...Not been very nice hearing about it let's just say. My folks for example were pretty shocked but now they're the most supportive people on the planet. However... People like Tengen's dad or Obinai's family.." A grimace and 'yeesh' sound escaped her. "You'd think a guy who's entire family was mostly women wouldn't care if he dated girls-'

"I think I get the picture." You politely held up your hand and looked around feeling suddenly guilty about the mood dropping. "...You guys said you're studying to become teachers right?" You perked back up and changing the subject to a lighter tone. "What kind of subject do you want to teach, Mitsuri?" You asked the most cheerful person hopefully her bright happy attitude would help the situation.

Like you hoped she immediately lit up in a smile. "DANCE! Specifically ballet!"

"I didn't know you knew ballet!"

She nodded. "Mm hm! I love it!"

"And what about you two?"

"I'm focusing on biology and Shinobu is taking classes for becoming a health teacher," Kanae answered with a new smile.

"Hina n' I are working through the thought of culinary schooling."

"OH! OH! I WANNA BE A PRESCHOOL TEACHER!!'

"You'd certainly fit right in."

"Makio! Don't be so mean to me!"

"Guys please."

You couldn't help but giggle at the lot of them in the end and went back to eating your pizza and waiting for Gyomei's return.

"Hey. We're all going to the beach tomorrow!" You paused mid bite of your pizza before looking at Mitsuri who smiled widely and hopefully at you. "It's one of the few times we can go before it gets too cold. Why don't you come with us?"

"Oh. I'd really like to..but I can't." Your hand was held up. "I have a project to take care of before I can turn it in Monday and I have to clean. But I appreciate the offer. Are you guys going out the entire weekend together?"

"Oh absolutely! Tonight's just a big sleepover with a movie!" Mitsuri started quickly motioning with her hands with excitement. "Then tomorrow we're going to spend all day on the beach together and then Sunday it's just gonna be the boys hanging out with each other and we're all going SHOPPING!~" She sang out that last part throwing up her hands. "And then we're gonna go to the spa and get massages, and have our nails done and a whole bunch of stuff between those things! Then we're all going to meet up with the boys for a sauna and public hot springs!" She then gasped hands smacking her cheeks. "OH MY GOSH!! YOU SHOULD TOTALLY COME WITH US!!"

You blinked leaning back a little bit. "What?"

"ARE YOU BUSY SUNDAY?! IT'S PERFECT!! YOU CAN COME WITH US AND WE ALL CAN HAVE FUN TOGETHER!"

"I don't want to intrude on your guys' date and besides as much as I would like to, I'd only be a third wheel for the entire thing. On top of that I don't have much money for me to spend."

"Uh.. Didn't Gyomei literally win you three hundred fifty dollars?"

You paused staring at them blinking.

"THAT'S RIGHT! You can totally still come with us then! Please say you will! You really didn't get a chance to really meet the guys yet and I promise it'll be so much fun!"

"Well I -.." You let out a light sigh. "Well I guess so. It might be fun."

"Oh this is going to be so much fun! I can't wait for you to see my favorite cat cafe! I'm sure the guys are just as excited!"

"You think so?"

"Absolutely! Why I bet they're thinking of fun things to do together right now!"

SMACK-

"OW! WHAT THE HELL, SANEMI?!"

Warmth spread off the tiles lining up the walls and floors. Most rising to coat their bodies like fog which was probably a good thing considering that most of them were completely in the nu- A loud smack loud disturbed the peaceful sounds of running shower heads and scents of men's brand soap and shampoo. The snack itself stopped Obanai from helping Gyomei get his back and the blind man tilt his head-

Buuuutt the very girly sounding squeal that left Tengen's throat had caused the rest of them to peer over. A stinging sensation throbbed from the side of Tengen's behind from where he was struck by something fast, and instinctively his hand clutched onto the now reddened skin. Magenta eyes narrowed with a snap of his neck and immediately found the culprit with a wet wring up towel in his hands.

"OW! WHAT THE HELL, SANEMI?!", Tengen's voice angrily echoed off the walls.

The smaller white haired man gave Tengen one of those evil grins he always gave when annoyed and his fists squeezed around the towel harder making it creak in her hands. "Consider it payback for the stunt you pulled! I would've won if you hadn't distracted me!"

"Oh please. I would've won if you hadn't twisted the rules and tricked my wife." Tengen hissed rubbing at his bottom. "Fuck that hurt. Y'know if you wanted to smack my butt that badly-"

"SHUT UP YOU SHINY MEATBALL!!"

"Are those two still going on about that? I thought we all agreed Gyomei won fair and square."

Gyomei only sighed at Giyuu's words deciding not to engage with the argument other than shaking his head and sinking further down into the tub of comforting warm water. Those two would normally fight like cats and dogs if it wasn't with Obinai. He knew the routine of these fights. They'd be angry anywhere between a few hours to a day and then either forget about it or make up somehow. Even if the current cussing at one another over 'distracting him and making him lose' or 'sanemi didn't have to attack him with a towel' was starting to give him a bit of anxiety. He sure hoped they weren't loud enough for the girls to hear them.

"YOU WANT TO KISS ME SO BAD IT MAKES YOU LOOK STUPID!!"

"STOP BEING SO FUCKING PRETTY!!..PETTY!! I MEANT PETTY!!"

"Uh huh. Sure.~"

"RRRRRRAAHH!! FUCKING STOP IT!!"

"THEN MAKE ME, SHINAZUGAWA!!"

There was a small silence other than the sounds of the others ignoring their friends' usually arguments and continuing to finish up and then sounds of running water...but after a moment of nothing his head did turn in question towards the nearest person.

"Are they quite finished?"

"Yep. They're hate kissing again."

Even though he couldn't see Obinai, he knew the man was rolling his eyes. "I see. Well at least perhaps now they'll stop clawing at one another's throats." Water rippled in his wake as he moved to stand back up. "And I have to be seeing off Y/n soon. It's very impolite to keep her waiting for me on a date twice on a date."

"Relax, Mei. You brought her here for the sole purpose of meeting us. Let her get to know them. I'm sure Mitsuri's already talking about her cats or Suma's talking her head off. She'll be fine."

"Well..I should at least make sure it's going well."

"*sigh* If you say so. And will you two get a room?!"

Sanemi's answer was to chuck the clean but wet towel he had been holding and expertly nailing Obanai in the face without even looking up from where he was gripping Tengen's head to make him lean down enough to kiss. A loud smack sound again echoed beside him and a moment later Obanai fell into the tub with a splash. ...Gyomei only groaned rubbing his face.

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acescorazon · 4 months ago

Text

Changes

Chapter: 14

Title: Confliction

Rating: M

Word Count: 3248

Warnings: Su*cidal thoughts.

Chapter Excerpt:

Before anything can happen, though, Mihawk steps into the tent with Crocodile following close behind him. Buggy freezes up the moment that he sees the two imposing figures. The room feels awfully hot, and his body quickly becomes covered in sweat as he stares at his executioners. This is it, Buggy thinks, closing his eyes tight to prevent himself from crying.

Buggy holds his breath and waits for it: For mountains of sand to surround him and swallow him whole or for a sharp blade to pierce his chest (he won’t dodge any strikes that Mihawk might try and deliver to his frail body) he’s ready for the end.

No, he’s not.

Yes, yes, he is. He wants to be free.

No, he doesn’t. He wants to run, he wants to live so badly, but not like this.

|Ch1|Ch2|Ch3|Ch4|Ch5|Ch6|Ch7|Ch8|Ch9|Ch10|Ch11|Ch12||Ch13||

Buggy’s lost track of time again, but then again, maybe it doesn’t matter what time it is or what day it is anymore. He lies in his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to block out all of the thoughts that continuously pour into his head. He’s been in the same clothes for god knows how long now, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything at this point.

(That’s not true.)

Buggy is lying there, rotting away. He hasn’t allowed anyone into his room, not even his nearest and dearest friends. Not this time, it would just be too hard for him - for them. His head pounds at all hours of the day when he isn’t asleep, and his stomach is painfully empty but he can’t bring himself to go out and look for food and medicine nor can he bring himself to ask for someone to bring him those basic necessities.

These last few months have felt like some strange nightmare that Buggy can’t wake up from. Everything’s happened so fast and every time Buggy tried to get a grip on the situation, something always went wrong. Just how much bad luck can one guy possibly have? Buggy feels like he’s at the end of the line, though. There’s nothing that he can do to salvage his relationship with the other two founding members of Cross Guild and live happily ever after. Then again, maybe those silly little hopes and dreams that Buggy had, the ones where he, Mihawk, and Crocodile actually coexisted and made Cross Guild a formidable force were just that, silly little hopes and dreams.

Buggy should know better than to get his hopes up or dream by now.

He wonders how his captain did it. Gol D. Roger made an ally out of even the coldest loner. Buggy has his children - his devout followers - sure, but he doesn’t have what Roger had, and he sure doesn’t have what Shanks has either. He never did, though. For the most part Buggy is either universally loved or hated and there’s never been an in between. It’s a stark comparison to Shanks who people fear and instantly love once they actually meet him. Shanks was always more like their captain, though. While Buggy was… Well, Buggy. Buggy the clown, Buggy the apprentice, Buggy the….man forever in Shanks’ shadow.

Whatever, It’s far too late to start again and figure out what makes people love Shanks or what made them love Roger. It’s also too late to figure out what makes them hate Buggy, maybe he should have stopped and thought about why Mihawk and Crocodile truly hated him. Sure, he’s a bit of a coward, there’s no denying that. There are also times when his mouth gets the best of him, but other than that…What’s so bad about Buggy? He…He just doesn’t get it. Out of all the pirates out there on the sea right now, Buggy can’t possibly be the worst person to be stuck with yet Mihawk and Crocodile have always seen him as a pest. A nuisance. A waste of space and air.

Why is Buggy wasting his time wondering about all this? It’s not like it even matters at this point. Nothing matters anymore. He hasn’t seen or heard from Mihawk and Crocodile, which should be a good thing, all things considered, but instead their absence fills him with anxiety. He can’t help but think that they’re planning his execution right about now and that eventually they’ll come, beat him up, and then finally finish him off for good. A scary thought, that’s for sure, but he doesn’t have it in him to run or beg for mercy anymore. After all, all attempts of escape or weaseling his way out of a beating were futile in the past, so why would they work now?

There are times when Buggy wonders if he should just off himself before Mihawk and Crocodile get the chance to. He finds himself thinking that he should piss them off one more time and take away the fun in killing him, but then he stops and thinks. He thinks about jumping into the ocean or grabbing a gun from their armory and just….finally getting the peace and freedom that he’s so desperately wanted for weeks, even months now.

The funny thing is: Buggy’s anxiety is protecting him. It’s keeping him alive for another miserable day. It’s his safeguard. Even though Buggy is rotting away and has even come to accept his fate…his anxiety is still putting up a fight. He’s stuck in a place where he’s ready for death, but far too scared to face it. He thinks about his captain again, and how he was so ready to face his own death. That could never be Buggy. Buggy could never laugh in the face of fate and death like that, he couldn’t even embrace it. He’s spent his whole life running away from death instead and living the life of a coward.

That same anxiety will probably make him run when Mihawk and Crocodile eventually come find him, or force him to seek help before he can truly rot away, when all he wants is to escape this never-ending nightmare. It’s painfully frustrating how consuming his fear and anxiety are at times, and he wishes he were just a little braver, but he’s not.

Buggy can faintly hear some noise coming from outside his tent, but it’s all a distant blur. He can’t make out who’s saying what, but he doesn’t think he wants to be able to hear what’s going on anyways. He’s given up. For all he knows, Crocodile could have finally taken over the island completely after their fight. If that’s the case, Buggy’s better off being in the dark. He doesn’t even want to think about what Crocodile has done to his poor children and island at this point, but it probably isn’t anything good.

“Buggy?” A voice calls out, but Buggy is too emerged in his thoughts to notice who’s speaking to him at first. He figures it’s just one of his crew, trying to get him to eat or come out of his tent finally, but then realization sets in. The voice is soft, masculine, and there are no formalities being used. No ‘Captain Buggy’ or ‘Chairman Buggy.’

A sigh can be heard from outside his room next, “Oh, come on, Buggy. This is starting to become…”

Buggy bolts up into a sitting position, and his heart starts to beat furiously in his chest. This is it. They’ve finally come to end Buggy, just like they said they would if he proved to be a burden. He doesn’t say anything at all, he just stares at the entrance of his tent, waiting for them to come in.

This is it. The day that he’s going to die, the day that he’s going to finally be reunited with his beloved captain after all these years, the day he finally gets freedom from this whole nightmare. He’s scared. He’s never been so scared in his life. Of course, he says that all the time, but he means it this time. His body is trembling on its own and he can feel the first few tears build in his eyes, as well as a bout of nausea.

Buggy’s anxiety is telling him to push past Mihawk (and probably Crocodile) and run as fast as he can to somewhere safe, but he knows that that would be pointless. He wants to run, but he can’t. He’s ready to die, but he isn’t at the same time. Goddamn it, he wishes he wasn’t a walking contradiction.

“Okay, enough of this nonsense. We’re coming in,” Mihawk warns, and it’s at that moment when Buggy thinks he’s actually going to throw up. Maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll just have a heart attack before Mihawk and Crocodile can get their hands on him. It seems like the ideal situation, as grim as it might sound. He’d be spared any pain or any conflicting emotions, and that sounds like a win-win to him… Kinda.

No, he’s not.

Yes, yes, he is. He wants to be free.

No, he doesn’t. He wants to run, he wants to live so badly, but not like this.

Buggy’s end isn’t swift, nor is it slow and painful. His end doesn’t come at all, actually. Instead, what comes next is rather unexpected. “Open your eyes. I assure you that we mean no harm,” Mihawk orders, and Buggy can hear him pull out his sword. He thinks it’s a trick at first, and waits for Mihawk to stab him, but he doesn’t.

A tense moment of silence goes by before Buggy opens his eyes. His vision is blurry at first but he quickly wipes the tears away and accidentally makes eye contact with Mihawk. “Look,” He says before slowly placing his sword down on the ground and raising his hands up. “We didn’t come here to fight.”He glances over at Crocodile who grumbles something as well as he raises his hands in the air:

“Yeah, we’re just here to talk…”

Naturally, Buggy doesn’t believe a single word that the other two are saying. He figures they’re just going to trick him into thinking he’s safe before killing him for real, but he has no way of proving it. It seems rather likely, though.

Crocodile clears his throat, “Look, I want to apologize again.” He says slowly. Buggy can barely believe that Crocodile apologized a first time, let alone a second time. “I’m not going to bullshit you. I really want this Cross Guild thing to work, and that requires me to have both you and Hawkeye by my side.”

Ugh, stupid Cross Guild. Why does everything have to be about their shitty organization? Crocodile pauses for a moment to gather his words before he continues to speak, “You are more than just a coward, okay? You’re actually an excellent leader, and your status as emperor of the sea makes you rather…invaluable.”

Buggy blinks, unsure how to respond to Crocodile’s praise and apology. It all feels surreal. Maybe he’s dreaming right now, or maybe he’s died and gone to a very bad place, but it’s still somehow better than where he was before.

Crocodile glances over at Mihawk, who nods at him, silently urging him to continue. “I know i’ve been a real dick and i know you probably think i just want to call a truce for Cross Guild’s sake… And, I’m not going to bullshit you, you’d be right to think that. But, look, Buggy, I’m asking you for your forgiveness as well. I’m asking you for your forgiveness and for you to ‘lead’ our little group like before. I swear on my life that I won’t lay a finger on you ever again, okay? I swear I’ll change. Can we please just get back to business?”

Crocodile’s second apology seems a lot more genuine than the first, but part of Buggy is still hesitant. How can he believe that Crocodile is being serious right now? Why would he forgive him for all that he’s done anyways? Is it even possible for Buggy to put aside all his fear and hatred so the three of them can 'get back to business?'

“Look, Buggy, i can tell you ain’t exactly thrilled at the idea of kissing and making up,” Crocodile adds, “But, look, you don’t have to forgive me right away. You don’t have to forgive me at all. I’m an asshole, i know that. Just… can we all agree to get along for the sake of Cross Guild? For the sake of money, land, and power? We don’t have to be best friends but we need each other now and if the government realizes there are cracks in our foundation, you bet your ass they’re bound to attack sooner rather than later.”

“While I agree with Crocodile and want us all to stop with this foolishness…” Mihawk says, joining the conversation again, “I won’t agree to anything officially until you do, Buggy.” Why is the pressure always on Buggy? Why is it that as soon as he’s freed from one situation, he’s cornered into another one? “You already know that I want us all to have a better relationship and if you forgive Crocodile then I’ll make sure he sticks to his word. I’ll make sure that there is a healthy amount of respect between the three of us maintained and that no harm ever comes your way.”

“What do you say, Buggy?” Crocodile asks, holding out his hand.

“We can’t change what we did in the past, but we want to make up for all of our mistakes.” Mihawk states before also holding his hand out, “What do you say? Will you give us another chance?”

Everything freezes in that moment. Buggy can’t wrap his head around the idea that Mihawk and Crocodile are actually apologizing to him again, that they’re actually trying to make this Cross Guild thing work. Their behavior is such a stark comparison to what it was just a few months ago, and it makes Buggy feel like he has whiplash. Is it actually possible for two people to change their ways so soon? he wonders. It’s definitely not possible for him to change that fast, he knows that.

After all the fighting, all the beatings, all the insults, they actually want to put things to bed? Dozens of memories flood through his mind at that very moment. The hell that Mihawk, but more specifically, Crocodile, put him through in the last few months has left permanent scars, and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to heal from those scars.

However…Crocodile does have a point. Buggy hates to admit it, but Crocodile is right. They need each other now and if the world government finds out they’re having problems, then they’re sure to capitalize on said problems. And he would be stupid if he passed up an opportunity for a truce again…

Buggy stares at the two hands being offered to him, and as much as he hates the two men before him and wants to reject their offer, there's a voice in the back of his head telling him to shake their hands. To put aside his pride and not start any more fights or drama…

You don't have to like them, just accept the olive branch that they're extending, stupid, he tells himself as he slowly reaches out with shaking hands. He shakes Mihawk's hand first and then, after a moment of hesitation, he shakes Crocodile's hand.

If this is all a lie or a trick, then he'll just have to accept the fact that he fell for it. He slowly opens his mouth and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse and shaky, "W-What happens next…?" He asks.

"We'll have a meeting in a few days," Crocodile replies, "Now that we're all on the same page, it'll be business as usual." There’s that phrase again: Business as usual. Buggy doesn't know whether or not he should dread this new chapter for Cross Guild, but anything would be better than what they had previously going on for them.

"Yes, but, again, Crocodile and I can't stress how sorry we truly are." Mihawk tells Buggy, "And we're truly grateful for your forgiveness." Eh, Buggy wouldn't say that, but, okay. It's more like he accepted their apology because he had no other choice, but, it’s not like he’s stupid enough to say that out loud.

Crocodile heaves a sigh, "Yes, we're sorry. We're sorry. I'll have gifts sent to you first thing in the morning." He mutters, looking at some random corner in the room. Oh, now he's just trying to buy Buggy's forgiveness, isn’t he…? Well, It can’t be bought, but he’ll still take the presents, especially if it’s booze.

Buggy looks down at his lap, “Yeah, I…” He pauses, not quite wanting to outright say that he forgives Mihawk and Crocodile when he really doesn’t. He smiles instead, “It’s fine! Did you two really think you could bring me down?! Get real!” He fakes a laugh because that’s what he’s supposed to do, but it’s all another act. He thinks Mihawk can tell he’s putting on an act right away, and if Crocodile can too, he sure doesn’t show it.

“Nothing can bring Captain Buggy The Clown down!” He laughs again, but these are two men who are well aware that he’s been locking himself away and suffering alone because of all the issues he’s been having with them. They know the truth, yet they don’t say anything. “You didn’t even need to apologize, really! You could have just sent some booze over and all would have been fine!”

(No, It wouldn’t have been.)

Buggy guesses that means he’ll return to being more or less Crocodile’s personal secretary and the fake leader of the group… It’s not the worst gig, he supposes. “What’s with the tense faces, boys?!” He asks as he looks around and notices that Mihawk and Crocodile have rather serious expressions on their faces. “ This is a new chapter for us! For Cross Guild!” He cheers, “We’re going to take over the world, boys!”. No one cheers with him. They stare at him, reading him like a book. They know the truth. He wonders how they can read him so easily.

Mihawk stares at Buggy, and there’s feeling behind those icy eyes of his. Perhaps it’s pity, but Buggy has never once asked for Mihawk’s pity. “...” Mihawk finally looks away with a sigh, “I look forward to this new chapter as well…” He mutters as he turns to leave.

What the hell? Buggy can’t help but think. He’s done everything right, hasn’t he? Why does Mihawk still seem so…disappointed? Was that disappointment or more pity? Was it regret? There’s something that Mihawk clearly isn’t saying, but Buggy can’t figure it out.

Crocodile also begins to make his leave as soon as MIhawk starts to go, but then he suddenly stops. "One more thing," Crocodile says, turning around. Oh, God, he's going to ask for something unreasonable right away, isn't he? The more things change, the more they stay the same. "Go get something to eat and take a hot shower. It pisses me off to see you like that." He mutters before turning around and leaving.

Buggy stares at the entrance to his tent for a moment after his two partners leave. “Like you even give a shit…” He whispers to himself softly before lying back down and laughing bitterly at the irony of Crocodile’s words. Maybe, just maybe, if Buggy were a little stupider, he’d think that was Crocodile’s way of showing he cares, but he knows better by now.

A/N: An actual totally legitament picture of me walking out of the pits of hell to write and post this after disappearing witihout warning:

#changes #cross guild #i must not forget about my life's purpose (to post old man yaoi)#my fics #if i could gather the strength to post from now to like the end of the year i think that would be very on brand from me

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