#at this point i wonder if something is going on behind the scenes with the cat or crew that’s preventing it from getting renewed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

porcelainbirdss · 8 days ago

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Dogs

Summary: In the visage of an ongoing summer festival, you saw the face of your childhood friend, and joy filled you anew. The only thing you didn’t expect is for his almost unseeming devotion to turn into such a feverish nightmare. Oh, well. Everyone makes mistakes when it comes to things of sick nature. Even you.

Warnings: fem!reader, yandere!Phainon, contains a highly suggestive scene and generally perverse behaviors, not suitable for minors, dependency, toxic relationships, hurt/comfort but also hurt/no comfort, unhealthy jealousy, self-inflicted humiliation acts, emotional manipulation, possibly disturbing descriptions, physical violence || wc: 14k

“Don’t go.”

The scent of approaching summer was characteristic, and it filled up your nostrils with its undeniable freshness.

“Please… I’ll be good, I promise—”

And when that time approaches, a wave of sudden nostalgia always hits you. It makes you reminisce about many things. Memories of the younger you, and how lemonade used to taste when your family was still around to make it the way you were so fond of.

“I’ll be good.”

You don’t think of much else, when the spring wanes.

Why are dogs so loyal to us?, you remember asking your mother one day, curiosity filling up your wide eyes. She’d only bend down to ruffle your hair affectionately, smiling. Her explanation was weird, somewhat, and you didn’t understand much from it at that time. Something about evolution and base instincts. Things your still immature brain couldn’t grasp, as they appeared rather fickle, in your humble opinion.

With that, you never once repeated the question. At some point, it began mattering little to you, and the childish wonder dimmed as years continued to pass.

But one day, your mind seemed to evoke the old query, and so, you threw it into the air without much expectation of a reliable answer.

“Why are dogs loyal to us?” You muttered under your breath, giggling as the rather big mutt with walnut fur stuffed its muzzle into your small palm, wet nose prodding at you playfully.

The boy of ivory hair beside you — your best friend, Phainon — hummed wistfully, shifting a little. He outstretched his hand, scratching behind the dog’s ear.

“I’m not so sure,” he said, a grin growing on his face before he turned to you. “I think it’s because they love us.”

“Love?”

It didn’t seem believable, at least to you. People mistreated their most trusted companions all the time — leaving them behind, harshly scolding, and the like. If you were in a dog’s place, you’d certainly bite at everyone’s hands instead of coyly begging for more pets.

“Yeah.” He nodded, attention returning to your current object of interest, which was now panting slightly due to the high temperature outside. “They’re good things. Better than us, that’s for sure.”

Your eyebrows pinched together. “But why’s that?”

Phainon chuckled meekly, rolling his eyes at your insistent questions. Sometimes you think you must be pestering him too much, though he rarely seems to mind.

“See, for example. This dog is a stray,” the boy curled his fingers beneath the matted fur, hooking them around an old, worn collar. “But once it had a home, I suppose. Its previous owners must’ve abandoned it.”

“It’s been betrayed and wronged.” He continued, tone calm. “Would you still be so docile if someone did that to you?”

A groan left your mouth as you shook your head, not exactly following. “Obviously not!”

“So, dogs must believe in the good nature of humans in spite of everything they experienced. Doesn’t that equal loving us unconditionally?”

You blinked, looking at Phainon as if he just said the most ludicrous thing. But, perhaps, he was right. The boy was three years older than you, and even though the age gap wasn’t so prominent, your mentality was completely different. Phainon was mature, unlike you. He must be telling the truth, then — even if it makes little sense.

“I love dogs, too.” You mumbled quietly, moved against the brave face you always put up in front of him.

He laughed at your reaction, bigger hand rubbing your back. “We can go feed it, if you want.”

At that, you sprung up from your crouching position, excitement stirring in your chest at the prospect of playing with the mutt a little longer.

“Yes, please!”

Phainon patted his thigh, clicking his tongue at the dog to follow. The three of you ran off quickly, jogging through the busy streets of Okhema in search of some meat you could afford with the mere savings in your pocket.

And you thought: dogs must be wonderful animals. To love unconditionally is definitely the highest virtue one could possess amongst the things your Gods created.

You wished to be loved this way, too.

Time passes, that much is obvious to everyone. Phainon and you were glued by the hip for the majority of your childhood days. Upon retrospection, though, these years don’t seem long.

He came to Okhema when he was only twelve. Scarred, angry. The boy didn’t interact with many children, mostly sticking by his revered teachers, nurtured under their careful eyes and tenderness. You didn’t know what happened to him. Rumors dissipated as quickly as they arrived, new theories and twisted words swimming between curious mouths.

Still, you were intrigued. And so, one day, you just talked to him — he was a little detached, but friendly nonetheless. Definitely not your type of crowd, as you preferred to run around with more energetic companions. But he kept with you. And you kept with him.

Before you even knew it, you two became inseparable. Phainon’s lively nature roused when he had someone close to his age to accompany him. He bloomed, horrors of his fairly recent experiences fading a little with you by his side.

You quickly took the reputation of troublemakers, much to your parents’ and Phainon’s caretakers dismay. Climbing trees in places you weren’t allowed to. Jumping into lakes when you were supposed to be at school, and later on running into classes drenched. Even going as far as to pulling at the fruit vendor’s chagrin. He always made funny faces when he was angry, so you and Phainon purposefully messed around his stall. Usually it ended with a long lecture from the adults, but oh well. At that time, regretting anything came hard.

But the summer-sweet dream of innocence and freedom can’t last forever, even for those who are still young.

Phainon was a Chrysos Heir. You knew of it, and the responsibilities dragging along with that title. Perhaps both of you got too caught-up in the whirlwind of carefreeness, because the moment Phainon had to take on more serious training shook you. At least you think so.

You didn’t like it when he got snatched away from you. Days got progressively more boring and lonely — you, left with no one to spend your time with, and Phainon, burdened with his duties.

Bitterness was hard to swallow at first. You felt it every time he suddenly had to get up and jog off with an apologetic look in his bright eyes. You felt it when once again he said he can’t stay with you, and you felt it when your parents scolded you for occupying someone so important.

And slowly but surely, the stitches holding your hips together began to rip.

Then, your best friend was no more.

You saw him in passing, sure. Phainon always waved in your direction, smiles weaker and more tentative. At some point, you stopped waving back. What sense is there in pretending you still care for each other, when the boy you once favored was now but a mere imitation of his past self.

Well, maybe you were dramatic. Certainly, you were. But just like those dogs, you couldn’t help feeling abandoned — the only difference is that you frowned upon the one who wronged you.

So, you had a fall out. A silent one. One sided, probably. You never really tried communicating your feelings with Phainon, because, honestly, he must have had better worries than your whining.

He stopped waving too, and it irritated you, but it’s not like you didn’t stop it first. That’s fair, you tried convincing yourself. And your dismay toward him dissolved with years, for adults shouldn’t hold grudges over feeble stuff of their childhood days.

You didn’t see him much after that. Phainon was an extremely popular Chrysos Heir, serving as the bastion of hope for the people of Okhema in these dark times. It was weird, taking that into consideration. After all, the man must have been strolling around the streets all the time.

Still, something in your heart told you otherwise. Perhaps it’s only natural. That’s how life works — once fate decides your story with a certain person is over, you wouldn’t see them anymore. Only a handful of times did you manage to spot the flurry of white hair, standing taller than the rest of the citizens. In your periphery, the elegant garments appeared distant. Phainon’s voice rang across the road from time to time, and a naive part of you thought he was calling your name.

Despite your initial stubbornness, you got over it pretty quickly. You made peace with the fact a long-lost part of your life was now gone, and you had no need to regain it.

It should’ve stayed that way. It really should have.

Months when the world submerges itself in warmth and joy are celebrated in Okhema with fervor. Merry-making is certainly a good way to finally let yourself rest — even for just a few days. Anyway, it’s not like the harvest serves as an excuse to get black-out drunk. Probably.

Yes, probably, because everyone pranced around you like unhinged beasts, wines and other liquors spilling dangerously close to your light-colored attire. No one seems to care about anything. The sun disappeared from the horizon a few hours ago, and the lack of it seemingly wakes some sort of alcoholic haze in citizens.

Personally, you never found any appeal in these festivals. Before both your parents passed, they’d drag you there, feed you food you didn’t want to eat, and force you to clap happily when dancers finished their performance.

But as you think of it now, you’re starting to realize you miss those days. When nothing really mattered, and the colors of the world surrounding you were bright, still. You yearn for the things that won’t return. Isn’t it childish of you?

Maybe the wine you’re currently cradling in your palms did something to your head. You made sure to request it diluted with water, but the concoction was unusually strong in taste nonetheless. It’s possible you got tipsy.

Not that it bothered you, though. You came here just for the drinks, to ease off some strain your mind seemed to possess as of late. Dancing or listening to the cheery tunes wasn’t in your interest. Not really.

Well, maybe at some point it was. Several years ago, when you still had many friends and could allow yourself to drown in the passing celebration of starting summer. Your big group would sprint between the crowds, taking ribbons and waving them around, just like those performers do. Or, you thought with a soft laugh, how you’d steal flowers from the columns. You don’t know why you did that. Perhaps it was just funny to watch all the adults bristle with anger.

You loved life, then. You still love it; not now, but in that memory.

Alas, everything passes. It’d be sweet if things stayed the same, however, all you can do is ache for the idea of it.

The alcohol must’ve really gotten into your bloodstream, because you didn’t even bother lifting your eyes up from the cup of wine. Your morose pondering suddenly got interrupted by something hard falling on the bench, and bumping roughly into your side.

You watched, startled, as your drink jostled and spilled across the table. Then, you looked up to scold whoever was bold enough to quite literally fly into your left, but—

“[Name]?”

Oh, Gods above. You think if your heart could, it’d crawl out through your mouth.

Not him. Anyone but him. He was the last person you wanted to see today, and now you don’t even have the chance to get up and bolt, since you are somewhat squeezed between two people. That grandpa on your right seems equally bewildered, at least.

You cleared your throat, trying not to frown. “Hi… Phainon.”

The man’s eyebrows narrowed together, and truth be told, you expected him to throw something bitter at you. After all, you were the one to start ignoring him. You wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to announce to everyone by the table that you, yes, indeed you — are the one who ditched your already-feeble friendship, and decided you don’t need him.

It’s not like it would be a new revelation, anyway. Elders, so those who you annoyed together, often asked you: where did you lose Phainon?, as if he was actually a part of you. Even that damned fruit vendor sometimes caught you in the middle of your shopping, inquiring why you no longer stuck with the Chrysos Heir.

(So what, old man, you miss how we used to take bites of your wares and flee before you could chase us away with your broom?, Is what you often wanted to ask in return. You never did.)

But, no. Phainon didn’t snap at you, nor did he seem especially annoyed. Quite the opposite. His previously heavy-lidded eyes sprung wide open, and he assessed the wine he made you spill with nearly panicked expression.

“Ah, I am really sorry.” He started, a bit out of breath. “I wasted your drink with my carelessness.”

Now that you looked at him, he did seem a bit drunk. Hair messier than normally. Face flushed, posture slightly hunched.

And — curse your godforsaken thoughts — but he was more handsome than you could recall. Which shouldn’t be very surprising, considering you haven’t seen him from this up close for a rather formidable amount of time, but still. The contours of his face remained boyish, only taking a sharper look. More defined. If not for your inner state of shame, you’d continue to ogle him until sun returns. Maybe then you’d be able to see how it reflected off his bright pupils again.

Before you could even answer, Phainon pushed on. “I’ll go and buy you another one. Again, my apologies.”

He got up with a wobble, and only then you had half the mind to point out how unseeming it was of a Chrysos Heir to get inebriated in public. Fortunately or unfortunately, you kept your mouth shut.

Once Phainon was gone (probably not for long, because even if lines for the drinks are lenghty, everyone will rush him first anyway), the whole table breathed out. No wonder, really. He was one of the most important people in Okhema. Surely, a drunken Heir sitting with commoners to simply gasp out a few words and stammer isn’t a frequent occurrence.

Stiff, you glanced around yourself. The grandpa sitting next to you turned his head slowly, expression flabbergasted. You only let out a heavy sigh in response.

“I’m— I’m sorry, I have to go now. If you’ll excuse me…” You mumbled under your nose, standing up.

Some woman across from you inhaled sharply, slamming her hands down on the table. You jerked up, frightened.

“Why? Lord Phainon goes out of his way to buy you a free drink! Are you out of your mind, girl?!”

“Not only that!” The grandpa quipped, reaching for your wrist. “He could get us all free wine! I presume he isn’t a Lord only in the name!”

All gathered people cheered at the suggestion, even those who didn’t sit at your table. So, you had a whole crowd listening in (and counting on you). How wonderful.

Not to mention, Phainon wasn’t technically rich. Sure, Chrysos Heirs possessed ample amounts of money, but you knew that man. His obsession with antiques took root a long time ago. He was pretty much hellbent on his little hobby, and you were aware of just how cash-consuming it was. That fool probably has a few dimes in his wallet, and they expect him to buy everyone drinks?

Deciding to save Phainon’s honor, you walked off anyway, immediately followed by words of disapproval. Enough with all the alarms and surprises for one day. You’ll go home and rest your weary bones. There’s no point in lingering here any longer — not with all these drunkards and him at your tail.

And as you walked, confident you’ll be left alone for now, someone grabbed your shoulder.

The options on who it might be were somewhat limited, so you didn’t even bother turning your head.

“What do you want?” You forced out, jaw clenching around nothing.

“I— uh.”

Phainon let go, instead stepping in front of you. It always irked you, just how tall he grew up to be. Seriously, what were they feeding him? Three plates of eggs for breakfast, and five servings of fish per dinner? If you didn’t crane up your neck, you’d be forced to stare straight into his breast.

Oh, and it also infuriated you how he had to look down, casting a long shadow over you. Like a damned birch. Maybe you could grab him by the knees and topple over.

His mouth was moving. The man was saying something, hands gesticulating around. You didn’t catch on to his words, all noises suddenly blurring into one nonsensical cacophony.

Wait. Were Phainon’s eyes always this sad?

He must be very lonely, you thought out of the blue, though you don’t know why. He has friends and admirers, flocking to his sides like herded sheep — not once did you see him stand alone. And yet, this undeniable conclusion stirred within you.

Ultimately, nothing touches Phainon. He’s like an otherworldly being, too-bright and too-full to cradle by your heart and call him your best.

Despite everything, it was still a solemn realization.

“…And that’s why I couldn’t buy your drink. Again, I’m truly sorry, [Name].”

Silence.

“[Name]?”

Curses, you didn’t even listen to his blabbing. What was that he said? Something about your drink?

“It’s fine. I’m not in the mood anymore.” You shrugged, kicking at a stray pebble by your feet.

Both of you stood silent for a longer moment. You were acutely aware of the prying looks sent your way, as if trying to deduce whether you were really conversing with him. But that’s the life of big fishes, you supposed. All eyes always set on him.

“You don’t look too happy to see me.”

The way Phainon said it was more depressing than you’d like to admit. Well. In theory, the man was right. You can’t imagine anyone jumping up in joy when meeting their former best friend, who they also had a supposed fall out with.

But then again, deep inside, your old affections burned bright. It’s like your past self woke from a very, very long dream, rousing quickly when spotting their beloved face. Shaking you and commanding to smile at him instead of frowning. You dangled on a weird limbo, truthfully.

Perhaps it was involuntary on your side, but the distant memories of frolicking around with Phainon flooded your brain. Arms hoisting you up in the water when it turned out too deep. Sneaking into dromas’ pens to play with them. How loudly you laughed when he accidentally tripped into mud face-first, fair locks halfway soiled.

And you chuckled. It slipped past your lips so suddenly, you didn’t even register it at first.

Oh, but Gods, the way Phainon’s face brightened up almost knocked the air out from your lungs. Happiness suited him way better than the sulking, and only then you realized just how silly you must’ve looked when laughing under your breath.

He raked his fingers through the tousled fringe, smiling sheepishly. “Why are you giggling?”

His words slurred a little. To your horror, you found it quite endearing.

“I’m sorry. I remembered something funny.” You answered, perhaps with an equal amount of shyness, swatting your hand dismissively.

Phainon hummed at that, nodding his head with slight awkwardness. Another beat of silence passed. You two must have looked like two imbeciles, with the way you stood, motionless, and stared into each other’s eyes. Surprisingly, no one stepped close to you. Huh. Maybe everyone thought their darling Chrysos Heir had a romantic encounter, and dared not interrupt it. Laughable, really.

(Imagining yourself as a potential object of rumors was indeed dreadful, though at the same time, you found yourself uncaring. Actually, maybe you’d like that?)

(No. Honestly, what is wrong with you? You don’t need a scandal on your shoulders.)

“You haven’t changed much.” Phainon spoke, interrupting your unwelcomed trail of thoughts. There was fondness laced in his tone. You don’t know what you should make of it.

“Guess I didn’t have a reason to change.” You finally willed the corners of your lips upwards. “I mean… it hasn’t been that long since we stopped talking.”

The man reciprocated your smile, thank Gods. “I know it’ll sound frivolous, but it’s hard to believe we really lost contact.”

His words almost caused you to choke. Obviously, he had every right to call you out. You just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

And what do you even say to that?

I’m sorry Phainon, but I got mad at you, because you were too busy to indulge my younger self all the time. I suppose it makes sense, no? Normal people don’t have to become warriors, and, don’t get me wrong, I knew you were never exactly normal, but you seemed awfully normal to me! And so, I suppose I let myself get too attached. You broke my poor heart, see, you cruel man?

Yeah, no.

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling small. “Truthfully, I… didn’t mean for that to happen. But it did. Life moved on.”

There was a hint of something bitter in Phainon’s irises, though it flickered by in quick passing. Instead, he tilted his head to the side, still smiling.

“Life moved on, huh. But you didn’t forget me, did you? Please tell me you at least remember my horrible jokes.”

He was teasing, obviously. Nevertheless, it made you cringe internally at your previous words. You made it sound like moving on was really all that easy. Well, it’s not like you spent years crying, but the fact remains. You were a little hurt.

A chuckle left your lips. “Oh, of course I remember. How could I forget those?”

To your surprise, Phainon’s slightly unsure smile split into a beaming grin. “That’s a relief. I was starting to think I was just some random guy you used to know.”

If it was appropriate, you’d burst out into hysterical bouts of laughter. A random guy? Was he really thinking of himself so lowly? He’s the literal opposite of it — widely respected and adored, Phainon is precious to everyone in Okhema.

At one point in your life, he was precious to you, too. Even though you were no longer on speaking terms, you’d find it hard to repress the memory of somebody so important to you.

“You’re not just some random guy.” You said, itching to smack that seemingly empty head of his.

Phainon looked genuinely taken aback at your words, which confused you further. Hope washed across his face.

“You mean it?” He asked, voice so quiet you barely heard him from above the clamor.

“Sure. You always were…”

Special.

When you trailed off, the man huffed out a short exhale. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”

Honestly, you can’t imagine yourself saying it to him in such a direct manner. You’d much rather slice your tongue off than admit your lingering fondness for him. Maybe it’s weird? He’d certainly deem you a little unwell in the head after mustering up these words. Still, it’s not like you ever fully stomped out Phainon from your life. His name continues to hum in your chest, from time to time. And it’s annoying, sure, but you can’t bring yourself to put out the last candlewick, flickering weakly with the remnants of what once was.

“Nothing, nothing.” You chuckled a bit nervously, taking a single step backwards. “Uh, anyway… I suppose I should go now. It’s getting late. And you, too, could use some rest.”

“W-wait—”

Phainon stumbled in your direction once, as if trying to regress the distance you created. His mouth opened and closed for a good while. He looked like a fish out of the water, gasping desperately.

Finally, after a minute of fidgeting with the stray flap of his cape and eyes flicking around, he choked it out.

“[Name]. I don’t wish to sound insistent, nor do I want you to feel pressured by me. But, uh—” The man paused, mustering up a smile. “Maybe you’d like to hang out… some day.”

You found yourself wanting to smile back, but your lips were already curled upwards, and the ever-present weight on your shoulders lifted by some miracle.

“Sure. Why not.”

In that odd dream you don’t tell anyone about, you and Phainon still sit on marble steps, and something is painfully connecting your sides together — and you thought fate was done with you two, but apparently your beings will remain in a tight tether.

It would be good to laugh with him some more. Of this much you are certain.

There are things in life that you can expect. For example, the shining sun. People on the streets. Children still begging you for spare change so they can purchase some silly toys, not giving up after that one time when you granted their wish.

What really surprised you, though, is just how intense your renewed friendship with Phainon was. That, you did not expect.

It’s not something you thought would take place. Sure, you hung out once — and it was nice, truly, you enjoyed yourself more than you probably should have. But Phainon was a busy man. There’s no way he would dedicate so much of his time to your pitiful self who pretended he didn’t exist.

Well, no. Three days after your first meetup since forever, he called you (because you exchanged numbers) asking to go out with him again. And again. And again…

Days blurred into weeks, and now it’s been eight months. Phainon has been really sweet to you, and you couldn’t help but fall into some sort of a rhythm. It was different from what you remembered of your childhood days, but hey. Both of you are adults now, it’s only logical. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that Phainon's presence brought you joy.

Sometimes he was a little overbearing, though.

You ran out of pomegranates? Half an hour after you complained about it to him, Phainon was already at your door with a basket full of your desired fruit. And they were very high quality, no less. He stood in the threshold like an over-grown, over-excited puppy, swearing it was really no problem for him.

Your sink broke? Oh, [Name], why waste your money on the plumber when I can help you?, is what he said in response. The same day, he was on it. You remember hovering in the kitchen awkwardly as Phainon shifted underneath that damned sink, his long legs kicking up in frustration. He obviously had no clue what he was doing. Turns out a mere tutorial he watched on his teleslate prior wouldn’t be sufficient enough, but somehow, he ended up fixing it. Only two hours of struggle. Easy-peasy.

You needed some more ornaments for your humble abode? Phainon gave you half of the antiques he had. No questions asked. When you refused, he refused your refusal. And then pushed even more intricate decorations into your arms.

There was even that one time when he offered to commission a double portrait. Which, sure, was incredibly kind — but those were beyond expensive. There was no way you could afford it. What Phainon said to that? I’d fancy your face mounted upon my wall. The price doesn’t matter!

Seriously, some of the things he did made your heart flutter. The other half stunned you.

Not to mention, Phainon was so, so good to you. His unfaltering benevolence never failed to touch your heart — but it made you wonder, too. You’d never be this warm toward someone who turned their back on you for several years, acting like you were completely unimportant. No. Actually, you wouldn’t even want to talk with them.

Sometimes you genuinely think he has no self respect. Which is certainly weird, for Phainon is a revered Chrysos Heir with a reputation exceeding yours at least a million times. No matter how much you wish against judging the man, it’s simply impossible.

Not when — even though you reconnected only eight months ago — he already looks ready to fall on one knee. It scares you a little. Perhaps you’re bold for thinking that, but at the same time, you’re not blind, nor oblivious. Phainon doesn’t even try to hide just how hung-up he is on you.

(Maybe it’s somewhat pathetic. The reverential look in his eyes never repulsed you, but it was unreasonable.)

Anyway, a selfish part of you enjoyed all the attention Phainon was smothering you with, and so, you never tried putting an end to this charade. It made you feel better about yourself. Some time ago, you desperately clung to memories of the past — and now, you had its part sitting obediently in the palm of your hand.

Phainon was your friend. And you were happy with how things stood, even if you weren’t as… enthusiastic as him.

Today was cold, for a change. It’s a little unusual for Okhema to drown in such a low temperature, even if the season is far from summer. The Holy City was warm — hence why you were so surprised to wake with cold feet, and a tremble in your legs.

No matter. You continued on as you always did. Get ready, make breakfast, complete your chores.

Still, for whatever reason, you felt as if you were forgetting about something. That feeling dragged on behind for the better part of the day, and you probably wouldn’t know what it was, if not for a certain someone who came to visit you.

“Happy birthday, [Name]!”

You blinked twice, not understanding what was going on. Then, it hit you. It was your birthday today — how could you have forgotten?

Upon seeing your stupor, Phainon stepped in, swiftly closing the door. He sent you an amused smile, one eyebrow raising when you still didn’t respond.

At that, you finally snapped out of it. “Oh… Gods, I completely forgot… And I can’t believe you actually remembered.” You muttered, a little abashed.

The man merely shrugged, holding out a neatly packaged box. “Of course I wouldn’t forget. How could I?” Phainon chuckled, pushing the gift closer so you’d finally take it.

Truth be told, the last time Phainon gave you any sort of birthday wishes was about five years ago. They were kept short and spoken without much commitment, but still.

And now, you were met with his grinning face, hands expectantly flexing around the gift he brought you — because, apparently, he still somehow remembered. You felt a little bad. When is his birthday? That, you aren’t so sure of. Alright, you can remember the month, but the exact day? It’s a whole different story.

With a short exhale, you took the package. “You didn’t have to bring me anything, really.”

“Don’t say that before you open it.” Phainon remarked playfully, intent gaze boring into you.

The man practically vibrated with excitement. His bright eyes flickered between your fingers and facial expression, taking in every slightest detail, and you thought the gift must be something really funny if he’s acting like that.

When you turned thirteen, Phainon gifted you a toy snake. You hated those things, and when you first saw it, you were convinced it’s real. So, you threw the whole carton box at the boy’s face, accidentally injuring his nose. He laughed anyway. You bristled. Ultimately, you ended up placing the snake in inconspicuous places, watching as people jolted away, startled.

And it was hilarious, so perhaps he gave you something similar for the old times sake. Prepared for another stunt, you slowly opened it.

What you saw inside made your smile instantly falter.

It was a necklace — but not a normal one, no. The thing was obviously costly, with an intricate design and some stones, indicating just how expensive it must have been.

Shocked, you gently touched it, feeling at the glided material. Why would Phainon buy you something so expensive? It’s not like you asked for it. Hell, you would never request such a lavish gift from your friend, because, honestly, wasn’t he broke?

“I’m— Wow. Phainon, I really…” You choked out, eyes still focused on the necklace.

“You don’t like it?” Phainon immediately responded, and when you looked at him, he seemed a bit distraught. “No worries, just say so. I’ll go and return it. Actually, you can go with me, and we’ll pick out one to your liking.”

“No, I—”

“I understand, [Name], you don’t have to pretend. Lady Aglaea always says my taste in fashion is lacking. Well, I spent about six hours debating on the best necklace for you, after all, I didn’t want you to be disappointed — which I guess you are, but that’s alright. I’ll go buy you a better one, just—”

“Phainon!” You shouted, cutting his logorrhea off.

He stopped, mouth agape. The undeniable twitch of his lower lip made you cringe internally, and you wondered whether he was really so desperate to please you. Anyway, it’s not like you said you didn’t like the gift.

With a sigh, you took Phainon’s hand, causing him to immediately curl his fingers around yours. “I love it. But you shouldn’t have.”

“Shouldn’t have?” He parroted, somewhat breathless. “Come on. If anyone deserves nice things, it’s you.”

The compliment made you break into a small smile, which probably caused Phainon relief, for he returned it without missing a beat.

“Still,” you continued, schooling your tone into a gentle one, “it must’ve cost a fortune. I don’t know what to say…”

“Say you’ll wear it. That’s all I want.”

You bit on your lower lip, feeling overwhelmed by how intensely Phainon assessed your face. You tugged your hand away, willing yourself to keep on smiling under the fierce twins of blue.

“Alright. I’ll wear it sometime. Thank you, it really is lovely.”

Your friend nodded, stepping back. And you talked for quite some time before he announced that he finally needed to go, which made you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

(The necklace Phainon gave you was certainly beautiful, but you hid it in a drawer — deep inside, covered by cloth and old trinkets meant to be forgotten. You never looked at it again.)

It’s been quite some time since you last saw Phainon.

Of course, the man has his duties as a Chrysos Heir. It wasn’t surprising when he couldn’t meet up with you, and you understood the reasons why better than anyone.

Perhaps a few years back, you’d be trembling with irritation and sadness. Now, however, it mattered little. The fact didn’t bother you much, and you were fine with being by yourself, even if the days dragged.

It’s not like you didn’t see him at all, anyway. Phainon often caught you on the street, smiling and peeking over your shoulder to see what things you wanted to buy. When the fruit vendor saw you together, assessing his wares, he almost choked. You belatedly realized it was the same man you and Phainon used to torment on a daily basis, and before you knew it, you were crushed under the onslaught of questions.

Oh, I see my favorite pair is back together! Truly, how curious. And I thought you two fought? Well, of course, my apologies— his eyes flickered nervously over to Phainon —I meant not to pry. I didn’t, not actually, but, you see, when you’re practically bullied by goddamn children everyday, it sticks with you. So I was quite surprised when one day, you just stopped. What happened? Did you reconcile? Or maybe you never argued in the first place, and simply decided to keep it… more private? If you know what I mean! And then, he exploded into loud cackling.

Ah, well. If you could, you’d immediately crumble into dust on the spot. But it’s not like you possessed such a skill, so you kept on nodding, smiling stiffly when both of the men continued to talk. Also, you managed to notice that Phainon’s arm snaked around your shoulders. With how hot and awkward you felt, you had half the mind to push him away. You didn’t, though. He’d probably start whining and trailing behind like a mistreated dog. That was the last thing you needed.

Anyway, it would seem your absence in Phainon’s life bothered him much more than you thought initially. It didn’t take long before he invited you over, insisting he needed to see you. And who are you to refuse?

“Thank you for the cakes. They were really good.” You smiled, crumbling the napkin in your hands before aiming it into the trash can. Miraculously, it actually scored.

Phainon merely nodded, muttering no problem, and trying to copy what you did earlier. His own napkin missed by a few centimeters.

A giggle escaped your lips when the man groaned, slumping back into the couch with a resigned smile.

“You’re hopeless.” You said humorously, shifting in your place. “Well, anyway. I think I should be going now. It’s getting late.”

That much was true. When you got to Phainon’s house, you expected to stay for two hours maximum. After all, he certainly had a multitude of duties on his shoulders. Instead, he occupied you with pastries — even at some point running to the bakery to buy more — and only shrugged when you told him to lay back.

Then, he continued to grace you with amusing stories. And you have to admit, they were entertaining, but after another in-depth description of his ‘competitions’ with Mydeimos, you started to feel somewhat sleepy. There’s only so much you can bear, and it quickly got boring.

When he noticed you nodding off, Phainon immediately shook your arm, saying he ordered new tea blends. So, you spent another hour tasting and rating them. Which was… fine.

But now that he heard your words, Phainon almost spilled out his drink. He put the cup down quickly, turning to face you.

“So soon?” The man practically gasped, wide-eyed. “[Name], you cannot be serious. I still didn’t tell you about—“

Whatever he began babbling about dissipated within the chamber of your mind, because you couldn’t bring yourself to listen. Not when the slight darkness of the room encompassed Phainon’s face in the worst way.

He looked awfully exhausted.

Honestly, you don’t know how it slipped past your radar earlier, but the shadows underneath blue eyes were overly-prominent. Hair a little tangled. Lips chapped, as if he had nothing to drink for the past few days. His hands shook — not to the point where it was noticeable, but they still did.

Seeing Phainon like that was concerning, and it made your heart clench with the need to ask about his well-being. The man always cared deeply about others. So why did everyone, including yourself, decide to turn a blind eye on his internal troubles?

“You look tired.”

Once the words fell from your mouth, interrupting Phainon’s ramble, he blinked in confusion.

“Do I?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, hands folding on your lap. “What’s wrong?”

Phainon sighed, as if not knowing what to say. He ran his fingers through his locks, wincing when they caught on a particularly troublesome knot.

And the corners of his lips lifted, like he was ready to dismiss you, but your firm gaze must’ve rendered him weak. Soon his shoulders hunched down, all the bravado slowly dissipating.

“I guess it’s just my duties. As an Heir, I mean.” Phainon muttered, eyes avoiding yours. “It… wears me out, [Name].”

You nodded patiently, allowing the man to continue. It was obvious he needed to get something off his chest, and since you were here, he might as well do it now.

“I know the burden I carry is meant to be great. It always has been. But lately, it’s just too much for me. Everyone expects me to be perfect, which I can’t blame them for, obviously.”

“Then again, aren’t I just a fickle human? Like the rest of those who set their eyes on me, and pray that the Deliverer of Okhema will miraculously solve all their woes.”

“I mean… I do understand just how much stronger I am than the rest. Therefore, I also understand where all of this is stemming from.”

Phainon’s breath shuddered, and you were halfway convinced he might start weeping on the spot. He then grabbed you by the shoulders, touch surprisingly desperate, and leaned closer in.

The crack in his expression was undeniable; like a mixture of genuine misery and resignation. For some reason, it made your stomach churn.

“But everything is slipping through my fingers.” He rasped, eyebrows tightly knitting together. “And you know what scares me the most?”

You tried not to wince from how roughly he was squeezing you. Still, you put on a brave face, even though a multitude of questions and confusion swirled in your mind. It was unsettling, seeing him in such a state.

“What is it…?”

Phainon chuckled dryly. “That eventually, you’ll slip too.”

This confession caused you to almost gasp. Almost. You just stared at him, dumbfounded, trying to process what you just heard. So, at the end of the day, it all circles back to you? All of Phainon’s worries and fears — they connect to his duties, but ultimately, it’s just you.

And it was hard to understand. Sure, you’ve been childhood friends, and sure, you renewed your contact some time ago. You can confidently say that in the end, you’d do it all again, because Phainon is your best friend. At least you think so. But how can it explain the vivid devotion dancing in his eyes?

The fact you can’t look at him with the same amount of emotion made you feel bad.

“I promise I won’t.” You said, voice meek.

“But you can’t guarantee that.” Phainon quickly retaliated, joints digging harder into your flesh.

Not knowing what to do, you carefully placed one of your palms on the man’s shoulder, the other one reaching to cradle the back of his head. He stilled a little at the physical contact, expression turning docile.

“Of course I can’t guarantee you that…”

You willed a smile to grow on your lips, gently nudging Phainon to ease himself on your lap. Surprisingly, he had no objections. He simply lied down, big, watery eyes looking up at you as if you were a holy painting.

“Just, please.” He began, tone weak. “Please, stay. I don’t care about anything else, just— don’t leave me.”

There was an uncomfortable ache in your chest as you leaned in, and you realized, solemnly, that Phainon smelled of wild strawberries. A fragrance innocent enough to smother all the suffering dragging along.

And you were aware of what he tried to communicate through these words, for you knew him like the back of your hand. But you didn’t feel the same.

Love is an odd thing. It can’t be described by primitive words, or straight logic. It’s a feeling lodged inside your very heart, deeply, hurting like a splinter you can’t even touch.

Looking at Phainon, you knew of what he harbored within himself. It’d be hard not to, when he’s coddled on your lap, a fully grown man appearing like a mistreated dog that just got its last scrap of meat torn away.

There’s not much you can do in the eyes of such a predicament.

“I’ll stay with you. I’m not leaving anywhere, okay?” You forced yourself to keep smiling, swallowing down the guilt.

Phainon finally smiled back — a weak thing, but a sign of happiness, still. He nodded, turning on his side and pushing himself closer, face pressing against your stomach. Like the action could hide him from all the conflicted feelings and expectations.

The man wrapped one arm around your hips loosely, and he said: you’re hunting me slow, though you don’t understand what he meant by those words, nor do you feel the need to ask.

(You have one memory you’re particularly fond of. Well, when it happened, you were somewhat exasperated — startled? Maybe a mixture of them. But it still rings as something to be cherished, in your mind.)

(When you were barely ten, Phainon thought it would be funny to chase you. He was thirteen at that time, and so, the boy also had longer legs. Catching you was pretty much effortless for him.)

(And once he got dangerously close, your mind screamed at you to lose him, else you’d fall victim to the onslaught of tickling. In a bout of panic, you turned a corner. It was a dead end.)

(The decision you made that day was borne out of desperation. If you didn’t feel like there was a threat at your heels — real or not — you’d make better choices. Because you knew the road you turned into ended within a few meters, and yet, you still thought to bolt there.)

(Similarly, hunted animals must lose their reasoning once it becomes apparent there’s no way out. Or, in some cases, the only solution would be to doom both predator and prey.)

(What path they’ll take on is usually determined during their last moments. The most important question always is: how far cruelty stretches in those innocent eyes?)

Due to your oh-so developed cognitive functions, you were able to pinpoint how stressed Phainon has been as of late. Well. It’s been going on for quite some time now. Not like it’s any surprise anyhow, you know that his duties as the Deliverer are beyond anyone’s comprehension. Any normal person would crumble under the pressure within a span of a few days.

So, you, being a good friend, decided to hang out with Phainon. It was your idea this time — because he’s usually the one to initiate your meetings — and you were eager to bring him at least a bit of entertainment.

What graced your mind at the beginning was going out to a restaurant. But then you remembered how it ended last time, with Phainon chatting you up and barely touching his food. Next, you thought of the Garden of Life. Of course, this option wasn’t the most ideal either. The space was filled with people, and you knew how they enjoyed flocking to Phainon’s side.

Ultimately, you decided on the dromas’ pen. It was simple, but the lovable creatures were kind of therapeutic, so maybe it’d provide him some peace of heart.

And Phainon seemed terribly excited to go there. You don’t remember him ever being such a big fan of dromas, but upon hearing your proposal, he immediately grabbed your hand, fingers tightly clenching around yours.

Slightly abashed, you tugged your joint out of his grasp — because, what if people think there’s something more between you? You can’t have that. Obviously, Phainon got sulky, and you had to offer him your arm instead. He took it, pressing himself into your side as if you were conjoined by hips, leaning down with a smile as he continued to babble on and on.

The fact Phainon was clingy was nothing new to you, though you wondered just how far his affections could stretch. You didn’t see him attaching himself to any other of his friends. But alright. You could bear it.

(Maybe dromases weren’t the attraction he was seeking out, after all.)

“Aww, look at this big guy.” You cooed, reaching to nuzzle the creature’s nose.

It made a deep sound of satisfaction in response, stuffing its large head against your tiny-looking (at least in comparison) palm, as if asking for more pets. Phainon stood beside, patting the dromas’ leg.

“They’re quite sweet, aren’t they?” He hummed, handing out another piece of food.

The animal quickly snatched it from his hand, giving an unexpected lick to Phainon’s face. Well, at least you think it tried to, but its big tongue swiped across the entirety of his head. A loud laugh left you as you observed the man’s expression twist in dismay — the drool made the side of his hair stick up, and at some point you had to wipe off tears from cackling so hard.

Phainon chuckled a little under his breath too, but mostly just blushed in embarrassment, quickly trying to get rid of the dromas’ slobber with a napkin. You decided to help the poor thing, wiping him with your own handkerchief and adjusting the tousled locks.

And as you attempted to make Phainon’s hairstyle look somewhat presentable, one of the caretakers strolled over to your pair.

“Oh, Lord Phainon! It’s been so long since we’ve had you here.”

Your eyes flicked over to a man of rather old age, nursing a basket close to his chest, and a rake in his free hand. Truthfully, you hoped no one would bother you today.

“Yes, I know. I’d visit, were I not so busy all the time.” Phainon smiled politely in response, stepping back when the dromas continued to nudge at him, nipping at the two strands of hair stemming from the top of his head.

“And who that might be?”

Two pairs of eyes locked on you, making you immediately school a kind expression. You meant not to frown earlier, but controlling the whims of your eyebrows and mouth always came quite hard.

“I’m—“

“Ah, [Name]?” Phainon cut into your sentence, draping an arm around your shoulders. “She’s my significant other. Isn’t she precious?”

The forced smile on your lips faltered, and for a good second, you were sure you heard that wrong.

But no. When you looked at Phainon, completely disoriented, he merely tightened his hold on you. Your mind screamed at you, signifying something was so obviously wrong, and yet all you could do was stand there like a statue. Why did he call you that? Was he really so detached? Or sick?

Phainon was a little confused, you tried to reason with yourself desperately. You know that, and you remember how distressed he was when you spoke with him not so long ago. The human mind can undergo significant psychological strain when subjected to pressure, especially in environments where the stakes are high. And the man was crushed underneath the burdens at all times.

Maybe one of them — be it aiding everyone, or countless hours spent risking his life — finally caused his psyche to crash. He formulated a delusion to help him keep afloat; so, in his thoughts, you are in a relationship. At least that’s what you can deduce.

Still, that doesn’t really explain anything. Sure, Phainon was troubled, but it’s not an excuse to say untruthful things about you. And while you wished to serve as his anchor, the image of him abusing that privilege caused your bones to stiffen with a frigid, uncanny feeling.

“…Excuse me?”

The caretaker glanced between you two, perhaps a little consternated by your cold tone of voice.

“Oh, in that case, congratulations.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s good to see young people in love, especially in such terrible times.”

“I am not his girlfriend!” You cut in, real nerves starting to gnaw at your stomach.

When you attempted to wriggle away from Phainon’s hold, he hardened it, the sensation smothering. Your eyes flickered over to him, almost panicked, but he wasn’t even looking at you.

“My apologies.” Phainon said, tone still eerily polite. “She’s just a little shy, you see.”

You bristled internally, trying not to snap at him in public. It was awful. Absolutely, unimaginably awful. Against your need to simply stomp on Phainon’s boot and shake him off, you stood there, still somewhat unable to process what was going on.

The other man, seeing how tense the atmosphere got, exchanged a few words with Phainon before finally departing. You could see the confusion on his face as he turned, holding on the rakes a bit too tight. Even the dromases stopped bothering you. Everything seemed to hold its breath in, pausing, like the world itself couldn’t grasp what just unfolded.

And when the moment of silence passed, you immediately pushed him away.

“The hell was that?” You seethed, taking a few steps back to create a respectable distance.

Phainon’s eyebrows narrowed. He bit on his lower lip, and some vivid distress passed through his irises, though you ignored it rather pointedly.

“[Name], I don't understand.” He spoke, hand reaching out in your direction. You swatted at it harshly. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” You echoed, barking out a ridiculed laugh. “You’re telling people something that’s not true! Do you realize how humiliating this is?”

When your friend’s expression fell, you were close to feeling guilty. Maybe you should be the bigger person here and calmly explain that lying about things of such nature is not in your range of tolerance. But you were just a human, and the irritation successfully clouded your better judgement.

“Wait— don’t be mad. I just… I thought it’d make you happy to see that people know how close we are.”

You took another step backwards, almost bumping into the trough. Strong wind started to rush by, causing hair to fly into your mouth, and carrying an unpleasant smell coming from somewhere. The need to puke was overwhelming.

“No. This isn’t closeness.” You retaliated, joints trembling. “And we’ve never established anything, so I suppose you simply made it up.”

Phainon’s fringe obscured his eyes, and he made quick work of pushing it back, as if losing sight of you for even a second was already too much. His eyes flickered nervously, one hand stopping in his locks to tug at them.

It was obvious he was starting to lose his ground. The man’s chest heaved, all remnants of composure fading when you turned on your heel to walk off, already fed up.

“I didn’t mean to upset you!” Phainon called. “I just— I just wanted everyone to see what I see!”

You didn’t look back. “Then you don’t really see me at all!”

He made no move to run after you. His feet remained planted into the ground as you left the dromas’ pen, and you were thankful for the small mercy.

Still, even though you were angered beyond belief, your conscience berated you for treating Phainon so coldly. He was your friend. Yes, he did say something upsetting, but it’s not like it was unforgivable. While you felt betrayed, he must’ve felt this way, too. At least you think so.

No matter how hard you tried convincing yourself that he was in the wrong, and not you, it wasn’t working. Phainon’s face — the younger version of himself — crept into your mind. You remember how genuinely cheerful he used to be. Not innocent, not anymore, but pure in the way he kept by your side.

The visage of you two, crouching on the pavement together and talking in hushed voices, obscured the need to stay angry. Because Phainon was your friend. Your best one. Harboring odium toward such a miserable soul wouldn’t bring you any satisfaction, nor relief.

You’ll give him some space. And when enough time passes, you’ll return to him, and resolve everything. For now, though, you’ll keep your distance. It’ll be better this way.

Is a week, so seven days, a long time? Perhaps not. Not for you, at least, but for others it may be different.

This is exactly the reason why your teleslate was blowing up, constantly, without any break. When another message from Phainon popped on the screen, you thought to simply throw the thing into trash.

At first, it started out inconspicuously. One text in the morning, one in the evening. You could tolerate that. Then, the calling. Every single time, you pressed the red button, fuming at how shameless Phainon must’ve been to keep on tormenting you this way.

Then, it changed into genuine flood. As things stood, you could see over ninety nine messages sitting impatiently in your inbox, their count going up and up. Estimating their amount wasn’t hard, for you got about two per hour. Well, more or less. Sometimes your teleslate wouldn’t stop pinging with the insistent onslaught, and you had to put it in another room, else you’d go crazy with the repetitive sound of notifications.

You didn’t understand. Curses, you didn’t even want to. Truly, what made you so significant for Phainon to bother you restlessly? Didn’t he have a life? Imagining his coworkers having to put up with him, nose-deep into the screen of his teleslate was somewhat ludicrous. Mydei must’ve been livid. What if instead of sparring with him, Phainon was sitting aimlessly on the training grounds, constantly chiming: just one second, before typing you another message? You don’t want to feel guilty, but you can’t help it.

And honestly, you thought to talk to Phainon sooner. Three or four days of no contact would’ve been sufficient, just enough to gather your scattered feelings and mold them into a sensible conclusion. However, your pettiness didn’t allow you.

Not when he kept on being such a nuisance. Seriously, at some point your poor teleslate began to lag with the sheer amount of incoming messages and calls. So, there was only one logical thing left to do: leave Phainon hanging.

There were times when you simply couldn’t meet, but usually, you resolved it by seeing each other on the street. A routine of normalcy. Him running up to you, and you pausing whatever you were doing to indulge the man. Short small talk here and there, but both of you were sated.

Now you avoided Phainon like wildfire. Whenever you left your house, pointedly ignoring the stacked bouquets with I’m sorry, please take me in! written down on the attached cards, you took lengthy precautions to miss the familiar face.

Truth be told, it was miraculous that he somehow didn’t catch you. With how hellbent Phainon seemed on regaining your favor, it was weird he wasn’t constantly seeking you out as well. Still, he had his duties, and for that you were grateful, because apparently they blocked his path of bothering you even in real life.

Anyway, on the seventh day, the texting stopped. You were prepared to wake up to an already buzzing teleslate, though all you were met with was radio silence.

While you were happy Phainon finally gave it a rest, something about it unsettled you. The obsessive flood of messages suddenly disappearing was odd — not like you cared, not in particular. But the fact remained.

(Before you moved closer to the center of Okhema, you and your parents lived in a more desolate area. Fields stretched endlessly, covered with the lush greenery and winding paths.)

(You remember standing at the edge of the meadow, hands still damp from drawing water from the river. The air was restless all day, tossing leaves and dust into a whirlpool of spirals, rattling windows and loose bells attached to your fences. But then, the wind dropped. Even the sparrows, so insolent with their chatter, seemingly vanished into the overcast sky.)

(Nothing. It was as if some greater being held their very breath, silencing everything. Not a rustle of the trees, or the faintest buzz of insects. Even your own heartbeat felt too loud.)

(Somewhere between the hills, there must’ve been a movement. The kind that leaves you frozen, like a child, lost amidst the woods. You could almost feel it pressing against the horizon, waiting for the right moment to spill and engulf all with its claws of deliberate fear.)

(The storm came soon after.)

It was late. You don’t know the exact hour, but the weariness in your bones indicated it. Around midnight, perhaps. It mattered little, for your disturbed rest caused a bigger problem than assessing the time.

Since Phainon decided to stop filling your teleslate’s inbox with messages, you thought to sleep with it next to your head. It was a bad habit, you knew of it. Still, the sense of having some sort of a communication device close was soothing. If anything happened, you could make quick work of calling for help.

But, as it turns out, you might have overestimated your friend’s resolve. There was one ping. Then another. Before you even roused fully, your teleslate began ringing, filling your ears with the annoyingly cheerful tune.

At first, your instinct was to throw it out of the window. A foolish act, but to your halfway asleep mind, it was utterly reasonable. You could just grab it from the grass patch in the morning, and you’d get a good night's sleep.

Alas, some reason dawned upon your dazed state. Why would Phainon call you this late? Sure, he seemed to love doing this whenever given the chance, but never did he ring you during the night. What if he needed your help? You fought recently, but it didn’t mean you’d leave him in the times of need.

Against your frustration, you swatted your hand around, finally grabbing the teleslate. Once you opened your eyes, you got temporarily blinded by the bright screen, having to squint. Without any further ado, you picked up, wanting to get over with it.

“Hello?”

“[Name].” Phainon said, somewhat breathless. The sound of his voice came out slightly muffled. “Oh, I’m so glad you picked up… Did I wake you?”

You have to admit, deep inside, you might have missed hearing him talk. Still, there was an undeniable tension threaded through his tone, which caused you to wonder. Was he feeling unwell?

“It’s late. Is something wrong?”

The man let out a strained laugh. “No… I just— I just wanted to hear you.”

Truthfully, you expected him to drown you in an onslaught of queries and maybe even insults. That’s what you’d do, at least. Putting yourself in his shoes was kind of hard, but you can imagine how distressed Phainon must’ve been for the past week. The fact he didn’t even try to question your constant ignoring was odd.

And why did he even want to hear you?

“At this hour?” You asked quietly, reaching to rub your eyes.

There was a rustle coming from your teleslate. Soft, irregular. It made you wince.

“Yeah. Just… talk to me. Please?”

Phainon’s pleading caused you to sigh, giving in. “What do you want me to say?”

A long pause stretched between you before Phainon managed to answer, and honestly, you thought he forgot about your existence.

“Anything.” He rasped, breaths uneven. “I don’t care. Your day, your… Whatever. I just need to hear you.”

Your sleep-fogged mind slowly began to sober up as you tried recalling anything interesting. But your days have been a blur of monotony, and it came hard.

“Well, today was busy. Nothing special. It was hot out, though I’m sure you know that.”

He probably aimed to answer, but all that left his throat was a shaky sound. Like an exhale, cut off suddenly without much reason, and followed by a sharp intake of air.

Unease started to overtake your senses.

“Are you okay?” You muttered, tone unsure.

Phainon hummed meekly. “Yeah… Yeah. Keep going.”

“Uh…” You paused, feeling your feet catch on the tangled sheets. His voice sounded so thin, like he was far away from himself, and it stirred something unpleasant in your gut. “The festival’s coming up again soon. It’s hard to believe it’s been almost a year.”

Another laugh. “Mhm… Last year…”

He stopped mid-sentence, causing a rustling, muffled noise to grace your ears once more. Then, he pushed on.

“You looked so beautiful that night,” Phainon whined out. “I think about it a lot, [Name]. About you. Always, always—“

Then, it no longer sounded like he was just innocently talking with you. The way his voice cracked, turning into a prolonged sound might have indicated only a couple of things — and the steadily growing realization was beyond flustering.

An unbearably hot feeling crept onto your whole face, and it was far from pleasant. You gripped your sheets, finger itching over the red button.

“…What are you doing?” You cut into the nonsensical rambling Phainon went on, babbling about whatever bullshit he came up with.

His breath obviously hitched. “Nothing. Only listening. I like hearing you talk— your voice.” He stammered, a little too quickly. “Just… stay with me, alright?”

The words felt like a grip on your chest.

“I’m going to sleep.” You said, attempting to rein in your nerves.

“No,” Phainon forced out shakily. “No, not yet. Please, [Name]. Just a little longer, keep talking, ple—”

Beep, beep, beep.

Wide-eyed, you stared at the screen of your teleslate, lower lip trembling. You simply couldn’t bear it anymore.

It was too much. What Phainon was doing — probably for the entire time while on call with you — was obvious, and in that moment, you wished to close your eyes and pass out.

The fact was abstract. Nothing made sense, and you felt similarly to your younger self, confused when the teacher told you to interpret some painting. You remember looking at the paint strokes, squinting. In your opinion, it looked like nether. Red and black and deep navy melting into one, creating something straight up hellish.

And you let it drag for far too long — all actions have their consequences. Could you really blame Phainon, when at the end of the day, it was you leading him by the nose?

A small voice in the back of your mind told you yes. You can put the blame on him. Perhaps you even should. After all, he was the one acting deluded, so completely different from who he used to be. He was no longer the sweet boy who’d bring sugar for the ants, or carry you on his back whenever you got too tired.

But, who are you trying to fool? Sure, Phainon overstepped what logic there was left between you. The concrete line blurred with each passing day, his own fingers smudging it like chalk.

And you weren’t better, for you were keeping him on that leash of longing, happy with how he’d obediently indulge your every whim. Every want. All the attention and love aimed at you was like fuel. Why you needed it so much was unknown to you — be it your parents passing, or lack of stable interpersonal connections. But you craved it, and the sight of that revered man ready to rip his own veins for you was fulfilling. For you, he hid his strength. For you, he used those God-slaughtering hands in the gentlest way.

You were selfish, and there was something terrible hiding in the darkness of your room. Perhaps a reflection of your tar-like heart. When you squinted hard enough, you could see it grinning back.

Some things aren’t meant to be. It’s as simple as that.

The start of your day was honestly awful. You woke with a headache, pounding at the back of your eyes terribly. When you thought to catch some fresh air, you stepped out, only to see those countless bouquets Phainon left at your doorstep soaked with rain water. Disgruntled, you picked them up, ready to throw into the trash can. Their petals clung to your light-colored stone at the front door, and something released its artificial color, staining everything around. So, not only were you suffering physically, but now you also had to clean up.

And there were also the events of last night. They sat firmly at the bottom of your brain, reminding you of what occurred whenever you tried to focus. At some point you thought to let it go, but then you remembered how distraught you were with everything.

Phainon was a dedicated man, his devotion obscuring any sense. He’d do it again, given the chance. Or commit something even worse. Were you not to confront him about that, you’d leave the gates open wide for his unseeming behaviors. You couldn’t allow it.

In the afternoon, you rushed to his house, knocking feverishly at the door. When no one opened, you rattled them. Frustrated, you deduced he must’ve been away, so you stormed off. People were giving you weird looks. Sure, no one would be bold enough to quite literally bang at the doors of a Chrysos Heir, but it’s not like you’ve suddenly grown two heads!

So, you went there later. Still nothing. You thought to break the window and seat yourself on his couch, but that would probably be too much. Though, you have to admit, Phainon’s expression would’ve been priceless. Oh, if only you could snap a picture of him getting all startled and post it. Petty, yes. But so worth it.

Anyway, you weren’t the one to give up easily. When the sky got darker, you decided to try for the last time. With an already exhausted mind, you left your place once more, legs quickly carrying you over to Phainon’s house.

For what it’s worth, you were clever enough to prepare yourself for the most likely unpleasant encounter — you formulated all conversation starters and possible outcomes, coupling it with what exactly you wanted to communicate. You broke your head over it for the entire day, but perhaps it wasn’t for nothing.

Still, it did little to ease your nervousness. Once you stood at the door, a lump formed in your throat, and you found yourself struggling to gather courage. You willed your knuckles to knock, the sound coming out dull. Upon no response, you tried again and again.

Finally, your stressed mind told you to simply grab the handle and try entering. It’s not like you’re breaking in, right? Knowing Phainon, he’d be overjoyed to see you come in unannounced.

Surprisingly, the door actually opened. Slowly, you invited yourself in, glancing around the space of the vestibule. By the narrow, low bench stood his combat boots, messily thrown to the side. So, he was home, after all.

With another few steps, you went into the corridor, scanning both the living room and kitchen branching off into two separate ways. No sight of the man. Lights were off, and for a second, you almost convinced yourself that Phainon wasn’t even there — but, really, he wouldn’t leave the house barefoot.

Well, there was only one option left. Not caring enough to keep your steps quiet, you mustered up any confidence, trudging over to the bedroom. There was a minimal sound of another person’s footfall, and so, you pushed the door open.

And there he was, in all of his glory. Phainon stood before you, one hand outstretched, as if he was ready to open the door, too. Unsurprisingly, he seemed taken aback by your presence.

The next thing that caught your eye was that portrait you and him commissioned some time ago. You don’t remember Phainon ever mentioning it any further, but it hung proudly above his bed, being the only ornament in the whole room. It appeared uncanny, contrasting with the heavily decorated space outside.

(For a brief second, you wondered if he actually kneels in front of it, like some kind of devotee, and stares at your perfectly recreated face.)

“Oh, [Name].” Phainon breathed, his frozen silhouette snapping into life and stepping aside to let you in. “Goodness, I haven’t seen you in such a long time.”

Seeing him move to encircle his arms around you, you immediately eluded the touch, backing yourself further into the bedroom.

“Don’t.” You murmured, eyebrows narrowing. “We need to talk.”

The man blinked, as if confused. “About what?”

Oh, and now he wanted to play clueless? Phainon could put up an innocent act, you knew of it better than anyone else. Alas, the sharp glint in his eyes always betrayed the feigned facade.

“About everything. All the things that you’ve been doing, all the boundaries you shamelessly breached—”

“For example?” He cut in, tone still guiltless.

The amounts of Phainon’s audacity were genuinely shocking. You gritted your teeth, trying to stick to the scenario you curated earlier.

“I… I know what you’ve been doing on that call with me.”

His expression faltered, just a bit. “I’m not following.”

Irritation came close to your throat, threatening to tug at your vocal cords and let out the most vicious insults known to man, for his defiance angered you, perhaps, more than the act of indulging upon his carnal desires itself. But in the eyes of such a deluded person, words probably mattered little. You could tell him to go to hell, and he’d say he wishes you’d go there with him.

“You’re disgusting.”

Phainon’s lips parted, a genuine flash of hurt passing through his face. He looked around the abnormally empty room, slightly panicked irises ultimately locking back on yours.

“But I wanted—”

“Well, what?” You interrupted harshly. “What did you want to accomplish by—”

“[Name], you do not understand—”

“Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice? You deem me foolish?”

“No, I— I just needed you, what is so hard to understand about it? I need you, always, because—”

“Stop it! You’re acting like a goddamn child! Only taking, taking—”

“But you felt it too!”

“Me? Feeling whatever nonsense you came up with? Don’t make me—”

“You said you loved me, didn’t you?”

This caused you to pause. The whole conversation didn’t go as planned, and at some point you threw your resolutions out of the window, forgetting about keeping things demure.

And now, Phainon was suggesting you loved him. It wasn’t completely untrue, because you cherished him as a friend, knowing that he would let you look at him however you wanted, and he’d still stay. You just didn’t know it would escalate into such a disagreement.

What consequences are there when you break an already tormented heart? People who went through hell may not be swayed by what surrounds them, for they’ve seen and felt worse. Analogically, they could finally snap. There’s only so much one can bear.

“I never said such a thing.” You retaliated, voice rising again. “How can you treat me with so little respect, when all I did was show you kindness? I’ve never done anything to you! You don’t care about my feelings, you act like I’m some possession to play with!”

“But I do love you!” Phainon said, tone cracking in half. “Do you not see?”

Yes, you could see it clearly enough. The way undeniable devotion filled his sad eyes to the brim, threatening to spill out. But there is a thin line between so-called devotion and obsession, and Phainon seemed to be dancing on its edge for the majority of your rekindled friendship.

And it made you angry. Looking at Phainon with such dismay never crossed your mind up until now. You simply can’t understand him. You can’t. It’s not possible — where did you go wrong? In what place did your foot slip, causing you to tumble into him? What sparked this unwelcome feeling?

Standing in front of this picture, you’ve come to realize that ultimately, you never harbored much compassion for him. There were times when you felt bad, but those moments were shallow. Something you liked to dip your ankles in, relishing in how good of a friend you must’ve been, always caring for his feelings. It was fueled by nostalgia and old affections. This Phainon, however, appeared like a distant concept you’ve dreamt of. Nothing to bother yourself too deeply with. He’ll stay by your side like a loyal mutt anyway, won’t he?

Perhaps, this exact lack of empathy, might have been your greatest mistake and greatest punishment.

“Well, I don’t love you! I never loved you, you hear me?” You snapped, palms landing on his shoulders to give him a rough shove.

And you didn’t expect Phainon to actually sway with your movement, because he was like a boulder in comparison to your frail wrists, but he dropped to one knee. Stunned, or in a bout of sudden weakness. You didn’t know. All you could do was watch him huff in surprise, blue irises fixed on the floor.

Something in him seemed to deflate, as if your words took the oxygen out of his lungs, forcing his breath to hitch in short bursts. Phainon lifted his head slowly, confusion etched deep into his face, like he couldn’t reconcile you standing over him with the version of yourself he had in his mind.

For a second, you thought the man might lunge. But no. He stayed on the ground, one hand splayed against wooden panels, the other hanging loose. Phainon’s eyes frantically traced your face as if he was searching for a line to hold on to — anything to prove you didn’t mean what you said.

Despite everything, you started to feel overexposed. Like you were the one on the floor, and not him. Did you hurt him? You didn’t mean to, no, it was just a shove. Why was he acting like that?

Instinctively, you took a step backwards, followed by another. Before you even knew it, the back of your knees hit the bed frame, causing you to accidentally stumble and drop on the mattress.

As you tried lifting yourself up, Phainon immediately closed the distance between you. On his hands and knees, he crawled impossibly closer, expression despaired — his fingers gripped your exposed calves, nails catching on the flesh uncomfortably. The man held you firmly in place, causing you to panic.

“H-hey, what’re—”

“I’m sorry.” He interrupted, voice breaking. “I’ll never— I didn’t mean—“

You pushed at Phainon, trying to pull back when the sensation of him squeezing your legs became too much. “Let go!”

He shook his head, insistently pressing his forehead to your knees. A dreadful feeling pounded in your heart as you tried to reason what was going on. How did this once respectable person fall so low?

“No— please, please, don’t leave me. I can change. I’ll be what you want. Anything you want.”

“Stop talking like this…!”

“I’m so sorry, I was stupid, I was lonely— I won’t do it again.”

The way Phainon’s nails dug into your body was probably leaving crescent marks behind, and all the words rolling off his tongue like an avalanche caused the air in your lungs to go heavy.

Upon receiving a pained breath from you, the man merely looked up with wide, misty eyes, emotions rimmed at the edges and threatening to overflow. He pressed himself even further, nudging his chin between your knees.

“I love you,” he continued once you didn’t respond, wet lips tracing your skin. “Tell me, [Name]. I’m begging you, just say what to fix.”

You tried kicking, yet it was futile. Phainon ignored how your fingers tangled in his fair locks, yanking aggressively. It was as if he was an unfaltering obstacle, whatever breakage in his mind causing the vision to narrow on one goal. You.

“Are you deaf?” You questioned, though your voice was no longer loud. It faltered, fading off.

Phainon grabbed your hand when you tried swinging it at him, and you couldn’t move it, even if his grip wasn’t overly hard.

In that moment, you understood he didn’t wish to bring you harm — the man could easily hurl you on the floor, knocking you out with an effortless hit. And yet, the more you thrashed, the more distraught his expression got. Like he was already pitying you, though you don’t know the reason why.

“Teach me how to love you better. Please.” Phainon whined pathetically, unconsciously squashing your hand. “Please, let me.”

The action made you groan, and you lifted one of your feet to shove it into his underbelly, but all you got met with was a wall of muscle. There was absolutely no change on his face.

“No— no, what is wrong with you?” You choked out, slowly beginning to grasp just how hopeless your current situation is.

What caused Phainon to slip into such a mental state? What? Was he always like this, secretly demented and masking his crazed self with a docile image? Or maybe it were your words, pushing him over the edge?

Sure, you always thought of him as pathetic. Now you can say that with confidence, ridden of the guilt admitting it would bring you earlier on. Lacking in self respect, treating you like you hung the stars for him. But never did you deem him this far gone.

Your eyes snapped back into focus when the man tugged your hand closer to his lips, hot breath fanning against your joints.

“I’ll do anything for you, [Name].”

To your horror, he actually licked you. Not a kiss, nor anything relatively normal in this already abstract situation. You could clearly feel and see it, the way Phainon lapped at you. A strained sound left your lips as your fingers clenched, like you were ready to claw his very eyes out, but that only granted more access for his tongue.

“You always said how you loved dogs.” He panted, a twitching smile stretching his lips. “Didn’t you?”

Another lick, leaving a stripe of slobber between your fingers.

“I could bark for you,” the man continued, “or I’ll stay quiet. But please, [Name]— please don’t abandon—”

Something snapped in you. You slapped Phainon across the face, hard enough for his head to jerk to the side. The waterfall of his words immediately got cut off by a hitching gasp, and you pushed him off with all your might, backing out towards the door.

He simply crouched there. A red mark bloomed on his face. Your hand itched from the impact.

Phainon never wanted to hurt you. And you weren’t the same. Perhaps that is the most prominent difference between you. Despite all, you weren’t as good. You bite the one that hurts you, and you expose your fangs in a snarl when all he can do is to wish you reciprocated his unconditional love.

You observed his form, the way he just stared at you, wide-eyed and unblinking, as if trying to process what happened. Then, Phainon’s mouth parted, a small breath escaping him. His brows pinched upwards, not in anger, but in something childlike; like the bewilderment that you could ever actually hit him was too much to bear.

Tears started rolling down his cheeks without a warning. Disbelieving, you watched them fall quickly, one after another — and his shoulders hunched down, a feeble whimper slipping away.

A quiet sob filled your ears, but there was no space for pity in your heart. Not when Phainon started getting on his feet, alarm bells ringing in your head, loud with urgency. He moved in a certain way, his posture shifting. And so, you took two steps back before spinning on your heel, and bolting down the corridor.

The hallway felt way too narrow when you ran, and something in your heart told you it was no use. Your feet struck the ground in quick thuds, an awful sting burning at your lungs.

You could sense Phainon behind. He was always exceptional in the way he could control his body, yet now, all that you heard was uneven pounding of someone gaining speed through sheer desperation. Perhaps you were the delusional one, thinking you could lose him.

Genuine fear burst with ugly colors in your chest as you turned the corner, shoulder clumsily catching against some antique vase. The exit doors were so close. Your body practically smashed against them as you tugged at the handle, swinging them open.

Then, Phainon grabbed your wrist, harshly yanking you backwards. A yelp escaped your mouth as you struggled in his hold, trepidation obscuring any logic left within your erratic mind.

No. It simply couldn’t have been happening.

Your head snapped to face him, and you panted, teeth grinding so hard you thought your incisors would crack.

He was breathing heavily as well, face red from all the crying and sprinting after you. In the twins of blue, you swear you saw the reflection of your terrified self, but the gentle gust of wind caused Phainon’s fringe to partially cover them.

“No! Don’t do this!” The man pleaded, tone rising with undeniable panic.

You thrashed ferociously. “Go away, Phainon!”

“You’re all I want!” He cut in, tugging. “You’re all I have!”

“Go away!”

“Please— please! You can’t—”

A scream ripped from your throat, for you hoped that maybe someone would hear the despaired wails, and intervene. Phainon instantly reacted, pressing his palm against your mouth so hard you stumbled into the wall, knees almost giving out.

A shaky exhale left through your nose, and all you could do was heave, trying not to break down.

“Don’t go.”

The air smells like approaching summer.

“Please… I’ll be good, I promise—”

Phainon’s bone-crushing grip, bruising around one of your wrists is beyond painful. Eyes of a beaten animal stare into you, as if begging not to pull the rifle’s trigger.

“I’ll be good.”

And when you’re two meters underground, with worms eating at your brain, they will certainly get visions of him. They will feel how softly his fingers used to cradle you, and hear the sweet sound of his voice. They will experience revelations and horrors beyond their comprehension.

You don’t think of much else, when spring wanes.

Yet now, you think of little else but him.

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lovebugism · 2 months ago

Text

— BEFORE YOU BREAK MY HEART !

summary: a pretty stranger comes to your rescue when you get stood up at a sandwich shop.

pairing: carmy berzatto / f!reader

contents: meet ugly, hurt/comfort, fluff, swearing, carmy has a crush, richie is a menace

( best listened with headphones, full playlist link here )

Carmy’s been wiping down the front counter for the past five minutes. At least. He’s more distracted by your figure across the room, sitting at the table in front of the large window, staring through the glass like you’re waiting to see something on the other side. You’ve been in the same spot for half an hour now, and that something hasn’t come yet.

Something about it is impossible to look away from. Like a car crash or something equally as harrowing. There’s something heartbreaking about your lonely form that breaks his own heart right back.

“You gonna tell her to get the hell outta here, cousin, or are you gonna keep ogling like a creep?” Richie wonders suddenly, leaning over Carmy’s shoulder to whisper obnoxiously close to his ear.

Carmy flinches. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks with his face screwed, lifting his elbow to nudge the taller man away.

“I said, are you gonna—”

“No, I— I heard you, Richie.”

“Then why’d you say ‘what?’”

“‘Cause you’re a fucking asshole, that’s why,” Carmy snaps and turns away. He tosses his dry rag over his shoulder and ducks past Richie to chuck the wet one in the sink. The older man follows behind him, hardly bothering to spare more than an inch of personal space between them.

“She’s taking up space here, cousin.”

“What are you even talking about? There’s nobody else in here.”

He steps to the side. Richie’s quick to block his path. His icy gaze hardens into a more serious look as he points a stern finger at the boy’s chest. Carmy’s eyes flit back and forth between his hand and his face, hardly intimidated.

“Tell her to leave,” the man instructs in a strangely even voice. “Or I’m gonna make a fuckin’ scene.”

Carmy scoffs a faint laugh. “You’re such an idiot.”

“I mean it, cousin,” Richie continues, faltering when he realizes Carmy isn’t taking his authority seriously — and hasn’t since he was thirteen. He pokes the younger boy hard in the chest to prove a point. “I mean it,” the man echoes, all dramatic, before turning on his sneakers to head back into the kitchen.

Carmy rubs at his aching sternum with a tattooed hand and watches Richie leave — jostling the heavy mixer, the napkin tins, and the stainless steel cups as he goes. Creating as much noise as humanly possible. Making an entire fucking scene.

Carmy huffs when the silence finds him again, filled only by the radio Tina’s got playing. An unfamiliar song croons faintly overhead, soft and folksy. “I’m coming to the brink of a great disaster, the end just has to be near—”

The quiet is deafening still.

The urge to say something to you weighs heavily upon him, and he isn’t quite sure why. He’s never felt quite so compelled to talk to anyone, much less a pretty stranger sitting by herself in his restaurant. But there’s something about you and your loneliness that threatens to drag the words out of him.

He’s walking to your table before he realizes his feet are moving. He finds himself looming awkwardly at your table until he finds the courage to speak. Even then, all he can manage is a mumbled, “Hey,” as he twists the rag in his anxious hands.

You whip your head to face him and blink hard, like his presence has knocked you from the depths of your own mind.

“Oh. Hi…” you waver, face screwed with something short of worry. You don’t realize until then how long you’ve been sitting alone in this restaurant — or how big of an idiot you are for waiting on someone who was never going to come.

“Sorry to, uh, to bother you,” Carmy mumbles, with his gaze pointed everywhere but at you. “But I— I noticed you’ve been here for a while and—”

“I’m sorry,” you squeak before he’s finished. “I’m waiting for someone— was waiting for someone, but… I’m pretty sure they aren’t gonna show, so…”

You laugh awkwardly at yourself in a feeble attempt to relieve the pressure in your chest, then cower under the stranger’s sympathetic, ocean-eyed stare.

Carmy nods slowly with understanding, chestnut curls wild on his head. He forgets to show the emotion on his face, though. He just crosses his golden, tattooed arms over his chest and wonders bluntly, “Do you wanna order something?”

He doesn’t realize how curt he sounds until you flinch at his words, like they’ve hit you physically somehow. “No, it’s okay,” you decline with a pretty smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “I’ll just— I can just go— Sorry for wasting your time—”

You collect your belongings with panicked hands, your phone on the table and your tote bag propped on the chair beside you. You swing the strap over your shoulder and rise to full height, standing before the tall stranger. He towers over you still, and from the proximity, you can smell the cigarette and nicotine mixed on his breath. There’s musky cologne spritzed on his neck and something savory stained on his apron that makes you hungry.

Carmy holds his hands between you in surrender, light eyes going wide in a similar panic. “No, it’s— it’s okay, just— Let me get you some water before you go,” he offers kindly, remembering to smile this time, even though it wavers at the edges. “It’s fuckin’ hot out there, you know?” he chuckles awkwardly.

You hesitate for a moment, feeling too much like a burden to say yes.

“C’mon,” the stranger presses gently, with something pretty glittering in his crystalline eyes. “It’s free. And it’ll take me, like, two seconds tops. You’ll be outta here in no time.”

You take in a deep, trembling breath, then nod with a smile despite yourself. “Okay,” you murmur and sit down again.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Carmy promises as he walks backwards towards the kitchen. “Don’t go anywhere—”

Hidden in the depths of the kitchen, he works with fast and practiced hands. He attempts to make you a sandwich in the time it’d take him to bring you water — an impossible feat, even for the best chef this side of Chicago has ever seen. He works on autopilot and tries to remember the recipe off the top of his head, something Mikey had made a thousand lightyears ago that’s plagued him ever since.

He races for the ciabatta, passing Richie without realizing. “She finally order?” the man calls across the station.

Carmy barely hears him. “Mhm,” he mumbles vaguely, reaching frantically for the needed ingredients — salami, provolone, tomatoes, peppers, the whole nine. He packs them into the sandwich and glances at the clock every other second, praying you haven’t left yet.

“Good,” Richie nods, arms crossed as he leans against the counter. He feigns an air of authority and says, “Soliciting’s illegal, cousin. We need to put a sign on the door or some shit.”

“Loitering,” Carmy corrects distantly, slicing the sandwich into halves.

“What?”

“It’s loitering. Soliciting’s something completely different, fuck-o.”

“Same difference,” Richie laughs. “Who gives a shit?”

Carmy shakes his head and plates the sandwich into a to-go tray, resting one half over the other for a little extra flair. “Idiot,” the boy mumbles to Richie as he walks by him and out of the kitchen. The song follows him as he goes. “—Can you save her? Now she’s in the air, radical and free...”

He exhales a sigh of relief when he finds you sitting in the same spot he left you in, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. It’s his first good breath in several minutes. “Sorry it took me so long,” he pants as the double doors swing shut behind him. “Ice machine’s fucking up.”

“It’s okay,” you assure with a polite smile that ebbs slightly when he sets the plate of food in front of you — a sandwich, but not the kind you’re used to making, all lifeless with the cheapest ingredients you can muster. This one looks good, gourmet even, like he put a lot of care into such a simple thing.

Your eyes widen briefly in surprise as you peer at the boy from beneath your lashes. “You didn’t have to…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Carmy shrugs, pretending to be casual about the whole thing despite his racing heart. He crosses his arms over his chest like it’ll slow his pulse. “On the house.”

“…Really?”

“Really,” Carmy nods with a breathy laugh. “C’mon. Try it. Before you break my heart.”

He smiles down at you, all shy and lopsided and half-hidden behind the hand he rubs over his chin. Something funny swirls in your stomach accordingly, which you’ll blame on the hunger instead, as you take the halved sandwich in hesitant hands.

You bite gingerly in the corner, prepared to hate it and compliment it anyway. Then it melts effortlessly into your mouth, a symphony of differing tastes that somehow work perfectly together. You deflate with a contented sigh, making a concerted effort not to moan when it hits your grumbling stomach.

Carmy watches with wide, attentive eyes and tries to gauge your reaction. “Good?” he wonders anxiously.

You nod slowly with the bite still wadded in your cheek. “Really good,” you correct with your hand over your mouth.

He exhales a relieved sigh, nodding to himself with his hands on his hips. “Good… I’ve been wanting to put it on the menu so… That makes me feel better.”

“Seriously?” you blurt.

“Seriously,” Carmy echoes. “I just thought that, you know, you could use somethin’ a little special, all things considered…”

He watches his attempt to comfort you crash and burn right in front of him. Your small smile fades at the reminder of being stood up. You swallow hard and deflate with a heavy breath. Carmy stumbles over himself as he rushes to apologize.

“Shit. Sorry. I was— I was trying to make you feel better, and I… I just totally fucked it up, didn’t I? Shit...”

He gets all regretful in a way that makes his face twist like a puppy. Something about his tenderness quells the tight feeling in your chest.

“It’s okay. Really. I usually hate dates anyway, but, uh…” you trail off, grimacing when you decide to be honest. “My entire paycheck went to bills, and I thought I could score some free food out of it.”

The brunette boy smiles all over again. “Guess it still worked out for you, huh?”

“Guess so…” you hum and smile at his smiling, cheeks burning under his gaze. “It didn’t hurt my feelings or anything, you know, getting stood up. Not really— Well, it kinda did, but… I’ll get over it… Probably.”

“Well, whoever left you at this shithole’s an idiot,” Carmy tells you, only partly joking when he says, “Matter of fact, give me a name, and I’ll ban ‘em for life.”

He means every word, but it makes you laugh anyway. The light and airy, sunshine-incarnate sound makes his chest go fuzzy. “I’m serious,” Carmy insists with his own laugh. “Fuck that guy.”

You feel oddly comforted by this stranger and the kindness in his words. Maybe because he’s far kinder than the idiot you were planning on seeing today — and far prettier, too, but that goes without saying.

“Well, thanks for the gesture. And the free sandwich— which should definitely be on the menu, by the way.”

Carmy scoffs a faint laugh. “Yeah, well, tell my cousin that,” he jokes and tosses a brief glance over his shoulder. He does a double-take when he catches Richie peeking through the window behind the double doors, trying to be inconspicuous and failing. “What the hell are you doing?” Carmy calls to him.

Richie falters, realizing he’d been caught. “You wanna stop makin’ moves on our customers and do your job, cousin?” he calls back, half-muffled in the kitchen.

“Jesus Christ,” Carmy huffs, then turns back around to you, softening with a heavy sigh. “Sorry— I’m sorry about him. He’s… an idiot.”

“It’s okay,” you grin. “He seems nice.”

“He isn’t,” he deadpans.

You laugh again. “I should probably go, anyway,” you murmur and rise to collect your things. You swing your tote bag over your shoulder with one hand and balance the to-go tray in the other. “Thanks for the food. And for being so nice.”

Carmy ducks away from your tender gaze. His chestnut curls fall over his forehead as his golden skin glows red. “Don’t mention it,” he mumbles politely and walks with you towards the entrance. The door dings over his head when he opens it for you. “Come back, alright?” he tells you plainly, though it feels more like a plea.

“Only if you get this sandwich on the menu,” you quip.

Carmy nods once. “On it.”

You part from him with a pretty smile. Carmy stands in the open door and watches you stroll down the worn sidewalk. He cranes his head when you threaten to disappear in the bustling crowd, praying silently that you’ll turn around to look at him again.

He barely realizes when Richie appears at his side. “What are you so goddamn weepy about over here?” the man laughs, following his gaze down the road. Richie catches you nearing the corner and tilts his head with a slow nod. “Damn. I’d cry about an ass like that, too, cousin.”

Carmy nudges him away with his elbow. “Get— Get the fuck off of me, Richie,” he snaps.

Richie only laughs harder. “What?!” he exclaims, taking an obvious pleasure in annoying the younger boy.

That’s when you look back — right before you turn the corner, right when Carmy’s shoving Richie away like a child.

There’s something magnetic in your gaze that pulls Carmy’s eyes right towards you. He falters under the glimmer in your eye and the wide smile you cage between your teeth. It makes his stomach do a backflip and the rest of the world slow around him. He isn’t sure if he deserves to be looked at so tenderly, but he warms under your gaze nonetheless.

He blinks, and you’re gone again. He feels your absence like a punch to the stomach, or a missed meal that’s left him achingly empty. He isn’t sure why. He only knows that there is something unavoidably special about you.

But now you’re gone. And Carmy’s doomed.

2K notes · View notes

jaysbaefie · 3 months ago

Text

noona | sjy (2/2)

synopsis: in which your little brothers best friend can’t keep his feelings and true intentions a secret anymore.

genre: brothers best friend to lovers

pairing: little brothers best friendljake x older afab reader

warnings: sad!jake, petty!jake, degrading, light dubcon, light fondling, manhandling, oral (m.rec and f.rec), unprotected p in v, forced confession of feelings, choking, jake eats his own cum…overstimulation, fingering, pussy slapping, creampie, almost getting caught (again). that’s it….i think.

wc: 5.1k

read part 1 part 2

a/n: i didn’t think id pop out w a part 2 for this fic but here i am… i was procrastinating w my other ones so i decided to do smth w little to no plot and just filth. anyways.. hope u enjoy! notes reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

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weeks went by and you'd had enough.

the guilt was eating you alive, and every time jake touched you when sunghoon was nearby, your heart nearly stopped. it was reckless, dangerous and completely insane.

your heart ached whenever you saw jake and sunghoon hang out, seeing their friendship. you wondered how sunghoon would react if he found out that his best friend was fooling around with his older sister.

you couldn't bear the thought of your brother looking at you differently, so you made a decision.

that night jake was over, as he always was. you watched the two boys play games on the living room couch, standing afar as your cleaned up in the kitchen.

your parents had bid their goodnights, heading upstairs to go to sleep leaving you, sunghoon and jake alone downstairs.

"hey! you said you'd cover me!" sunghoon grunts, his eyebrows furrowed as he squints his eyes—focusing on the screen ahead.

"i was getting attacked! i had to protect myself!"

"and your ass still died. what was the point of that."

the two argued playfully amongst each other, the thought of them not being friends because of you ached you.

time passes by, you loiter in the kitchen—pretending to do work on your laptop.

"noona, you can go to sleep you know. i know you're bored," you heard sunghoon say to you, peering back to see you sitting at one of the barstools in the kitchen.

you give him a soft smile, shaking your head. "it's no big deal, i have to stay up anyways. have to finish off these papers."

he nods, adjusting his head set. jake looks over, your eyes widening when he smirks at you—biting at his bottom lip. you quickly avert your eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

jake had gotten much bolder with his actions, however, nothing too intimate had happened ever since the kitchen scene a few weeks ago.

he wasn't as touchy, but his words had gotten bolder.

he always found ways to lean in too close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured things that made your face burn. "you smell good today, noona." or "you know, i have dreams about you. wanna know what they're about?" and when you pushed him away, he only chuckled, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

if you dropped something, he'd pick it up and hold it out—only to yank it back when you reached for it. "use your manners, noona. say please."

"please?"

his smirk widens, "good girl, noona."

if you were cooking, he'd stand behind you, arms caging you in as he reached for something. "careful, wouldn't want to burn yourself." he'd rub himself up against your butt, letting you feel how hard he was for you. but he never did more than brushing up against you or the occasional lingering touches.

it was almost like he was riling you up, teasing you so you'd snap.

when sunghoon was in his room with his headphones on, you pulled jake aside into the hallway. sunghoon had said goodnight, insisting that jake stay over since it was past midnight. jake had agreed, a dark smile on his face as his eyes raked up and down your figure—tongue jutting out to quickly swipe over his lips.

his usual cocky smirk was already forming, like he knew exactly why you wanted to talk.

"jake, we have to stop."

he blinked at you, amused. "stop what, noona?"

you swallowed, your stomach twisting. "this. whatever this is. it's wrong."

his smirk faltered for a second before his expression darkened. he stepped closer, forcing you back against the wall, trapping you between his arms. you tried not to shiver when you felt his breath against your skin.

"you think you can just cut me off like that?" he murmured, voice low and dangerous. "like i'm some bad habit you need to quit?"

you turned your face away, refusing to meet his gaze. "i—jake, i mean it. this is over."

he scoffed. "bullshit."

your eyes snapped back to him, widening as his fingers trailed along your arm. "i know you, noona. i know how you sound when you're turned on. i know how you taste when you're falling apart under me. and i definitely know how you look when you're pretending you don't want me." his hand suddenly slid between your thighs, over your shorts, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

you gasped, pushing at his chest. "j-jake, stop—sunghoon is upstairs!"

his smirk returned, but this time it was cruel. "exactly. so why haven't you screamed for him yet?"

you froze.

your mouth opened, but no words came out.

his grip tightened on your hip. "you could call him right now. tell him everything. tell him what a perv i am, how i've been touching you when he's not looking, how i licked your pretty cunt until you were shaking in the kitchen." he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "but you won't, will you?"

your breathing was ragged. "jake—"

"because you like it, noona." his fingers pressed harder, making your legs clench involuntarily. "you like how dirty this is. how wrong it feels. you say we need to stop, but your body?" he chuckled, sliding his knee between your thighs. "your body says otherwise."

he squeezes your hip, pushing you down so you grinded against his knee. you held in a moan, pursing your lips as you feel jake get tougher with his actions.

tears pricked at your eyes. whether it was from frustration, guilt, or something else entirely, you didn't know. "this isn't fair," you whispered.

jake pulled back slightly, tilting his head as he studied you. then, to your horror, his smirk completely disappeared. for the first time, he looked... genuinely hurt.

"you think this was just a game to me?" his voice was quiet, almost disappointed. "you think i did all this just to fuck around and piss you off?"

jake was hurt, he felt like you didn't even know him. he was never the type of guy that fooled around with girls, and you knew that. he thought he had made it clear how much he liked you, and only you.

you didn't know how to answer, standing there speechless.

jake clenched his jaw, his hands dropping from your body. his warmth disappeared, replaced by an unsettling emptiness.

"fine," he muttered, stepping back. "if that's what you want."

you felt like you could finally breathe again. but the victory was short-lived.

because the very next day, everything changed.

jake ignored you completely. no teasing touches. no lingering glances. no stolen moments in the hallway. it should've felt like relief, but instead, it felt like loss.

and the worst part? he was still around.

he still showed up at your house every day, still hung out with sunghoon like nothing had happened—but now, he acted like you didn't exist. and it was killing you.

although you hate to admit that you missed him and his advances, you were thankful that it had ended.

but just when you thought you were free, just when you started convincing yourself that maybe this was for the best.

jake reminds you why you could never escape him.

it happened late one night. a week had gone by since jake had pretended as if you didn't exist, you were slowly coming to terms with it.

you were in the kitchen alone, getting a glass of water, when suddenly, the room darkened. the air shifted, and before you could turn around—a familiar voice whispered against the shell of your ear.

"miss me yet, noona?"

your heart stopped.

and that was when you realized. this wasn't over. not even close. and in fact, it'll never be over.

your breath hitched as jake's hands found your waist, his grip firm, possessive—like he had every right to touch you.

"j-jake," you whispered breathlessly, your fingers tightening around the glass in your hand. you should push him away, should scream for sunghoon, should do anything but melt into him like you seemed to be doing.

but your body betrayed you.

he chuckled darkly, his nose grazing the side of your neck making you shiver in delight. "you thought i was done with you?" his fingers slid down to the hem of your shirt, teasingly brushing against your skin. "you think you can ignore this?"

his free hand covered yours, plucking the glass from your grip and setting it aside on the counter. the moment it left your grasp, he spun you around, pressing your back against the cool marble of the counters.

you mind races with flashbacks from weeks ago, when jake had his head between your legs and his tongue in you—making you writhe in pleasure. your chest heaved as you finally met his gaze—dark, hungry, filled with something dangerous.

"i was trying to be nice," he murmured, dragging his fingers down the dip of your throat, over your collarbone, down to the top button of your pajama shirt. "but you don't want nice, do you, noona?"

you looked up at him with pleading eyes, "you're a lot stronger than i thought you were, noona," he starts, his hand grabbing a hold of your breast making you whine. "i thought you'd break in a few days, but seems like you were getting used to my absence. can't have that now, can we?"

you swallowed hard, eyes darting to the doorway. "s-sunghoon is upstairs," you reminded him, voice barely above a breath.

jake smirked, popping the first button open. "then you better be quiet."

your stomach twisted as another button came undone, then another, his fingers deliberately slow, teasing.

"jake," you tried again, but suddenly, his lips were on yours—hot, demanding, stealing the breath from your lungs.

your hands instinctively flew to his shoulders, but whether to push him away or pull him closer, you weren't sure. it didn't matter. he took the decision from you, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you, letting you feel just how much he wanted this.

a muffled whimper escaped your throat when he rolled his hips into you, your core throbbing at the friction.

"fuck," he groaned against your lips, one hand slipping under your shirt to splay across your bare waist. "you have no idea how much i missed this."

"we—we can't," you breathed, even as your fingers found their way into his hair, tugging him closer.

"we already are," he murmured, teeth grazing your jaw before trailing down to your neck. you gasped when he sucked at the sensitive spot just below your ear, your body arching into his as heat coiled deep in your stomach.

"so sensitive," he mused, his lips curving against your skin. "you missed me too, didn't you, noona?"

you hated that he was right. hated that you had missed this—his touch, his voice, the way he made you feel alive.

but before you could admit it, before you could even think of responding, his hand was dipping lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

your breath hitched.

"jake," you gasped, your knees nearly giving out when his fingers brushed against your clothed heat. he groans at the dampness he found, his other hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"look at you," he murmured, eyes dark with need. "so fucking wet for me." you let out a soft whimper, and that was all it took for his restraint to snap.

"you're going to be a good girl, right noona?" he pants softly, his hand slipping out of your shorts. you almost whine at the loss, missing his touch where you need it the most.

you nod mindlessly, looking up at him to catch the dark look in his eyes. his lips pull into an almost evil smirk, "then you're going to have to apologize to me, noona. you hurt my feelings," he fake pouts.

you gape at him, your mouth opening to apologize only for jake to slip in two of his fingers past your lips. you gag around his fingers, not adjusting to the sudden intrusion in your mouth.

he stares down at you, his breath hitching when he pumps his fingers slowly into your mouth.

"nu uh, noona. that's not how i want my apology," he begins, his mouth pulled into a lazy smirk. he slowly pulls his fingers out, a trail of saliva connecting your mouth and his digits. he rubs his spit covered fingers over your lips messily, his face pulled into a pained look as he holds in a moan. "you don't need to use your mouth, but your going to let me use your mouth. yeah?"

your eyes widen at his words, swallowing harshly before you're nodding your head. it felt as if you didn't have control over your own actions.

he grins at your obedience, his hands tangling it into your hair before he's pushing you down to your knees slowly.

you sink down, coming face to face with jake's crotch—your eyes widening when you see the large tent in his pants. jake smirks, tilting your chin up.

"c'mon, take it out."

your hands fumble with his pajama pants, pulling them down along with his briefs. you gasp when his cock springs free, thick, flushed, already leaking. your eyes flick up to meet his, but he doesn't give you time to marvel or breathe—his hand is already fisting in your hair again, pulling your head closer.

"open," he mutters, and when you hesitate, he tightens his grip, yanking your head back. "don't make me ask again, noona."

your lips part, and jake doesn't wait. he slides his cock into your mouth with one slow, brutal thrust, groaning low in his throat when he hits the back of it. your hands fly to his thighs, nails digging in, but he doesn't ease up—he rolls his hips, feeding more of himself into your throat until you're gagging, tears stinging your eyes.

"this is what you wanted?" he grits out, in pure bliss that the woman he had wanted for half of his life was taking him in to her mouth. "just my cock, right? that's all i was to you, yeah?"

you try to shake your head, try to speak around him, but he just holds you there, his other hand coming down to cup your jaw, thumb smearing at the tears running down your cheeks.

"don't lie now," he growls. "you said it yourself. you thought i didn't give a fuck about you. you thought i was just using you."

he pulls out just enough for you to suck in a shaky breath before slamming back in, your moan muffled, choked, sinful.

"you're older than me, right?" he spits, voice bitter. "supposed to be the mature one. then why the fuck are you acting like a scared little girl?"

you look up at him, ruined. your jaw aching, drool trailing down your chin—and jake just smiles. not soft. cruel.

he could feel the familiar coil in his stomach tighten, but this wasn't the way he wanted to cum for you.

"you hurt me, noona," he whispers, finally pulling out completely. you gasp, throat sore, but he doesn't let you rest. he grabs you by the arms and yanks you to your feet, pushing you hard against the counter.

"bend over."

"jake—" you choke, blinking through the fog of tears and lust. "we shouldn't—sunghoon—"

"you think i give a fuck about sunghoon right now?" he hisses, dragging your shorts down roughly, letting them pool around your ankles. "you think he'd care about protecting his slutty sister who lies about what we have?"

you flinch, but you don't stop him—not when he kicks your legs apart, not when he presses the head of his cock right against your dripping entrance.

"say it," he snaps, one hand gripping your hip while the other holds your hair in a tight, punishing fist. "say i'm not just a fuck. beg me to forgive you." you hold in a mewl as his grip on your hair gets tighter, the crown of your head touching his chest.

you bite your lip, shame and heat colliding in your chest, but you say it anyway—voice trembling, broken.

"you're not just a fuck," you whisper. "i'm sorry, jake—please, i didn't mean it. i thought you didn't care...i was scared."

he goes still for a beat, his grip on you relaxing before his chest presses against your back. you hear the shift in his breath.

and then he thrusts into you so hard the air is knocked out of your lungs.

"you should be scared," he hisses against your ear. "scared of how much i fucking want you. scared of what i'll do when you try to run again."

you cry out, biting your own wrist to keep quiet as he starts to pound into you, fast, rough, relentless. you could feel yourself convulse around his girth, your velvety walls sucking him in like a suction.

"mine," he growls with every thrust, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. "mine. you hear me?"

you nod, gasping his name, body trembling from the intensity. it's overwhelming—the pace, the anger, the feeling behind every snap of his hips.

"say it," he demands again, thrusting particularly hard.

"i'm yours," you sob, gripping the edge of the counter like your life depends on it. "jake, i'm yours, i swear—"

"damn right you are."

he grabs your throat from behind, turning your face just enough so he can kiss you—deep, messy, almost violent with how badly he wants to consume you.

"no more ignoring me," he pants against your lips. "no more pretending this isn't real. you understand?" you nod frantically, unable to speak, unable to think—just feel.

and when his hand slides between your thighs, rubbing fast, precise circles over your clit, your whole body locks up. you could feel that familiar feeling tighten up in your lower stomach, your body shaking with every thrust he delivers.

"cum for me, noona," he whispers. "make a mess. and don't you dare try to hide it."

"jake—jake, i—" your voice breaks into a whimper, hips jerking as his fingers circle tighter, rougher.

"go on," he pants, cock driving into you so deep you can't breathe. "cum all over my cock like the slut you said you weren't."

you sob into your arm, your entire body tightening as the knot in your stomach finally snaps. pleasure crashes over you like a wave—sharp, hot, almost unbearable. you clench around him, trembling as you come hard, your release soaking the base of his cock, dripping down your thighs, coating his fingers.

jake lets out a strangled groan at the feeling, his hips stuttering. "fuck, fuck—you feel that?" he growls, voice cracking. "so fucking tight when you cum for me. you were made for this."

his rhythm falters, becoming erratic. you know he's close—the grip on your hips turns bruising, his breath uneven as he drives into you with punishing force.

"where?" he growls, leaning over you, his chest flush against your back. "tell me where, noona. say it. beg for it."

you turn your head slightly, eyes glassy as you whisper, "inside. jake, please—want you to cum inside me."

he curses under his breath, his hands shaking as he fucks you harder—desperate now, his control gone.

"say it again," he snarls, voice wrecked.

"come inside me," you cry, your knees threatening to give out. "need you, jake. need to feel you."

that's all it takes.

with a guttural groan, he slams in deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you. his entire body shudders as he comes, filling you up with thick, hot spurts that you swear you can feel leaking out even before he's pulled out.

he stays buried in you, breathing hard, one hand gripping your hip, the other fisted in your hair as he presses his forehead against the back of your shoulder. you're both shaking, sweat-slicked and ruined, your legs barely able to hold you up.

but jake doesn't move—not for a long moment. when he finally does, it's slow, careful, like he's afraid of letting go. he pulls out with a hiss, watching the way his cum spills from your swollen cunt, dripping down your thighs onto the kitchen floor.

his jaw clenches.

he gently turns you around, lifts you up onto the counter, and cups your face between his hands—his voice lower, quieter, but still rough with leftover anger.

"you really think i didn't care?" he murmurs, brows furrowed as he looks into your eyes. "you think i could fuck you like that and not be in love with you?"

your breath catches at his sudden confession.

"you ignored me," you whisper, still dazed.

"because i was hurt," he growls. "because hearing you call yourself a toy—saying i was just using you—fucked me up, noona. i've been in love with you, and you thought it was just my dick talking."

he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

"you're mine," he whispers, softer now. "and i'm yours. whether sunghoon likes it or not."

you swallow hard, your hand rising to rest on his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart.

"...i didn't mean it," you whisper. "i was scared. you're younger, and—i thought i was making a mistake."

he kisses you—slow, breathless, a stark contrast to how he'd fucked you minutes ago. and when he pulls away, he's smirking again, cocky and flushed and still so mad.

"you did make a mistake," he says. "and you're going to make it up to me." his hands slip beneath your thighs, dragging you toward the edge of the counter again.

"starting now."

his hands are already back on you before you can breathe—dragging you down the counter, legs parted, chest heaving. he doesn't even give you a moment to recover. you're still dripping with his cum when he spreads you open, gaze locked on your wrecked, swollen pussy.

"look at this mess," he growls, thumb smearing the mix of your release and his across your folds. "you look better like this. ruined. mine."

you gasp, hips jerking at the overstimulation, but he just chuckles darkly, grabbing your thighs to yank you closer until your ass is barely on the counter.

"you made me wait," he sneers, his tone dropping. "you ran your mouth. called me a kid. said i was just using you. and now look at you."

you try to respond, but he presses two fingers to your lips again, "no. you don't get to talk right now. just sit there and take it."

then he's dropping to his knees between your legs, and you barely manage to get a word out before his tongue replaces his fingers—licking up every drop of his cum that's still leaking out of you. he moans like he's starved, eating you out through the overstimulation, not stopping even when your legs tremble around his head.

"fuck—jake, too much—" you sob, fisting his hair, but he just growls into your cunt, locking his arms around your thighs to keep you in place. his tongue runs up and down your slit, flattening it where you need it most.

"this pussy's mine," he mutters against your clit, slapping it lightly with his tongue, making you cry out. "mine to ruin. mine to clean up. you don't get to tell me when i'm done." he continues the pattern, licking figure 8s on your clit as his fingers pry into you slowly—teasing you.

and he doesn't stop until you're falling apart again, legs shaking, tears streaking your cheeks as you cum a second time with a broken scream, biting down on your hand to muffle it—sunghoon still upstairs.

he stands up slowly, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, eyes wild. his cock is hard again, flushed and angry-looking, already twitching against his stomach.

"turn around," he orders, his eyes wild as he stares down at you with hunger.

you hesitate—wrecked, overstimulated—but he grabs your hips and flips you over himself, bending you back over the counter like you weigh nothing.

"you wanted rough?" he pants, lining himself up again. "you wanted to act like i was just some horny little kid with a crush?"

you try to speak but scream instead when he slams into you in one brutal thrust.

"jake—"

he wraps his hand around your throat from behind, yanking you upright against his chest. you gasp at the feeling, his grip on your throat now bruising as you struggle for air.

"say it again," he hisses in your ear. "say my name like that again."

"j-jake," you sob, your voice breaking as he fucks into you with punishing force.

he leans down, biting your shoulder hard enough to bruise. "you're never calling me a kid again. i'm the only one who fucks you like this. the only one who makes you this dumb."

his other hand slides down, slapping your clit repeatedly without mercy, and your whole body jolts.

"gonna cum again, noona?" he pants. "fucking pathetic. creaming around my cock again when you said we couldn't. when you said i didn't mean it." your body trembles as jake forces your third high out of you, your cunt convulsing around him pathetically.

you cry out, tears falling freely now, your body on fire, collapsing in on itself with every thrust.

"beg for it," he growls. "beg me to fill you up again."

"jake, please—" you gasp, clawing at the marble. "fill me up. need it. need you."

"yeah?" he groans, his rhythm faltering as you tighten around him again. "say you're mine. say you love this."

"i'm yours," you cry, so close to breaking. "i love it—love when you fuck me like this—i'm yours, jake, only yours."

he lets out a low, desperate moan, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "that's right. my noona. my pussy. mine."

his hips slam into you once, twice more—and then he's spilling inside you again, groaning through gritted teeth, his entire body curling over yours like he's trying to bury himself so deep you'll never forget.

you collapse against the counter, boneless and shaking, his cum dripping out of you all over again as you relish in the feeling of your third high.

he leans down, kissing your shoulder softly now—contrasting the bite he left minutes ago—and whispers, "never again. don't you ever say i don't mean it."

he pulls you back up into his arms, pressing soft kisses behind your ear now, your body still trembling.

"...you okay?" he finally asks, quieter now. "too much?" you nod slowly, clinging to him. "no. not too much."

just jake. your jake. four years younger and somehow still the only one who's ever made you feel like this. you don't know how long you stood there, pressed against jake's chest, his arms tight around you as if he couldn't bear to let go.

your legs barely worked, still trembling from the aftermath, and you knew you looked wrecked—shirt open, hair tangled, neck littered with blooming marks. you were both soaked in sweat, your thighs sticky, his cum dripping slowly down your leg.

jake kissed your temple softly, breath still ragged. "i should clean you up," he murmured. "but if i touch you again, i'm not gonna stop."

you leaned your head back against his shoulder, exhausted. "don't think i can take another round anyway."

he chuckled, but it was laced with something darker—possessiveness still simmering just beneath the surface. "you'll take what i give you next time. and you'll say thank you."

you didn't get the chance to respond because that's when you heard it.

a door creaking open upstairs.

both of you froze.

footsteps.

"shit," you breathed, panic setting in as the reality of your situation crashed down.

sunghoon.

your little brother.

he was awake and if he came down and saw this you two would be screwed.

"move," jake whispered harshly, grabbing a dishtowel from the counter and tossing it over the wet mess you'd left behind. "go to the bathroom. now."

you scrambled to button your shirt, tugging your shorts up with shaking hands, nearly falling in the process. jake tucked himself away quickly, grabbing his hoodie from the kitchen chair and pulling it over his head just as the stairs creaked again.

you slipped down the hallway barefoot, heart pounding in your throat, ducking into the bathroom and locking the door with a soft click.

two seconds later, you heard sunghoon's voice from the kitchen.

"jake?"

"yo," jake replied, voice smooth—so effortlessly casual you wanted to scream.

"what are you doing down here?"

"water," jake said, cracking open the fridge to grab a bottle "couldn't sleep."

sunghoon hummed, still half asleep, "you good?"

jake laughed, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. "never better, hyung." you covered your mouth to keep from making a sound.

"you coming back up?" sunghoon asked, voice groggy with sleep as he reaches for the bottle of water that jake had offered him.

"in a bit."

they stood there in silence for a moment before you heard the footsteps retreat. the stairs creaked again. the door shut.

you waited a beat longer—just to be safe—before cracking the door open. jake was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, head tilted slightly.

his eyes met yours. slow. hungry.

you looked like hell—still flushed, lips swollen, hair a mess.

and jake?

jake looked like he'd do it all over again if he had five more minutes alone with you.

"you okay?" he asked, voice quiet now—sincere. you nodded, stepping closer, until he reached out and tugged you into his arms.

"you scared the shit out of me," you mumbled into his chest.

"you scare me every time you act like this is something i'm not serious about."

you froze.

jake pulled back slightly, his hands gentle now as he cupped your jaw. "i'm not just fucking you, noona. i've never just been fucking you."

your chest ached at the truth in his voice. raw and exposed.

"i know," you whispered, finally. "i believe you." he smiled—small, but genuine. "good. because next time you call me a kid, i'll fuck you and fill you so you have mine."

your breath hitched, but this time it wasn't from fear or shame—just need. you kissed him—soft, slow, the kind of kiss that promised this wasn't over.

because now you knew, it would never be over.

and god help you, you didn't want it to be.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

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not-neverland06 · 1 year ago

Text

you're not her

The 'Worst' Logan x fem!mutant!reader

a/n: really wanted to write for the worst logan so I found a streaming site so I could finally watch the new Deadpool movie (yay pirating) (this is totally hypothetical and a joke to the feds lurking) I was going to just read the wiki plot but I don’t think that was going to cut it Again, using the same superhero name/powers. It’s not an OC I swear, it just makes sense in comic book movies to have some alternate name and I’m not creative enough to come up with multiple different supe names. Summary: You hate him, you really fucking hate him at first. He’s cruel and constantly reminds you that you’ll never be the hero he knew. You’re not her and he’s made that abundantly clear. But what are you supposed to do when he’s suddenly your new roommate and you have no choice but to wake up to his face every day? I feel sad because I don’t think I did the angst justice with this one. But if I keep staring at it trying to fix it, then I’m never going to post it. (This is a long one guys) Angst with a happy ending (because I’m a little bitch) Makeout scenes and smut towards the very end 18+ MDNI

You don’t know how you got here, but you know you’re mad at whoever dragged you into this shit. You don’t think it would be wild to assume it was Wade’s fault. Usually, when something goes wrong in your life it’s on him.

What you do know; you look like shit. Wade and Wolverine are both standing over you in their awesome ass uniforms and you’re still in your fucking pajamas. How are you supposed to be badass and save the world in pants that have Spiderman’s face plastered all over them?

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Wade,” you growl at him.

He places his hand daintily on his chest and waves you off, “Save that for the bedroom, pookie.”

You grit your teeth and glare up at him, Wolverine gives him a similarly disgusted look. “Fuckin’ ridiculous,” you grumble under your breath. You get to your feet and brush yourself off, finally looking around and taking in wherever the fuck he’s dragged you. “Where are we?”

“The void,” Wade responds, voice ridiculously dramatic. You look around and throw your hands up in defeat.

“What the fuck, Wade? Why did you drag me with you into this?” You look over at the Wolverine beside him. He hasn’t stopped glaring at you both and his claws are out, clearly ready to just eviscerate you. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Okay, wow, language, Flux. I’m disappointed in you.”

“Eat me-”

You’re cut off by the knock-off Wolverine standing a few feet behind you both. “Flux?” He demands, voice so low you almost can’t hear him. Both you and Wade’s heads whip around to face him. Thus far he’s been relatively silent, you nearly started to wonder if he was mute.

“It’s her X-Man name,” Wade tells him, gushing like it’s some big deal. “Impressive, huh?” You don’t bother correcting him that it was your X-Men name. Can’t exactly call yourself that if they booted you off the team for being a crappy superhero.

Logan snorts and shakes his head. He stalks towards you and you nearly fall over in your attempt to scramble back from him. “You,” he demands, claws pointed at you threateningly. “You’re Flux?”

Wade hisses, watching as Logan swipes out at you. “Alright, peanut, let’s put the claws away and take a deep grounding breath.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan snaps at Wade. He turns to glare at him and you take the opportunity to scramble behind your friend for protection. At least if he gets stabbed, he’ll heal. “You,” he scoffs and it trails off into a laugh. There’s no humor behind it, he's just a dick. “You are a fucking joke compared to my Flux.”

The ground underneath you rattles, pebbles bouncing off the cracked desert and ricocheting off their boots. Wade quickly moves away from you, shoving you forward so he’s not in the line of fire. “Yeah, well you’re just an alcoholic fuck who could never hold a candle to my Logan.”

You can feel energy brewing at the tips of your fingers, waves, and waves of hate building up within you. The man across from you feels the shift, the static suddenly permeating the air around you both. You let your power build and build…

The pebbles drop back to the ground and you stumble back from Logan, nose bleeding from overextending yourself. “Shit,” you mutter, wiping at your face with the back of your hand and shaking your head.

Logan laughs again, it echoes through the stormy sky and you wish you had any control over your powers so you could just send him flying. Or, better yet, turn his bones into liquid and flip him inside out. “Oh,” he lets out a long exhale, glaring at both of you. “This is fuckin’ ridiculous.” The faux smile drops from his face and he raises his voice just loud enough to make you jump, “Just one big fuckin’ joke!”

You have about five seconds to dive to the side before Logan is lunging at Wade. “Wait, wait, wait we can talk about this!” Wade shouts, but it’s too late, he’s already on the ground getting his head caved in.

You let out a rough sigh, stumbling off to the side. You’re drained from that shitshow of powers. You barely made a few rocks levitate and you feel like you’re going to pass out. You walk away from the two men and throw yourself on the ground, trying to reorient yourself while they fight like wild animals.

You can hear them in the background, stabbing and shooting like they’re aiming to kill. Too bad neither of them can die. It’d save you a hell of a headache. They run past you, Logan’s got his claws buried in Wade’s gut while Wade’s desperately firing off his gun into Logan’s chest.

Your head rolls weakly to the side and you mutter out a pathetic, “No, stop. Don’t kill each other.” As expected, neither of them listens to you. They keep fighting, showing no signs of stopping.

There’s a moment of silence after about ten minutes of nothing but grunts and insults. You peak your head up in interest. Logan got his claws posed over Wade’s throat. You wonder if decapitation would actually kill him or if he’d somehow manage to survive that.

Wade doesn’t seem interested in testing out the theory, “They can fix it!” Wade shouts, “They can fix your timeline. I just need your help saving mine.”

Your eyes widen and you meet Wade’s masked gaze over Logan’s shoulders. The white slits widen and he minutely shakes his head, telling you not to say anything. Like, maybe, that neither of you has any fucking clue if the TVA is capable of even fixing timelines like that.

You know Wade is desperate when he makes that promise. It’s the only reason he would say something so stupid. It’s a blatant lie, one pulled so far out of Wade’s ass you’re genuinely surprised that Logan can’t smell the bullshit. Whatever happened in his universe must have been horrible for him to ever believe anything that comes out of any Deadpool’s mouth.

It’s a long moment before Logan finally pulls his claws out of Wade. Your friend slumps forward in relief as Logan stalks away from him. You glare at Wade from where you are on the ground, “That was fucking stupid,” you snipe at him. He gets to his feet, walks over to you, and forcefully yanks you to your feet.

“Not a goddamn word,” he warns, but you aren’t exactly threatened by him when he's got three holes in his head from Logan’s claws. Still, you hold your hands up and acquiesce, following after him as he chases down Logan.

Your mind is still fuzzy when you are captured by Cassandra. You're recovering from overextending yourself, eyes blurring and limbs going limp like jello when her army of henchmen circle you all.

You finally feel yourself starting to come back to your body when you wake up tied to Johnny. “And,” Wade draws the word out, waiting until you lift your head to finish, “there she is! Happy you could join us, princess. Mind turning these ropes into dust for me?”

You groan and let your head slump onto Johnny’s shoulder. He smirks and glances down at you. “Oh fuck off, both of you. I can’t do shit right now and you know it, Wade, I’m drained.”

Logan is glaring at you, but there’s less hate in his glare and more confusion now. “Can you do anything?”

You narrow your eyes at him, lips screwed up while you try to decide if he’s being an asshole or genuine. “Hard of hearing or something old man? I’m drained,” you reiterate, your tone a little too bitchy.

Logan narrows his eyes, grunting something foul under his breath. Wade interferes before you can piss each other off anymore. “She had an accident, her brain’s a little broken now. But it’s fine! Whose isn’t?”

You huff and throw yourself back against the cage you’re all being transported in. You feel eyes on the side of your head and slowly look over to see Johnny grinning at you. “Hey, you know I’ve met one of your variants-”

“Don’t give a fuck,” you interrupt. You hear Wade snicker under his mask, giving you an encouraging thumbs up even with his hands bound. You were both a little disappointed it wasn’t Captain America lurking under that cloak. But at least this guy isn’t such a prude he won’t cuss.

For the next five minutes, you’re on the receiving end of a very enthusiastically vulgar rant about just what a cunt Cassandra Nova is. He’s still not even finished by the time you reach the gates to her lair.

Your eyes widen when you see all the people lurking around the walls. Most of them you recognize as people you’ve put away or killed in your world. But there’s something just minutely different about them than the version you faced in your timeline. Their eye color or outfit is always just slightly off.

The familiar faces are almost a relief. But there is nothing comforting about knowing you're outnumbered two hundred to four. The cage is tipped over and you go rolling out, you grunt as Johnny’s elbow digs into your ribs.

Before you can even attempt to shove him off, the ropes are whipped off of you and you’re dragged by an invisible force across the ground. Rocks and sand scrape across your tender skin and bury themselves deep in your pores. You hiss in pain when you finally come to a stop and your body is your own again.

A groan slips through your parted lips unbidden as you struggle onto your knees. Your pajamas are ripped practically everywhere and you feel like you might as well be naked at this point. You really wished that you at least had a chance to change before you were kidnapped to another universe.

The woman you presume to be Cassandra Nova is currently fucking Wade’s skull with her freakish telepathy fingers. Johnny’s a pile of guts and bones on the floor and you have no fucking clue where she flung Logan to.

You get to your feet, shaking your head and reorienting yourself. In a second she’s in front of you, head tilted to the side while she regards you curiously. “Woah,” you jump back, glaring at her outstretched hand.

“Careful,” Wade warns her breathlessly, still clutching his head. “Flux here has a pathological fear of bald people.”

You nod, “It’s true, you can imagine how strained my relationship with your brother was.” Cassandra circles you, a devious tilt to her lips. Your eyes track her, unwilling to take your gaze off her for even a second. You feel like a rabbit, facing down a fox that’s made its way into your burrow.

“Curious,” she mutters. “I’ve seen quite a few of you down here before. But,” she chuckles and before you can move her hand is shoving its way into your brain. You scream, there’s an agonizing burn as her fingers probe under your eyes and dig through the deepest part of your subconscious. It feels like someone’s taking a shovel and ripping up your worst traumas. “None of them have been so weak.”

Wonderful, even she wants to insult you. You can feel the way she’s plucking through your thoughts, tossing aside the ones she doesn’t like. Images of your childhood are flashing across your vision. You can no longer see the world around you, it’s like every one of your worst memories is being played on a projector.

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue and jerks your neck around until you’re looking at something you’ve tried to forget for years. “Here it is. How easy it would be for me to simply unblock those powers of yours.” She smiles, her face appearing before you and blocking out the bloodshed. “It would make this far more entertaining for me, what do you say?”

Your teeth are clenched so tightly you’re surprised they haven’t cracked yet. It’s hard to get the words out when her fingers are still dancing through your skull. “Fuck you,” you finally spit out. She releases you suddenly, and you surge forward with a gasp, clutching at your skull desperately.

You half expect your brains to begin leaking from your nose and eyes. But nothing happens, despite feeling incredibly violated, everything is still in its proper place. Cassandra walks past you like everything is fine and dandy in the world. “Well, as much as I would love to see those powers of yours in action again, Flux, I’m afraid Alioth must eat.”

Before you can ask what she's talking about there’s a loud rumble. Like thunder cracking through the sky and land, the ground underneath you shakes. Cracks form under your feet and the henchmen around you all start desperately racing for cover.

You turn around, staring wide-eyed at the purple cloud of death and destruction steadily moving across the sky. A face breaks through the clouds, grinning down at you. Purple lightning hits the ground and the villain next to you explodes into nothing but dust.

“Shit!” You shout, turning around and running to try and avoid getting zapped up next. There’s no coming back from this one. Once this monster gets you, not even god could save you.

Suddenly, an arm wraps around your waist, lifting you off your feet. “No time for consent, we’ve got to get the fuck outta here!” Wade shouts in your ear. Logan is standing next to some robot leg, ripping out cords until a jet on the back fires up. Wade leaps onto the boot, wrapping an arm around Logan’s legs as you’re all shot into the sky.

You’d scream if you weren’t trying not to throw up. You hurtle through the sky at speeds that have your skin nearly ripping off your skull. The rocket on the back of the leg starts to sputter out. The flames flickering out and then back to life. It steadily begins to drop until you’re plummeting headfirst towards the ground.

Wade wraps himself around you, tossing himself off the boot so he can brace your fall. You hear and feel nearly all of his bones break under your weight. For a moment it feels like you’re laying on warm jello as you try and catch your breath.

“Nailed it,” he mutters weakly. You’re pretty sure he can’t breathe, a rib having pierced his lung in the fall. A shadow looms over you and you glance up to find Logan glaring down at you. You stare at him apprehensively, half expecting him to unsheathe his claws and just end you right here.

Instead, to your surprise, he holds a hand out. You look at it with suspicion, glaring back up at him. “Fucks sake,” he mutters. He reaches down, roughly grabbing your hand and jerking you to your feet. You feel the warmth of Wade’s blood on your back and grimace.

“Thanks,” you mutter, still not entirely trusting of him.

He purses his lips into a thin line, backing awkwardly away from you. He just nods and starts surveying the land around you. It feels less like trying to figure out where you all landed and more like awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

The whole interaction leaves you feeling odd. “Well, that was as awkward as two virgins on prom night,” Wade loudly announces as he jumps to his feet. You whip around and send him a dirty look but his attention has already been snagged by something else. Lately, you’ve been considering grounding up Adderall and slipping it into his breakfast, you think it might do him some good.

What’s got to be the fugliest dog you’ve ever seen in your life bounds towards Wade. He drops to his knees, ripping off his mask and opening his arms wide to the mutt. You grimace, taking a step back when she starts licking his face. “Oh, that’s just wrong.”

Thankfully dogless, you steal Nicepool’s Honda Odyssey - much to Wade’s chagrin. Logan’s in the front seat, Wade beside him. You’re sitting in the back, rubbing your temples and trying to get rid of the raging migraine you’ve had since Cassandra finger blasted your brain.

You’ve been zoning in and out of the conversation happening in the front seat of the car. But Logan suddenly slams on the brakes and you go hurtling forward. Without even looking at you, both their arms shoot out, blocking you from flying through the windshield.

Your face scrunches up as you look at both their arms, it feels like being saved by an overbearing soccer mom. “Buckle up, princess,” Wade tells you. He shoves you back into your seat and you look between the two men suspiciously.

“Did you just say if?” Logan growls, glaring at Wade. Your face drops, finally realizing what you’d missed.

Wade lets out a weak chuckle, “Slip of the tongue?” Logan growls and the claws come out. Wade raises his hands, “Okay, let’s put a brake on the crazy train. I wasn’t lying it was just an educated,” for the first time in your friendship Wade is actually speechless. You’re shocked by the silence. Until, of course, he runs his mouth again and comes up with the lamest cop-out you’ve ever heard. “It was an educated wish that they could fix your timeline, alright?”

Logan doesn’t give much of a warning except a low growl before he shoves his claws deep into Wade’s thigh. “You motherfucker!”

“Hey!” You shout, jumping forward and ripping Logan’s claws out of Wade’s leg. “Look, we’re trying to save our whole fucking universe. Can you blame him for lying?” You regret opening your mouth pretty much immediately.

You should have just stayed out of this, it wasn’t any of your business. And if they wanted to be two dumbasses and fucking tear each other apart then so be it. But you never should have drawn attention to yourself.

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan shouts at you. It’s so startling, coming from him. You’re still associating him with the man you’d looked up to growing up. Your Wolverine was a hero. He was the reason you wanted to be an X-Man. And they look exactly the same, it’s nearly impossible for you to separate this one from the one you knew.

But it's easier now. Because the man you’d known would never be so cruel and jaded to the world. Not like this. “Why the fuck are you even here? You’re just some watered-down knockoff of a real hero. You are nothing, you’re worth nothing. It’s a fucking joke that you’re alive and the woman I knew is buried six feet deep. If there was anything right in the world you would be in a grave somewhere crawling with maggots.”

Your eyes water without your permission. You don’t know this man. Yet, he has the face of your greatest hero and the man who you’d grown up hearing stories about. It’s like facing everything you’ve ever wanted to be and having it shout your deepest fears and insecurities back at you. He’s just confirming something you’ve known for years. You never deserved the title of being an X-Man. You never deserved the uniform or anything that came with it.

Your breaths are coming short and fast, it feels like your lungs are constricting. You worry you won’t be able to get air in but he doesn’t care. No, he keeps going. “You follow this fucking clown around and you contribute nothing to the world. You’re never gonna save your fucking timeline. You can’t even make a few rocks float.” It’s not the words that hurt you next. It’s the way he says it. “You’re pathetic.”

He spits them at you. There’s venom lacing his tone like he’s seen into you and knows there’s nothing in you to offer. For the first time in a long time, you feel seen and you hate it. Because he’s looking past the sarcasm and the faux confidence you carry yourself with.

He sees the empty husk of a woman you truly are and he’s forcing you to face it with him. It causes you physical pain, to know that everything you’ve ever feared about yourself is true. You don’t have anything to say to him, you can’t.

Your lips tremble and you feel so fucking small. You can hear your parent's voices in your head, screaming at you and wishing you were never born. They’d rather have a stillborn than a fucked up mutant for a daughter. You see the way even other kids at the school would hide from you. You were made wrong, even as a mutant you were never truly accepted.

Logan’s face drops ever so slightly at the prolonged silence in the car. Even Wade isn’t speaking, he’s just staring at you both. “I,” he starts, but Wade cuts him off.

“I’m gonna hurt you now.” Wade’s never been one to let people run over you, even when you might just let yourself fall into the background. You shouldn’t be surprised when he draws a knife and stabs it into Logan’s throat.

But the arterial spray that follows catches you off guard and suddenly your tears are dried. Instead, you’re throwing open the car door and diving out before one of them crushes you. You make it out of the car just in time, Logan having thrown Wade right where you had been sitting.

Music starts up in the car as a result of their fighting. Divorced dad rock and the sounds of their, borderline, sexual grunting are your soundtrack for the rest of the night. You curl up at the base of a tree, waiting for them to be done with each other.

Logan’s words continue to echo through your head. And the longer you linger on what he said the angrier you get. Not necessarily at him, but at yourself. You’ve let yourself linger in self-pity and wallow in regret for so long.

You look in the mirror and you no longer recognize yourself. He’s right, as much as you hate to admit it, you’re a fucking joke. You toss your head back, slamming it against the trunk of the tree hard enough for it to hurt.

There’s this manic, cloying feeling tugging at your chest. It’s like someone’s sitting on your ribs, crushing you until you can’t breathe anymore. You keep throwing your head back, letting the pain distract you until you feel warm blood leaking down the back of your scalp.

“Shit,” you hiss, hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull. You wince when you feel the split in your skin. The blood leaks over the tips of your fingers, running through the cracks of your palm.

You force yourself to relax, to move your head away from the tree. As you go to stand up, possibly to get Wade and Logan to quit their fighting, you notice something odd. The air around you is still, you can no longer hear them grunting or groaning as they rock the Honda.

Leaves are suspended in the air. They’re not trembling from the breeze, they’re completely frozen. You take a step forward and gasp when you hit something solid. The air in front of you has solidified somehow.

The realization dawns on you slowly but surely. This is you, you’ve done this. Manipulated everything around you on an atomic level. You’ve turned something you shouldn’t be able to feel into something you can touch. Frozen the world around you. Whatever Cassandra had done inside your head, it had knocked something loose.

You haven’t had this wide a range of control for years. Any attempt to do something like this has been met with nosebleeds and long periods of blacking out. Elation fills you, the hurt from earlier is nearly gone.

You glance through the wall of air and try to see if you can still see the Odyssey. To your horror, it’s gone. You wave your hands and the air returns to normal. The leaves drift back to the forest floor and you run back to where you’d left the two men.

There are tire tracks dug deep into the mud. You know Wade wouldn’t willingly leave you behind, not here. You don’t know if Logan’s just kidnapped him or if someone else has. Whoever was driving was clearly in a rush to get out of here.

You must have missed it all while you were having your meltdown. “Fuck,” you shout, your voice echoing into the branches above. You take in a deep breath and start walking. Hopefully, you can catch up to them before whoever has them does serious damage.

You make it to a weird cave/hideout area. The Odyssey is parked outside and when you peek through the broken windows you find the interior completely destroyed. There’s blood soaking through every surface, anything and everything has been smashed and bent the wrong way.

You don’t even know if this is from Wade and Logan or whoever had snatched them. Shaking your head you back up and slink towards the entrance of the den. You can hear shouting inside, it sounds like Wade, but you can’t make out what he’s saying.

You haven’t seen action for a long time. At least not any that you could actually contribute to. It feels a bit like riding a bike. You’d practiced on your way here, making things around you float or eradicating a few trees into nothing but dust in the wind. But this is different.

Your friend (and Logan) are inside, possibly being tortured. Maybe even dead. Though, you seriously doubt the universe is going to be that nice to you. You let the energy build in your arms, it’s like a warm tingling feeling. It shoots down to the palms of your hands until you feel static in the air.

You take a step inside and spot three people. Each of them is decked out in weapons. One of them turns and spots you. “Who is-”

You don’t let him finish, throwing your hands out and slamming them all into the wall so hard the whole interior shakes. Dirt rains down from the ceilings while their faces contort in pain. You run inside, spotting Logan and Wade.

You shoot Wade a big grin but he throws his hands up and shouts, “Read the fucking room!” Your brows furrow and he points emphatically at the people you’re holding, “Good guys!”

“Oh shit,” you release them immediately, a guilty look on your face. “I am so sorry.” Logan cackles in the back, doubled over laughing while the three people in front of you brush themselves off.

You don’t want to be out here with him, but it’s better than being in that cave with the others. Laura walks past you, sending you an uneasy smile. You’d noticed her sitting beside Logan and decided they probably needed a few moments to themselves.

They were finished now, though, and he had the only bottle of liquor left in the cave with him. You trudge over to him, leaves crunching under your boots. Elektra, after that horrific introduction, had given you a uniform a different Flux had left behind.

She was long gone, killed by Cassandra years ago, but she’d conveniently been your exact size. The uniform is nearly identical to the one you have buried under your bed. Black leather with a dark purple X going across your chest and matching purple seams. You’d never wanted something ridiculously flashy. Just something that people would see and associate with the X-Men.

Because that’s all you’d ever wanted to be; a hero. It feels like a pipe dream now. If your pajamas weren’t so destroyed you would have just stayed in them. You don’t feel like you deserve this uniform, not when the woman who’d worn it before you had actually been a hero in her timeline.

“Don’t want company,” Logan snarks, without even looking back to see who’s coming up to him.

You take a seat on the lawn chair closest to him and snatch the bottle of whiskey from his hands. “Good,” you tilt your head back, downing as much as possible. It burns the whole way and you revel in the slight tickle in the back of your throat.

“Alright,” Logan mutters. He gently takes the bottle back from you, giving you an aggrieved look when he sees just how much you’ve stolen. He looks back into the fire and sighs, “Look, I’m not interested in hearing about your sob story or why you’re suddenly drinking all my liquor-”

“Gambit’s liquor,” you interrupt, not bothering to look at him. “And I’m not looking to dump my sob story on your lap. I just want to sit in silence and that’s impossible because Wade hasn’t stopped running his mouth since we got here.”

He looks a little surprised by the brusque way you dismiss him, “Alright,” he mutters. He takes another swig from the bottle and you both stare silently into the fire. It’s like that for a while, you don’t bother keeping track of time.

All you hear is the crackling of the flames. All you can feel is the way your eyes burn from staring into the fire and watching sparks pop off the logs for too long. The breeze rustles the trees, makes the leaves shake free and dance around the logs of the fire.

He breaks the silence first, to your chagrin. “About what I said,” he clears his throat uncomfortably, still refusing to look at you, “back in the car.”

“Don’t,” you snap, voice low. “Just,” you let out a long breath and shake your head. You finally look over and meet his eyes. He does actually look sorry, but you don’t want to hear it. “Just don’t, I deserved it all right.”

“No, no you didn’t.” You open your mouth to argue but he gives you a firm look that has your jaw snapping shut. “I was wrong, I don’t know you. And if my Flux had ever heard me talking to you like that she would have melted my fucking spine.” He laughs a little and you feel your lips twitch up slightly. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look anything but angry.

Curiosity loosens your tongue and knocks you out of the dazed stupor you’ve been in. “What was she like?” You ask, tone earnest. “Your Flux, I mean, you make her sound so amazing. I just can’t,” you trail off, but the look on his face tells you he understands your unspoken words. I just can’t see myself as a real hero.

He groans and leans back on the log he’s resting on. He stretches his legs out in front of him, the liquor bottle placed on the forest floor. You’re surprised, you figured the thing was glued to his hand.

“Well,” he reaches up and scratches at the scruff of his chin, a wry grin on his face. “She was always giving me shit, never let me get away with anything.” You unconsciously lean forward, drawn into the endearing way he begins to describe this other version of you.

It’s not ridiculous to assume this variant meant something to him. He’s got a shine to his eye that you haven’t seen in the whole time you’ve been together. His gaze has been empty, closed off to anything and everything. But now, his eyes are crinkling at the corners, there’s an easy smile on his face that you can’t miss.

“Ah, she was fucking feisty. And strong, she was so strong. She was always a better hero than I was. She lived for that shit,” he trails off and shakes his head. You can see you’re losing him and you don’t want this to end. You’re in your own little bubble right now, getting to pretend there’s a version of you out there somewhere that actually lived up to her potential.

“Her powers,” you blurt out, desperate for something to stop him from retreating back into his mind. “Did she have, um, good control over them?”

Logan nods, eyes darting down to the bottle of whiskey before flickering back up to meet your gaze again. “Yeah, Charles trained her, she was right up there with Jean. She could have,” he stops and suddenly you feel guilty for making him talk about this. You can see the tears in the corner of his eyes, the way the whites of them go red. “She could have been great.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t mean to pry.” But you did. You were being selfish and forcing him to talk about it even though you knew it would hurt him.

“Look, kid, she would have liked you. I’ll tell you that much,” he says reluctantly. Like the words hurt to force out. You suppose he isn’t used to being genuine with anyone.

You shake your head and look down at your hands. “I appreciate the thought, but I doubt it.”

Logan grabs the bottle again, gulping it down like it's water. His words have a slight slur to them as he speaks again. “I think I would know, bub. ‘Sides, you made it into the X-Men, tells me what I need to know.”

You scoff and fix him with a sardonic look, he raises his brows in question and you roll your eyes. “They’ll take fucking anybody. And I still wasn’t good enough for them.”

Logan shakes his head and frowns. “If what I saw in there,” he points back to the den and you feel your cheeks warm as you remember what you’d done, “is any indication, then I’m sure you were plenty good.”

You lean towards him, elbows braced on your knees. He follows suit, leaning so close you almost want to back up. The proximity flusters you slightly but you shake the feeling off. “You don’t even know me and the first real thing you said to me was that I’d be more useful as fertilizer.”

He sighs, face screwing up at your harsh words. He runs a hand over his cheeks and groans, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You lean back in your chair and idly twirl your hand through the air. The leaves around you lift up and flutter through the air above your head. Logan watches and you turn back to him, waiting until his eyes meet yours to speak again. “Yes, you did. And you were right. I’m fucking useless, powers or not.” The leaves drop, a few fluttering into the fire. “We’re irrelevant, Wolverine, two washed-up X-Men who never looked good in the uniform.”

There’s a twinge of hurt on his face but you can’t make yourself feel bad about it. Since he’s such a fan of brutal truth, you’re sure he can handle it.

You watch as the leaves curl up at the corners, the fire burning them straight through the middle. You get to your feet and move past him. You’re nearly back to the den when he calls, “The suit looks right on you,” over his shoulder.

You pause at the threshold of the door. He’s already drinking again, staring into the fire and watching it burn. You take a few steps towards him, staring at his broad back. “What happened to her, your me?”

Logan looks down at his hands, his ring finger specifically. You wonder at the significance of the movement, what exactly you’d meant to him. “She married me,” he mutters, voice cold and closed off again.

“Goodnight, Logan,” you whisper, finally walking inside the den.

You miss the small goodnight he sends back to you, finally turning around only to watch you leave.

There had been a very clear plan set in place. Get Juggernaut’s helmet, put it on Cassandra, and then kill that psychotic bitch. Which is why you’re so confused when you’re standing knee-deep in guts and watching Logan and Wade leap through a portal above you.

You don’t have time to feel angry or even hurt that they left without you. Laura is grabbing your arm and you’re both running for your life, trying to escape Alioth again. You run into Cassandra’s lair ducking into one of the rooms and dragging Laura with you.

You’re both holding your breaths and praying that he’s sated by the others still outside. After a few minutes, the cracks of thunder stop and you risk peeking your head outside. The clouds have retreated back to their usual spot in the middle of the void.

You take in the carnage of Cassandra’s evil lair. Most everybody is dead. You only have to skirt around a few people to get back to the Odyssey.

You throw yourself in the driver’s seat and sink back against the bloodstained cushions. You let out a relieved breath and look at Laura, “What do you do to entertain yourself around here?”

You acclimated to the idea of being stuck in the void pretty quickly. There wasn’t exactly a lot waiting for you back home. Besides, Laura was nice enough. You had food, beer, and company. You didn’t really need much else.

You’re pretty sure if you linger too long on the thought that Wade left you behind you’ll fall into a depression that you’re never going to be able to claw your way out of. So, you forced a smile on your face and played cards. Nothing else to do but wait to die of old age or for Alioth to kill you.

Of course, your plans had to be ruined. There was an odd rush of air against your back and then a slight whoosh. Laura glanced over your shoulders and her brows furrowed, you turned around to find three armored men waiting behind you.

“Flux,” the man glanced from you to Laura, “X-23?”

“Laura,” you both correct at the same time.

The man gives an aggrieved sigh and holds his arm out, “Come with me, please.”

You stand up, energy tingling in the palms of your hands while you regard them suspiciously. Laura comes up behind you, claws out and glaring at them. “Why should we?” You demand.

Barely a second later you hear the most insufferable voice in the world. “Hiya, peanut!”

“Wade,” you hiss. You follow the armored men through an oddly shaped portal and find Wade standing beside a shirtless Logan, smiling proudly at you. “You fucking left me,” you hold up your hands and his eyes widen.

His hands quickly come up, trying to assuage you, “Hold on now-”

You throw him back, his body hurtling into a nearby building and caving in the wall. Logan watches it happen with a small smile, “Been wanting to do that for a while.”

Once Wade had recovered he filled you in on everything that happened. TVA did a general clean up and then you were standing in front of your apartment door, keys in hand like nothing had happened.

It was so bizarre, going from a mission to save your timeline and then you’re expected to just go about your life. You stay standing in that hallway for you don’t know how long before you hear someone behind you.

You jump and drop your keys when Logan clears his throat. “Shit,” you hiss, whirling around and glaring at him while your heart races. He chuckles and bends over to grab your keys for you.

“Sorry,” he mutters. This is the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him, covered in blood and in a borrowed shirt. “Uh, Wade doesn’t have enough room at his place. Told me I should come over here.”

You look over his shoulder and see Wade peeking his head out of his doorway. He catches your eye, sending you a thumbs up. You almost smile but then he makes a phallic gesture with his hands, pointing at Logan and humping the air. You glare at him and he quickly backs into his apartment, but not before sending you one last encouraging shit-eating grin.

You look back at Logan and he’s waiting expectantly for your answer. “Yeah,” you take your keys from him and unlock the door. “I’ve got a spare room but there’s no bed in it right now.” Your eyes widen when you see the mess that is your apartment.

You quickly rush through, picking up empty take-out boxes and dirty laundry and shoving them into your room. He’s smiling at you when you come back and it's slightly off-putting. “Um,” you gesture towards the couch awkwardly. “You can take the sofa tonight and we’ll look at setting you up with something more permanent tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he hovers by the armrest and you engage in the longest stare-off of your life. Neither of you says anything for a few suffocating moments before he gestures at himself. “Shower?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your stupor and nod your head. “Yeah, right, of course.” You show him down the hall, “Here. I’ll go get you a towel.”

You rush towards your linen closet, leaving him behind in your bathroom. You grab a few clean towels and then figure he might want some clothes as well. You grab some pajamas that Wade’s left over when he’s crashed before. They’ll probably be a bit tighter on Logan, but you wouldn’t mind seeing that.

You walk back to the bathroom and the thought of knocking doesn’t even run through your head. It should, honestly, but you’re already so thrown off by him even being here. You walk in and immediately gasp and drop the towels.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’s standing naked before you. Clothes discarded on the floor behind him. Everything on perfect display. Your eyes land on his abs, noticing a few prominent veins leading down-

You cover your face and turn around. “Sorry,” you mutter again. God, you’re such an idiot. You still haven’t even left. You’d just been shamelessly ogling the man naked and you don’t even have the decency to walk out.

You really can’t help it though. It’s been such a clusterfuck, the last 72 hours. Your brain is fried and Wade’s little show hasn’t helped you at all.

You hear Logan laugh behind you. “It’s alright,” he mutters. Something warm ghosts across your arm and you jump slightly. His hand firmly grasps your bicep, gently tugging your palms away from your face.

You risk a glance over your shoulder and nearly gasp at how close he’s gotten. He's towering over you, something in his face you can’t place. “It’s alright,” he whispers again and you find yourself nodding without really thinking.

He’s got both hands on your arms now, trailing up and down. The touch is so featherlight you can barely feel it at all. You don’t even realize how he’s gently coaxing you closer until you trip on the towels at your feet.

You startle, looking down at them and moving to kick them aside. But he stops you, his finger nudging your chip up so you’ll look at him again. There is such blatant want painted across his face that it makes your heart skip a beat. Your breath catches in your throat when he wraps an arm around your waist and drags you closer.

You can feel all of him. You can feel just how much he wants you. It catches you off guard, this sudden display of attraction. You don’t know where it’s coming from, what’s brought it on. But you can’t find it in yourself to care. You’ve been so lonely for so long. You just want to bask in the fact that he looks absolutely starved for you.

No man has ever looked at you with such heartbreakingly yearning eyes - like he’s been looking for you his whole life. He dips down, lips ghosting gently over yours. Your breaths mingle together, you can nearly taste him.

It’s unclear which one of you moves first, who pushes closer to the other. But it doesn’t matter because the second you put real pressure behind the kiss he’s all over you. One of his hands drifts down to your ass, squeezing the flesh there and dragging you closer, grinding his hips into yours.

You moan at the feeling, your arms wrap around his neck and you press yourself even closer. He groans against your lips at the first swipe of your tongue. You part with a gasp when he picks you up, practically tossing you onto your sink. Your legs spread instinctually, making room for him as he slots himself between them.

It’s odd, feeling so vulnerable even when he’s the one who's completely naked. It still feels like he’s holding all the power.

His lips are moving frantically over yours like he’s terrified you’re going to disappear the second he lets go. You can taste something desperate on his tongue. Something deeply rooted inside him that you can’t identify.

One of your hands drifts from his neck, trailing over the muscles of his chest. Your fingers carve a path down his abs, relishing in how muscular he feels under your palm. Your hand reaches his pelvis, nearly wrapped around him when he jumps back.

He grabs your wrist in a grip so tight you know there’s going to be a bruise. A pained gasp slips out and he releases you immediately. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “Sorry, I can’t.” He won’t look at you now, backing up towards the shower and shaking his head. “This was a bad idea, I can’t do this.”

You shake your head, slipping off the sink and hiding your bruised wrist behind your back. “No, sorry, I shouldn’t have moved so fast.”

You feel too ashamed to meet his eye. He kissed you but you feel like you’ve forced yourself on him somehow. It’s a nauseating feeling and you want nothing more than to run back to your room and hide.

He takes a step towards you, something pained on his face. “Kid-”

You just shake your head, step out of the bathroom, and grab the handle of the door. “Sorry,” you whisper again, closing the door behind you. You lean against the cool wood, trying to catch your breath.

Your hand drifts up to your lips, still tingling from how desperately he’d kissed you. It doesn’t make any sense. He came on to you, he threw you up on the sink, and made out with you more passionately than any man ever has before. So why are you the one who feels dirty?

You rush down the hall and into your room, slamming the door behind you. You dive under your covers, closing your eyes even though you know you won’t sleep. No, your shoulders are tensed up to your ears and your bones are vibrating with an energy you need to release.

You’re completely tuned into the other person lurking in your apartment. You can hear as he starts the shower, how he talks quietly to himself sometimes. Then when he gets out you can perfectly picture what he looks like while he’s getting dressed and it only makes you feel worse.

You listen as he leaves the bathroom and pauses in the hall. You can see it in your mind’s eye, how he stares at your door. He walks towards it and lingers for a minute before cussing quietly and heading back into the living room.

You suddenly remember that you didn’t lay sheets out on the couch for him. You feel guilty, but there’s not one part of you that will be dragged from this bed and face him. Not now, at least.

He’s up for a little while longer, getting water. Turning the TV on and off. Rooting through your cabinets looking for booze you know you don’t have. Finally, he settles on the couch. You’re awake for another hour, unable to relax until you’re completely sure he’s asleep. Even as you drift off and your body finally relaxes your mind doesn’t. You keep seeing that stricken look on his face and it makes you sick to your stomach.

It’s the smell of pancakes that wakes you up. You’re not sure when you finally managed to pass out last night but you know it was late. Which is why you’re so pissed off that you’re being forced to get up at seven in the morning.

You’re used to being able to sleep in a lot later than that. You’re already in a pissy mood from last night and it only gets worse as you trudge around your room getting ready. You’ve never been more thankful to have snagged one of the rare two-bathroom apartments in the building.

You don’t want to have to share a bathroom with Logan. You don’t even want to use the other one after what happened last night. It’s too embarrassing and painful to think about. The emotional whiplash of feeling so desired and then absolutely hideous is making your head spin.

You’re sure it was all just a problem on his end, but it really doesn’t make you feel any better. When you can’t stall any longer, and you know that Logan has heard you get up, you slip quietly out of your room.

The curtains in your living room are open and he’s in the kitchen fucking around with your stove. The news is playing quietly on the TV and you’re astounded about how little he’s done and how much more homely your apartment feels.

It’s never really been home to you. Not after you were booted from the X-Men. But he’s somehow made it ten times cozier than it ever has been. You almost resent him a little for it.

“Morning,” he grumbles from the kitchen. “Coffee,” he motions behind him and you see a steaming cup already waiting for you. You silently slip behind him, grabbing the creamer from the fridge and pouring it until you’re sure it’s sweet enough to not actually taste the coffee.

“Thanks,” you mutter, moving to sit at the table. You keep your eyes trained on the TV, pretending to pay attention to the news so you don’t have to look at him. He bores his eyes into the side of your head until you feel like you’re going to have holes in your temple.

When you can’t take it anymore you finally look over at him. He doesn’t smile, his face barely even twitches, he just looks back to his pan and continues scrambling some eggs. “Didn’t know you cooked,” you offer up weakly, already growing anxious from the silence.

It feels wrong, to be walking on eggshells in your own apartment. He grunts and shrugs, “Not really cooking. You had the mix in your pantry,” he tells you brusquely. His tone borders on rude and you scoff.

The audacity of this man to have an attitude with you in your apartment. He was the one who threw a hissy fit last night. You roll your eyes and go back to the news, all it tells you is that the world is just as depressing as the inside of your apartment is right now.

You notice out of the corner of your eye the way his shoulders slump forward. He leans against the oven, seeming not to care if he burns himself. You suppose it doesn’t matter, he’d just heal. “Sorry,” he mutters. It sounds like it pains him to say the words.

“Whatever,” you mumble under your breath. You take a long sip of your coffee, slurping a little so you have something to fill the atmosphere.

He puts some food on a plate and brings it over to the table for you. You usually don’t eat breakfast, preferring to just skip the meal and eat a bigger lunch. But it feels too bitchy to say that to him, so you just accept the food with a strained smile. “Thanks.”

He sits across from you, glaring down at your table like it insulted him. You drag your fork against the plate, letting the scrape of metal against porcelain drown out your worries. Finally, he looks at you. “Look, about last night.”

You tense up. You want to interrupt him, to stop him from explaining. You know it’s just going to hurt your feelings, whatever he says. Whether he tells you it was a mistake or he just realized he’s not attracted to you, either way, you’re fucked. But, it’s also kept you up all night so you just shut your mouth and let him speak.

You keep your gaze trained on your plate, unable to fully face him. He lets out a long sigh and clenches his fork so tight you hear the metal bend. He drops it to the table and clenches and unclenches his fists a few times.

“I just couldn’t kiss you, not when I wasn’t doing it for the right reasons.”

Your brows furrow in confusion and you finally look up at him. “What?” You demand, disbelief coloring your voice.

His eyes are boring into yours, an intensity behind the stare that leaves you feeling a little shaken. “You look like her,” he whispers, and the grief is so thick in his voice it makes your throat tighten. He pauses briefly before continuing. “There are,” he clears his throat like he’s trying not to cry. It makes you lean back in your chair, arms crossed over your stomach uncomfortably.

“There are a few differences, obviously. You’re not a carbon copy. But your mannerisms, your attitudes, you’re so similar. And I,” he shakes his head and gives you one of the most genuinely apologetic looks you’ve ever received. You can tell he really does feel guilty for projecting on you but it doesn’t make you feel any less uncomfortable. “And I just wasn’t doing that for the right reasons. I was pretending you were her and that’s just not fair to you.”

You lean your elbows on the table, head falling into your hands. You let out a rough sigh and groan in irritation. You knew the reason would hurt but you didn’t think it would be this bad. You feel gross, icky under your skin knowing that he was pretending you were another version of yourself. The version of yourself you’ve always wanted to be; the hero.

But you also feel such a deep sadness and sympathy for him. He’d briefly mentioned that he was married to this other you. You can’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like, to see your dead wife’s face staring at you and she doesn’t even know you.

“I,” you don’t even know where to begin. You struggle to say anything for a minute and you both just stew in the tense silence. You take in a deep breath and look up at him. You do what you always do, forcing a smile and shrugging it off. “I appreciate the honesty, really.” You stand up, bringing your still-full plate into the kitchen and busying yourself with cleaning up.

“Clearly,” you snap, your voice crueler than it should be, “It was a mistake. We’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t happen again, right?”

Logan sits silently at the table. He looks like there’s more he wants to say but you don’t give him the chance. You can’t take it. You finally thought someone had wanted you for you, flaws and all. You’re a fucking idiot, he barely even knows you. Whatever connection you thought was there was just brought about by your own loneliness.

“I gotta get ready for work,” you tell his back because he isn’t looking at you now.

He nods, scraping his fork across the plate as he aggressively cuts into his food. “Right.” You wait for him to say anything else but he doesn’t.

You walk past him and head back to your room. You don’t even have a job, you don’t have to work. But you still grab your purse and head out of the apartment. Pretending you do just so you don’t have to look at him anymore.

You really should have let him finish, though. You should have let him keep talking to you. Let him explain how as much as he sees her in you, that’s not why he wants you. He wants you for you. Because as similar as you can be, you’re still a completely different person from who his late wife was. You’re someone strong and incredible and he genuinely wants you. But he can never really let himself be happy.

It takes a few days for you both to ease up around the other. The incident in the bathroom is never brought up again. You take him shopping for clothes after a few days. It feels wrong to keep giving him Wade’s hand-me-downs. You would have had your friend take him, but you don’t trust Wade’s sense of fashion at all.

After that and getting lunch together while you were out shopping things got a little easier. You bought him a bed for the spare room because you felt guilty seeing him all cramped up on your tiny couch.

You don’t initiate any physical contact with each other. The closest you’d gotten was your hands brushing when you both reached for some popcorn at the same time on movie night. But you hadn’t really minded that bad.

Eventually, he starts to feel like a real roommate and a friend. He lets little pieces of himself slip out. Slowly opens up about his past. You haven’t made any existential discoveries of course. But he tells you stories of what his X-Men were like.

You try not to dance around the topic of his wife, you don’t want him to think you’re avoiding asking about her. But you also don’t want him to think you’re obsessed with discussing her.

He’s right, you two weren’t carbon copies of each other at all. You might share a few things in common but the more both you and Logan learn about each other, the more clear it is how different you both are from your variants.

Sometimes you think he looks at you like he’s really seeing you, not her. But you can never be sure and you don’t want to put much strength behind the thought in case you’re wrong. You hate the idea that when you’re thinking of nothing but him, he’s just seeing her reflection on your face.

There’s nothing you can do about it but it doesn’t stop the hurt.

Tonight, at Wade’s suggestion, you’re both up on the roof waiting for a meteor shower that you’re ninety percent sure is never going to happen. You’re also one hundred percent sure that Wade just tricked you out of your apartment so he could have sex in it. He and Vanessa don’t really get a lot of time alone with Blind Al around. You’re already mentally preparing for the absolute fuck storm you’re going to have to clean up after.

There’s a light nudge on your shoulder and you glance over at Logan. He’s got the whiskey bottle outstretched towards you and you take it from him with a smile. One thing about being his roommate, your alcohol tolerance has skyrocketed. His liver might regenerate, but you’re pretty sure if you keep going down this route yours will give out in a few months.

“Think this is actually going to happen?” You ask, pointing up toward the clear night sky.

Logan chuckles and shakes his head. He stretches out in your flimsy lawn chair and you try not to let your gaze be drawn to the sliver of skin peeking out from his shirt. “Probably not, but I don’t mind being out here.”

There’s an unspoken, with you, that makes you smile. You meet his gaze, his eyes soft as he watches you. “Me either.” You lean back in your chair, pulling your legs up onto the seat and huddling under your blanket. “It’s peaceful.”

You drink together in silence for a little while longer. Then you have to tap out, you don’t want your brain getting too foggy. Tonight is nice, you want to remember it tomorrow. To your surprise, he caps the bottle and places it to the side. You don’t mention it but you do feel like you’ve noticed he’s been drinking a little less. The dark circles under his eyes seem to be easing away ever so slightly.

He looks over at you with an odd light in his eyes. You shift uncomfortably under his stare when it lasts a little longer than it usually does. You chuckle awkwardly, “Do I have something on my face?”

There’s a soft uptick to his lips as he shakes his head. “No,” he mutters, looking back out at the night. “You mind if I ask you something?”

Ominous, but whatever. “Sure.”

He still doesn’t look at you and you worry slightly about whatever it is he’s going to ask. He doesn’t ease you into it all, “Wade said your brain was broken?” A laugh springs out of your throat from how brusque that was. He rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’ idiot mentioned it in the void, been wonderin’ about it.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him. You’re relaxed enough that you don’t mind answering. You don’t want to pop the soft bubble you’ve managed to create around each other. “Here,” you hold your hand out for the whiskey bottle. He gives you an apprehensive look before handing it over.

You unscrew the cap, “This,” you say and point your hand at the glass. The liquid inside lifts into the air and you freeze it before dropping it back into the bottle with a splash, a simple little party trick. “This used to be enough to put me in a coma for two days. That’s what he meant. Something happened to me and I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

Logan’s eyes widen and he shakes his head in disbelief. You laugh a little, “I assume your wife never had problems like that?”

There’s always a fond smile when you mention his wife. Whether the memory is bittersweet or not. “She wasn’t perfect, much as I thought so. When she used her powers too much she,” he trails off and looks down at the floor. You frown, ducking your head down so you can catch his gaze.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” you promise quietly.

But he shakes his head and gives you a weak, tight-lipped smile. “No, I want to. And I don’t want you to think you’re the only Flux who struggled. When she used her powers too much she would deteriorate. Parts of her would just disappear, I don’t even know how to describe it. They were destroying her from the inside out.”

You let out a low whistle, eyes widening slightly. “Well, maybe I didn't get the short end of the stick after all.” It’s quiet and for a moment you worry your humor was ill-timed.

But he lets out a rough laugh, “No, I guess not.” He takes in a deep breath before looking back up at you. There’s no distant sadness in his eyes like there usually is when you bring her up. It seems to only be a familiar ache now, rather than something fresh and bleeding. “But what happened to you? Why couldn’t you use your powers?”

“Oh,” you look down at your lap, picking at the strings of your pants. It would be unfair to have him talk about his wife and then wimp out when it was your turn.

“Um, There was this mission. A bunch of kids, mutants, were being held in this warehouse. It was actually pretty normal, just go in, retrieve them, and bring them back to safety. I must have done a dozen of these before, but, I don’t know. Something was this different this time around.”

You can still hear them screaming. In your mind, you hear the way they cried for help. And you see the look on your faces when they realize you can’t save them every time you go to sleep.

You suck in a sharp breath and almost jump when his hand lands on yours. It’s gentle, he’s barely even touching you and he’s not even acknowledging what he’s doing. But you take his hand in yours and squeeze, it’s nice, grounding.

“Long story short, they were heavily guarded and I was pretty drained from fighting off the guards. My powers were practically gone by the time we could even get to the kids. And, I don’t know, something must have gotten knocked over or hit the wrong way because smoke was filling the place and everything was on fire. I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t breathe, and the kids were blocked off. There was nothing we could do to get to them. Everyone kept screaming at me, telling me to just use my abilities and get them out of there. I couldn’t,” your voice gets thick and you look anywhere but at him. “I,” your mouth hangs open and you don’t know what you could possibly say.

There’s no excuse for what happened. “I just couldn’t,” you whisper. You sniffle and your eyes flutter rapidly, trying to stop any tears from coming. “Hadn’t been able to use my powers since then. Trauma block or something, I guess,” you dismiss yourself flippantly and shrug.

Logan just squeezes your hand again. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to comfort you and you’re honestly grateful for the silence. You get so sick of people telling you there was nothing you could have done. Or that the others should have helped you. Because that’s not a fucking excuse. There’s no fixing what happened, no giving those parents their children back. You fucked up and you don’t appreciate people giving you cop-outs.

You keep your gaze trained steadily on the ground, eyes going blurry while you try to slip into the back of your mind. You don’t get the chance, though. Logan is kneeling in front of you, hands slipping up your arms to cup your face.

He forces you to look at him, to stay present in the moment with him. “You fucked up,” he tells you. It's so shocking that you can’t help but let out a loud wet laugh. You sniffle and he grins, wiping the tears out from under your eyes. His grip on your cheeks tightens and he makes sure you’re listening as he speaks, “You fucked up, kid. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t try your fucking hardest. And it doesn’t erase all the people you did help.”

Your eyes search him, trying to find any kernel of untruth. Trying to prove to yourself that this isn’t real. That he isn’t real. You don’t deserve this moment of such unwavering trust and faith. This is meant for someone else, for someone who deserves good things in life.

You’ve never truly believed you deserved happiness or peace like this. But right now you don’t care because he is saying everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. And he actually means it.

Your hand drifts up, covering his and tilting your head to press a gentle kiss to his palm. It’s tentative, a test, a way to give him an out if doesn’t want this. His grip on you tightens for half a second before he shoots forward and claims your lips with his own.

It escalates quickly. You practically melt off your chair, straddling his lap while he leans back on the ground. Your hands tug at his hair while he moves desperately over your body. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to do, where he wants to touch you.

You love how fully his hands engulf you, the tight way they cradle you to his chest. You’ve never felt more secure in someone’s arms than you do right now. He’s got you, and he wants you. For you this time, you can tell. You can tell from the way he holds you that this isn’t a desperation born from grief. It’s something else, something you’re not ready to identify yet.

His tongue laves across the seam of your lips, silently asking permission. You smile against the kiss, parting your lips and deepening it. He licks into you, tasting you with a low grunt in the back of his throat. You feel your hips start to move of their own volition. Gently grinding down against his lap. You moan when you feel just how bad he wants you.

You lean back, parting from the kiss and pressing a finger to his chest to keep from following. You chuckle at his eagerness, grinding your hips down again and watching the way he thrusts up to meet your movement. “Didn’t know I was such a good kisser,” you tease.

But he doesn’t return the joke or play along. His face falls slightly and he pulls further away from you, the look on his face distant. “What?” You whisper. “Do I have bad breath?” You joke, trying to keep the mood light.

He shakes his head and runs a tired hand over his face. “No,” he mutters. He repeats the word more firmly and finally meets your gaze. “I think I need to take this slow, just because of…”

He trails off but you know what he means. His wife. You don’t know if he’s still projecting her onto you, you felt so sure he wasn’t earlier. But if every time you kiss he’s gonna pull back you’re not sure that you can do this. “Of course,” you mutter with a bite to your voice. It’s hard not to feel a little rejected every time he acts like this.

You move to get off his lap but his hands clamp down on your hips and he shakes his head again. “You don’t have to get up.”

You hesitate, thighs still hovering over his. You should get up and put as much space between you as possible. But he’s so warm and you want to be held for a little while more. You nod and he looks relieved. You lean back down, pressing your chest against his and letting your head rest in the crook of his neck.

He wraps a heavy arm around your back, keeping you close while the other reaches up to stroke your hair. It makes you feel small, in a good way. Like you can just relax and he’ll take care of you.

“Goddamn,” he laughs a little and you sit up. He nods to the sky above and you turn around, gasping.

“Fuck,” you whisper, “he wasn’t lying.” For once, Wade was telling the truth. Above you, it looks like the sky is falling. Glittering stars dart across the sky, streaks of blue following behind them. You grin, “It’s so beautiful.”

Logan keeps his eyes on you and nods, “Yeah, it is.”

“Ah, look, my favorite fuck buddies.”

”Wade,” you greet tightly. You shove the bottle of wine you brought into his chest and he stumbles back. “Just let us in, you freak.”

He frowns, placing a hand over his heart. “You know, it really hurts when you talk like that. I think we all need to hold hands and have a good old-fashioned jerk circle.”

You roll your eyes and flick his thick forehead. “It’s share circle, dumbass.”

”Not the way I do it,” he moves to the side and lets you both in. “Well, mi casa es su casa, especially since Vanessa and I had rockin’ sex in your bed last week.”

He walks off before you can hit him or even begin to respond to that. “I fucking knew it,” you hiss, glaring at his stupid Hawaiian shirt while he mingles with the rest of the people at the party.

Logan chuckles behind you, “How did you two ever become friends?”

You roll your eyes and turn to face him. “I moved in next door,” you respond dryly. “This was a nonconsensual friendship because god hates me, clearly.” You shrug your jacket off and he takes it from you, hanging it up on the hook by the door. He comes back, slinging an arm around your shoulder, and leading you towards the kitchen.

You hear Wade laughing loudly in the background and he grunts, “I’m gonna need a drink for this,” he mutters. You nod your head in agreement. You don’t get very far, though, because without any warning Wade is in front of you. He’s got his ridiculous dog in his arms and shoves her in your face. You grimace and jump back. Logan abandons you and you narrow your eyes at his retreating back. Traitor

Wade says your name with disappointment. “You know, Mary Puppins is a part of my life now. As my best friend, you need to bond with her. I can’t have you two fighting like this.” He shoves the dog into your arms without any warning and you flinch away from her wandering tongue.

“If this thing licks me, I’m putting her down,” you warn him gravely.

He gasps and snatches her back. “You are no longer welcome in my home,” he tells you with a snotty huff. You roll your eyes and watch him go. When he’s out of sight your lips curl up in a grin and you glance at Logan.

He’s by the sink, making himself a drink and taking a deep swig straight out of the bottle. You creep up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He smiles, hand coming down to gently hold your arm. “What’re you doing?”

”Come with me,” you whisper. You take his hand and lead him through the apartment. You both skirt around the partygoers, giving them vague greetings and waving them off when they give you odd looks.

Logan leans down, lips brushing across your ear as he whispers, “Where are we going?” Your knees nearly give out when you hear that low tone of voice of his. You just shake your head and lead him down the hall. You can sniff out Wade’s room from the permeating stench of his axe body spray.

You throw the door open and drag Logan inside behind you. His nose wrinkles up at the stiff socks littering the floor and the smell. Other than that, it’s relatively clean. You actually thought this would look so much worse.

“Now,” Logan demands, “are you gonna tell me what we’re doing?”

“Well,” you lock the door and turn around with a devious grin. “Seeing as Wade has ruined my favorite sheets, I feel like we need to get him back somehow.” You glance around the room, trying to figure out something of his you want to destroy.

You don’t hear Logan moving towards you. You’re too busy rooting through Wade’s desk and trying to find something good to shred up. All you��re seeing is increasingly more disturbing porno mags. He has got a serious problem with pegging. You briefly wonder if you should set up an intervention or something for him.

You nearly yelp when Logan’s hands grip your shoulders, whipping you around to face him. “I’ve got an idea of what we can do.” That’s your only warning before his lips cover your own. You melt into him immediately, hands fisting his shirt and dragging him closer. He grins against your lips, lifting you and placing you on the edge of Wade’s desk.

“Mm,” you moan but shove his chest back and shake your head. “Wait,” you hop off the desk and take a seat on Wade’s bed instead. “There’s no point in this if we’re not on the bed.”

Logan shakes his head with an amused huff. He walks towards you but instead of taking a seat on the bed next to you like you'd expected, he kneels before you. Your brows furrow together and you frown. “Wait, what’re you doing?”

He gives you a gentle smile, hands coming up to rub gently over your thighs. The warmth of his palms soothes you almost immediately. “You trust me?” He asks, voice a low rumble against your chest.

“Yeah,” you whisper. He nods encouragingly and leans forward, kissing you gently. There’s nothing expectant in this kiss. He’s doing it just to be close to you. Then you feel his hands drifting higher, fingers running over the buttons of your jeans. Your lips part, ready to ask him a question. But he just takes the chance to dip his tongue into your mouth, eagerly tasting you. You moan into it, not protesting when he presses you back into the bed.

His fingers dip under the waistband of your jeans. You lift your hips to help him tug them the rest of the way down until they’re dropping to the floor quietly. You have a million questions dancing on the tip of your tongue but you can’t find it in yourself to actually voice any of them. You don’t want to break the moment. This is the first time he’s seemed comfortable going further than kissing and some heavy petting.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Your hips jolt as he runs a thumb over the wet spot on your panties. “All this just from kissing?” He asks, a teasing lilt to his tone. You feel your face flush, cheeks warming when you realize he’s never actually seen just how much he affects you. “Relax,” he tells you, squeezing your thighs once before slipping a few lithe fingers under the band of your panties.

He tugs them down, but the second he sets eyes on you he gets too impatient to take them off the rest of the way. They dangle off one ankle while he lifts your thighs, setting them on his shoulder and dipping down to press a gentle kiss against you. You gasp at the contact, head tilting back while you instinctually grind your hips up against him.

It’s been a long time since you’ve actually been with anyone and you already know you’re going to cum embarrassingly quick because he fucking devours you. You’ve had boyfriends who liked to eat you out before, but this is something completely different.

He drags his tongue over you, sucking on your clit like it’s his only true joy in life. You can’t even make noises, your jaw hanging slack while you cant your hips higher. He groans when you grind against his face, shaking his head and flicking his nose across your bud. You nearly come from the sight of him smiling against your cunt alone. You feel it building slowly, and it’s like your powers are swelling up along with your release.

Wade’s knicknacks are floating off the shelves, some of them rotating in the air, others fluctuating between liquid and solid forms. You can’t control yourself, you’re barely aware of the chaos happening in the room around you. You just feel a warmth at the tips of your toes, swelling over your body, making your skin feel too tight. There’s little to no warning when you cum. He dips his tongue inside you and you let out a long moan, drenching his face.

The sheets are soaking wet underneath you and you know you’ve ruined his shirt. You’ve never come that hard before and you would reflect on that more if he wasn’t still fucking eating you out. You think your brain is going to melt out of your ears, you're so overwhelmed by all the different sensations.

He dips his tongue into you, dragging out your orgasm and drinking as much of you down as he can. Your hips keep twitching, you’d be thrashing out of his hands if it wasn’t for the near brushing grip he has on your hips. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you reach down, grabbing his hair at the roots and tugging. He groans at the feeling, barely leaning an inch back. “No more,” you whisper, chest heaving.

He smiles, palms smoothing across the skin of your thighs, “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum weakly. Your head falls back against the bed with a dull thunk and you struggle to catch your breath. “Holy shit, where did you learn to do that?” He doesn’t answer, just laughs. You jump slightly when he presses a tender kiss on your thigh, every part of you oversensitive.

He moves slowly up your body, hands dragging your shirt up until he’s pulling it over your head. He cups your cheeks, letting you recover while he kisses your cheeks and face. You laugh slightly at the feeling of his beard tickling you.

You pull back, meeting his gaze for a long drawn-out moment before you lean forward to finally kiss him back. You can feel yourself slowly coming back into your body. Your limbs tingle back to life while you lazily make out with him.

His hands drift down your chest, squeezing your breasts. You laugh against his lips, arching into his touch. You reach back, unclipping your bra and throwing it off somewhere in the room. In the far reaches of your mind, you make a mental note to take that when you go. You don’t want to think about what Wade would do with it if he found it.

Logan pulls back from you and your lips tip down at the serious look he wears. Your fingers trace the lines of his face and you tilt your head in question. “What’s wrong?” You whisper. You’re completely naked before him and he’s still clothed, you don’t want him to leave now.

He can’t keep doing this to you. He can’t keep forcing you into these vulnerable positions and then leaving. There’s only so much rejection you can take before you start to resent him for it.

He tilts his head down, gaze dragging across your body appreciatively. He’s looking at you like you’re art and it makes you feel like you should be in a museum somewhere. Finally, his hand drags down from your chest, wrapping around your waist and dragging you onto his lap.

You brace your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. He leans towards you, lips trailing lightly across your jaw. “You’re not her,” he whispers against your skin. Your mouth parts, a pained breath slipping through. You try to move back from him. You hadn’t expected something like that, not now, not when you thought you’d made so much progress together.

To have you naked, vulnerable like this, and then say something like that to you. It was fucking despicable. You shove his shoulders back but he barely moves. You shift, trying to cover yourself and fighting off the urge to cry. Why won’t he let you go? Why does he keep doing this to you?

He reaches out, snatching up your wrist before you can get far. “I don’t want you to be. I never wanted you to be her, I need you to know that.”

He tries to kiss you but you snatch his jaw in your hand before he can. You let your nails dig in until there’s red blooming under your fingertips. He hisses, but he’s not mad, you can feel how much he enjoys the little pinpricks of pain.

“No more pulling away,” you warn. “I’m not playing this damn game with you anymore, Logan. You want me, then commit.” You release him with a shove and his pupils dilate with want. You appreciate the gentle way he’s been treating you, but you know you’re both holding back.

He’s the first partner you’ve been with that can actually take what you give and vice versa. There’s something only mutants understand sometimes. You normally have to hold back, have to make sure you don’t scare a guy off by making the walls shake when you come.

You push him down onto the bed. Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt and running over the grooves of his muscles. You haven’t had a chance to appreciate just how gorgeous his body is before, but nothing is holding you back now.

You snap your fingers and the buttons rip open, he surges forward catching your lips with his while you both frantically push his shirt off. He throws it off to the side and his fingers fumble with his belt buckle while you trail kisses down his neck. You glance up at him for a second before biting down on a particularly sensitive spot.

He groans, head rolling back while you grin against his skin. You make your way back to his lips. “Don’t hold back,” you tell him, trailing your hands down to his fists and running over the spots where the claws come out.

“Sweetheart,” he starts tone apprehensive. You shake your head, shutting him up with a kiss.

“Don’t. Hold. Back.”

It’s like a switch flipping. Even the way he looks at you changes. You’re not something to be cherished and adored. You feel like a deer pinned by a wolf. He’s got you in his clutches now and there’s a real possibility you might not survive this.

He stands up, dropping you on the bed and dragging your hips off the edge. He doesn’t kick his jeans off, just lowers them enough for his cock to hang out. You’ll address the fact that he wasn’t wearing boxers later, you’re too worried about what’s hanging between his legs right now.

You’re no virgin, but goddamn, there’s no way that’s going to fit.

He laughs, the noise cruel and it makes shivers crawl down your spine. “We’ll make it work, kid.” He spreads your legs and you tilt your hips up, making it easier for him to just sip inside.

There’s a slight stretch, but you’re already soaked for him. You’ve been waiting for this to happen since you walked in on him naked in your bathroom. “Oh, shit,” you toss your head back, taking in a deep breath while he pushes in. It feels like he’s rearranging your insides, molding you to fit him perfectly.

You can already feel yourself clenching down, just being so close to him is enough to make that tingle in the tips of your toes start. He leans down, placing your legs over his elbows and rutting into you like a wild animal. There’s nothing gentle or slow about this.

You’re both so pent-up, tired from the weeks of dancing around each other. Your nails drag up his back, blood following your movement. Your powers are actively surging against him, pain only driving you further into each other’s arms.

You can hear his breathy grunts and groans in your ears and it’s music to you. Neither of you cares about the party going on just outside the door. You’re loud, skin slapping against skin while you loudly call out his name.

God, you hope they hear you. Hope they realize just how thoroughly you’re wrecked for each other. You can feel yourself getting closer, hips stuttering against his while you struggle to match his pace. “Come on,” he mutters in your ear. He releases one of your legs to reach down and rub your clit.

“Fuck,” you groan, reaching up and tugging at his hair while your back bows. It only takes a few more tight circles of his thumb before you’re spasming around him. He’s quick to follow behind you.

He pins your hips to the bed, dropping your legs while he thrusts faster. He loses his rhythm, the muscles of his abdomen flexing as he cums inside you. It’s like a mini death, you feel like you’ve lost time when you finally manage to come back to yourself.

And when you roll your head to the side you realize just how much damage you’ve done to Wade’s bed. “Shit,” You glance up at the sound of his voice and notice little droplets of blood on your hips. Logan’s claws are out, stuck in the fluff of the bed.

You force the words out, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Do that often?”

“Not really,” he mutters. The claws retreat and he rubs his fingers over the blood. It’s not bad, you’ve honestly done worse to yourself. It’s like a big paper cut. When the rough pad of his fingers presses against the cut you hiss at the sting, nearly enjoying it.

“Must be special,” you tell him with a cheeky grin. He shakes his head with a laugh and takes his time pulling out. You hate the loss of him inside you but it's a slight relief. He's larger than any partner you’ve ever had and it’s almost overwhelming to be so full.

“Come on, let's get you dressed.” He pats your thighs, glancing around for your clothes.

“Uh, Logan,” he looks up and you glance at his still very hard cock. “I thought you came?”

The smile he gives you is slightly terrifying. Because there’s a promise in it. He’s not getting you dressed for no reason. He’s taking you back to your apartment so you can have more fun where there are less people and fewer reminders of Wade. “Stamina's part of the deal, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” you whisper, voice breathless in shock. You wipe the cum off your legs with Wade’s sheets. You feel like you’ve thoroughly gotten revenge on him for destroying your favorite bed set. Maybe, you’ve gone a little farther than revenge, though.

You feel guilty, looking around the room and seeing everything you destroyed. Once you’re dressed, you wave your hand, putting most things back where they belong. But there’s nothing you can do about the bed. The sheets are soaked with a mixture of yours and Logan’s releases and there are six holes dug deep in the bed from his claws.

When you step out of the room with Logan, struggling to press down your hair and get it back into place, Blind Al is waiting by the door. She’s doing a line off the back of her hand when you pass by. You think you’ve almost made it scott-free when she yells, “Man, I wish I couldn’t fucking hear,” at you.

You tense up, shoulders to your ears while you run to the door. Logan laughs, grabbing your coat for you and pressing a hand to your back while he leads you to the apartment. “Weren’t feeling so embarrassed earlier,” he teases.

“Shut up,” you grumble, dragging him into the apartment to finish what you couldn’t on Wade’s bed.

You’ve managed to keep any holes out of your bed, you just have to use your powers to keep his at bay. It’s nice, not having to explain why everything around you is levitating to the person you’re having sex with. There were a lot of awkward conversations that came from that.

You’re lying on Logan’s chest, fingers idly running over the veins in his biceps. “I want to be serious about this,” you tell him.

His hand pauses from where it’d been stroking your back. You sit up on your elbow so you can get a better look at him. “I mean it, I,” there’s no way to say this without sounding like a complete bitch. You just have to rip the bandaid off.

You take in a deep breath, “I know that you still miss her,” you say, unwilling to say her name. Logan sits up, looking more serious now. “But I don’t want to be with you if you think that I’m going to turn into her. Or if you think that I’m the last connection you have to her. I’m not her, Logan, and I'm never going to be her.”

You expect anger on his face or regret, maybe. But you don’t expect him to laugh at you. You roll your eyes, lips pursed while you wait for him to finish. He notices the pissy expression on your face and quiets down, but you still see a smile fighting on his lips.

“I know you’re not her. You could not be more different” he tells you with a slight smirk, like there’s an inside joke you’re missing out on. “I was married to her for a long time and I loved her. But we had our time together. Now, I just want my time with you. You’re not her,” he leans forward, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “That’s why I want you.”

You feel your heart flutter in your chest and have to fight to keep a stupid grin off your face. “Okay,” you whisper. “Good, well as long as we’re on the same page,” you tell him, faux serious. He just rolls his eyes and pulls you back into his arms.

You’re going to cuddle up beside him when you hear your phone going off like crazy on your nightstand. Your face pinches in confusion and you reach over to grab it.

Wade

Did you fuckers have sex???

In my bed!!!!

And you didn’t invite me?!

….

Wade

Tell Logan I want his claws in me next

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” you mutter, throwing your phone somewhere on the bed. Logan laughs again, drawing you closer.

a/n: i have a really weird tendency for masochism, idk what that’s about. I just feel like if you were having sex with this man, he’s taking you like a wild animal. also feel like I might be a one-hit wonder. the smut just wasn’t doing it for me this time guys nor was the angst, i’m disappointed in myself

I just don't think I did justice to his character in the movie, I might have made it too OOC/ if I did PLEASE let me know

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus ♡

#logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #the worst logan x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #hugh jackman #praying this doesn't flop

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drchucktingle · 2 years ago

Text

THE TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION TELLS CHUCK TINGLE TO STAY HOME BUT WE PROVE LOVE ANYWAY

just when you buckaroos thought 2024 would be a break from book drama, here comes chuck tingle in the mix. recently i was asked to be a featured speaker at the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION annual conference. a few days ago they rescinded my invitation. here is what happened.

(EDITED TO ADD THIS LINK. if you have a hard time reading this on way of tumblr you can also read for free on chucks patreon)

i would like to start off by saying it is not my intent to start a fight, and all those reading this should know that the actions of a few misguided folks do not speak for the whole TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION. i am sure there are many involved who will be very upset to learn what others at TLA have done in their name. there are many individuals here, so please do not paint them all as villains in your mind. besides, chuck loves the dang library everyone knows that.

the point of writing this is not to vilify. i am writing this is because MOMENTS OF DARKNESS are the best places to SHINE A LIGHT AND PROVE LOVE IS REAL. this is a perfect time for learning and growing and for us talk on some very important things that queer buckaroos and neurodivergent buckaroos face every day. this is an unfortunate moment that WE can turn around and use to prove love is real.

i am also writing this to understand some of my own personal feelings on the matter. for something that seems very simple on the surface, the trot is complex, and i am still working out my emotions on the whole dang thing. i am learning in this way.

PART ONE: BAG OF LOVE

a few months ago chuck was asked to be a featured speaker at the 2024 TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION ANNUAL CONFERENCE. i have been asked to do things like the before and it is ALWAYS a fun time to meet bookseller and librarian buds. trotting around face to face and talking about my story of conquering chronic pain and overcoming my mental hurdles is VERY IMPORTANT to me. i say YES to these things whenever i can. (here i am with authors at CALIFORNIA INDEPENDENT BOOKSELLERS ALLIANCE conference. they are a WONDERFUL group and they proved love with their OWN invitation to chuck. this was such a moving event with so many amazing authors and stories. got very teared up during this photo)

ANYWAY BUCKAROOS i get the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION invite and say 'YES BUD LETS TROT'. we are then confirmed.

months pass. a few weeks ago i get a call from my manager and agent and publisher saying ‘the TLA have rescinded their invitation.’

turns out some things had been going on behind the scenes

at some point the TLA asked chucks INCREDIBLE HEROIC BAD ASS PUBLISHER if chuck would be okay with not wearing the mask, to which tor/nightfire/macmillan said ‘what the heck are you talking about of course chuck is going to wear his mask. this is how chuck presents himself’ (NOT EXACT QUOTE)

as you all know, my pink bag way is a VERY IMPORTANT SPACE. as an autistic buckaroo it is a boundary that allows me to express myself freely and relieve my chronic pain from neurotypically masking all day. i have talked about this for years, and it is why i consider my private identity a SACRED THING. it is literally a health issue.

fortunately THE PINK BAG is never really a problem when making appearances. i have spent years going on television shows, doing interviews, speaking at other conferences and conventions, hosting book events on tour, and even MEETING WITH LAWYERS in my pink face covering. it is always respected and that is very validating to my way.

when arriving anywhere i always take precautions. i always warn buckaroos ahead of time that there is a masked man coming. i always have someone go in ahead of me JUST IN CASE. again, there has never been an issue. at a big conference where i am a special guest there is ESPECIALLY not an issue because my face and bio are printed IN THE DANG PROGRAM

SOME FUN TIMES AT BIG EVENTS BELOW:

CHUCK ON TV SHOW NAME OF 'AT MIDNIGHT' BACK BEFORE I WROTE LOVE IS REAL ON MY HEAD:

well, there has never been an issue.... UNTIL NOW.

PART TWO: RESCINDED

a few days ago TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION suddenly messaged my publishers and said that chuck tingle is no longer invited. my invitation was rescinded. the reason given was that people could possibly be uncomfortable with my mask

right out of the gate i would like to say this: it is absolutely the right of the texas library association to disinvite someone from their conference. it is their event, after all, and they can ban anyone they would like, for any reason.

of course, that doesnt mean other folks HEARING THIS NEWS wont have their own opinions the TLA choices. if the TLA disinvites someone, their reasoning for doing this can be discussed and analyzed. whether or not they follow their own guidelines can be questioned, and certainly their kindness and tact can be considered

there are a few BIG POINTS to make regarding this choice from the TLA

first and foremost, i just gotta say buckaroos, it is incredibly rude to invite someone to be a guest speaker at your event, have them confirm and mark off their calendar and turn down other offers, then rescind their invitation. this is maybe the simplest of the points, but it is an important one.

second, (DEEP BREATH HERE WE GO BUCKAROOS) i personally do not think of my autism as a disability very often, but i also KNOW that despite these feelings it ABSOLUTELY IS. autism is important to be listed as a recognized disability because of the help some autistic buckaroos need regarding government programs and things like that. ALSO just because my neurodivergence has helped me in some ways (hyperfocus and a unique artistic sensibility for example). i personally need to step back and remember my battle with stress and chronic pain from having to neurotypically mask all the time. for as much as i love being autistic it has made some things very difficult.

in other words, i am perfectly capable of speaking and interacting with folks without this pink bag on my head BUT WHEN I AM IN THE CHUCK TINGLE SPACE I REQUIRE IT. i can ONLY use this space while covering my face. is not a want. it is a need. holding this boundary is more important than i can ever say. i will not, and can not, let these spaces cross.

TLA not letting an autistic author wear the face cover theyve set up to express their neurodivergence in a safe, healthy way is--for lack of a better term--NOT A GOOD LOOK.

i cannot fathom them disinviting another author for using a disability aid. i cannot fathom them saying that a buckaroo who hears better with a hearing device cannot use it during their panel because it would make others 'uncomfortable'.

but here we are.

PART THREE: WHAT DOES A BUCKAROO GOTTA DO TO GET BANNED AROUND HERE?

this is the TLAs official stance on disability issues according to their website:

when poking around on the TLA website i noticed a few other things. i noticed a previous guest speaker wearing a niqab, and i was left wondering if the religious significance is what make that okay but chuck tingle banned. that made sense until i looked deeper and saw mascot buckaroos dressed up on the exhibition floor, and saw some kind of spiderbud in a costume contest. nobody around them seemed to be all that scared. their invitations REMAINED INTACT.

it should be mentioned here that AT ONE POINT during the discussions an email was sent from TLA saying chuck is allowed to come and wear his mask in the exhibition halls and smaller panels, just not at any of the big PAID PANELS i was once supposed to participate on. this was a confusing offer, but their explanation was that people who paid for something should have the option to not see chucks 'scary neurodivergence aid'. i tried to wrap my head around WHY they would make a distinction. maybe the exchange of money (rather than time) causes some kind of philosophical adjustment that i just cant grasp?

i wonder, would the author who wears a niqab ALSO be banned from the paid panels? i hope not

my answers trotted up short until i investigated deeper and found this quick moment from one of the TLA help videos. while some events DO require additional buckaroo cash, it actually appears that THE ENTIRE CONFERENCE IS TICKETED AND COSTS MONEY.

at this point i realized there is clearly no actual official policy about not covering your face (other than one from a few years ago saying that you HAVE to cover your face), and the addition of 'money' is a red herring. these excuses make no sense

PART FOUR: CLOSE THOSE GATES

it appears that my neurodivergence is 'scary' enough to get me uninvited, REGARDLESS what their disability and mask policies may say

BUT WHY? why is chucks preferred physical presentation valued SO little by the TLA that a THEORETICAL complaint is worth more? is my neurodivergent expression so awful? is my own safety as a queer activist such an afterthought?

is a pink bag with the words 'love is real' scrawled across the front REALLY going to frighten someone when the posters and pamphlets on the way into in panel would have a photo of my masked face saying THIS IS LITERALLY WHO IS ABOUT TO APPEAR BEFORE YOU.

if THAT accommodation is too much, would it really be so difficult to have someone trot out beforehand and make an announcement? to say 'there is someone on this upcoming panel who needs a mask to express this part of himself, if this makes you uncomfortable then this panel might not be for you'.

and really, i have to heckin ask, is this physical expression of my raw inner truth really so hideous and frightening that fear of making someone uncomfortable is a REAL problem?

(a terrifying display of autism. apparently)

i cannot imagine what kind of precautions they need to take before a stage play featuring costumes and masks.

you MIGHT think chucks queerness and left leaning politics could be the issue with this organization, but they have had drag queens as past speakers (also featuring some GLORIOUS makeup and hair that covers almost all of their faces. VERY CURIOUS). regardless, the TLA do not seem like a conservative bunch.

if you are bisexual or an autistic person who is good at 'passing' you probably already know where this is headed, your dang spiderbuckaroo senses are tingling at FULL ALERT. i will say i do not KNOW the real reason why i was uninvited, and i do not have enough information to make any concrete statement of the real answer. there is only evidence that masks have been fine at TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION events in the past, but not much else to go on.

so the FACTS part of our discussion ends there, but i think it opens us up to talk about some very important feelings that bisexual and autistic buckaroos know well.

THIS is where we take a unfortunate, hurtful moment and turn it into a discussion. this is where we prove love is real.

as someone who is constantly doubted and put through purity tests because of my unique way, we are pushing up against a subject i know well. thats right buckaroos: we are talking GATEKEEPING

AGAIN, i do not know if this is the answer, but someone in my position might be VERY STRONGLY INCLINED TO THINK that a few well-meaning left leaning buckaroos think i am a joke and that this is a character, and that there is something problematic about my work because i am not really a real person.

any upstanding left leaning organization would OF COURSE allow a mask for a neurodivergent buckaroo with an unusual visual presentation, an autistic buckaroo who conquered his chronic pain ONLY by creating this important space... but what about a FAKE autistic buckaroo?

any upstanding left leaning organization would OF COURSE allow a mask for a queer LGBTQ activist standing up for gay and trans rights against a torrent of scoundrels hunting for his legal identity. its a matter of safety... but what about a FAKE queer activist?

let me be very clear for the 100th time: i am a real person. this is not a joke. i am not playing a character. i am really autistic and bisexual. tinglers are sincere and they are not ‘so bad theyre good’. they are just good. camp damascus is not ‘my first serious book’ because my queer erotica is serious. my art is important and real.

when people tell me to unmask they often do not know WHY they want it, and of course one very good reason is innocent curiosity. but there are SOME cases where i start to get THAT feeling--that tingle all of us ‘passing’ buckaroos get when we can sense the real intent behind the poking and prodding. that is the feeling of stumbling into a gatekeepers crosshairs.

if i was to take off my pink bag, what about my face would you analyze to tell if i was REALLY queer. my eye color? my ear shape? if you learned my legal name, would you see if it sounded autistic? is my voice neurodivergent enough?

or is all of that utterly absurd? i am curious what the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION thinks.

PART FIVE: GENDERED

this will be the shortest of parts, but it has to be said. i have a very complex relationship with gender, as written about at length here and here. i understand these things can be difficult to parse for some, but i ask that you trust me when i say that the ONLY reason i have been able to talk about my gender and sexuality and learn these things about myself is because of this pink bag. this outward appearance is a direct expression and reflection of my gender journey.

if the texas library association does not care about my appearance as an expression of my autism, then i cant imagine them giving a dang about it as an expression of my gender and queerness. that being said, it is personally very important to me and i think it should be mentioned

PART SIX: SO YOU WANT TO REMOVE AN AUTISTIC QUEER AUTHOR FROM YOUR EVENT BECAUSE PEOPLE MIGHT FIND THEIR DIFFERENCES SCARY

there is a question to be asked here: how could the TLA have done this correctly?

i have one very big piece of advice i would like to shout from the rooftops. please, for the love of sweet barbara, DO ENOUGH RESEARCH to know if this appearance will be a problem and, IF SO, dont extend an invitation in the first place. unique buckaroos with different presentations are constantly left in this place of limbo because we are bombarded with careless actions like those of the TLA. before you consider extending a branch to an artist who might need more accommodations than usual, think to yourself 'CAN WE MAKE THESE ACCOMMODATIONS?'

putting all of this on the shoulders of a single 'buckaroo with a difference' is exhausting. as the TLA has shown, we currently live on a timeline where a buckaroo like myself never really knows if an invite is SOLID without doing a deep dive history lesson on how often a group discriminates and against who.

i did not want to spend my whole family holiday worrying whether or not i should say something publicly or just lie down and shut my dang mouth. i had to consider HOW i should say it. i had to worry whether or not its worth standing up for myself in the face of the largest state library association in the country. i think buckaroos with differences are with me when i say: WE ARE SICK OF HAVING TO DO THIS WORK TO COVER FOR THE POOR BEHAVIOR OF LARGE ORGANIZATIONS WHO TREAT US BADLY

another option would just be to use kindness and common sense and happily accommodate artists with unique presentations to your conventions

PART SEVEN: LOVE IS STILL REAL

i would like to close by saying THANK YOU to my publisher nightfire and editor kelly for standing up for me. they immediately stood firm and had my back. they are the real dang deal. THANK YOU to my management and agent buds dongwon and gino for trotting along beside me. THANK YOU to the folks at the texas library association who initially invited chuck with goodness in their heart and then likely got bowled over by someone else, and maybe even got knocked to the side by a big closing gate.

i hope there are librarians in texas who are still interested in carrying BURY YOUR GAYS when it comes out (which is ironically about someone who creates a space through art to express their queerness where they cant otherwise). libraries prove love is real and what they do IS SO IMPORTANT. it was SO IMPORTANT TO ME as a young buckaroo and i cannot thank you enough. i am not sure if me writing all of this will hurt my sales in some way, but this opportunity to speak about the reality of disability awareness and queer gatekeeping is too important to stay silent. (if you have not already preordered BURY YOUR GAYS then give it a preorder to make up for some texas library losses i guess.)

which leads me to my final thank you. THANK YOU to the buckaroos reading this. yes YOU. i am in the position to stand up and speak my mind against scoundrel forces ONLY because i have the might of you buckaroos by my side. the buckaroo trot is ALL OF OUR TROT and we are ALL HERE TO PROVE LOVE. i cannot tell you how much i appreciate the way you have created a space for me to express these important parts of myself. you have seen this pink mask over my face and saying YES, I ACCEPT YOU, you have literally saved my life. for that i am so thankful.

if you are UPSET by what youve read here, then turn it into something positive. you can support autistic creators, or make a donation to the AUTISTIC SELF ADVOCACY NETWORK

and besides WHO IS REALLY MISSING OUT? this is what it looks like when you invite the worlds greatest author chuck tingle to your event and treat their identity as valid. WE HAVE A DANG GOOD TIME

youtube

KEEP TROTTING INTO THE FUTURE. KEEP KICKING DOWN GATES WHEREVER THEY MAY BE. KEEP PROVING LOVE IS REAL AND PROVING IT TOGETHER. lets go buckaroos - chuck

UPDATE AN HOUR AFTER POSTING:

true buckaroo TJ KLUNE was set to be another author on panel chuck was removed from and has informed me he has now chosen to decline his invitation in support and solidarity with chuck. i am so deeply moved by this. thank you from bottom of heart buckaroo

to be very clear TJ has a huge platform and DOES NOT NEED TO DO THIS. these conferences are great for book sales and he is taking a hit out of pure solidarity. this is queer buckaroos standing up for eachother. i am floored by this kindness and love

please consider checking out his books if they are not already covering your dang bookshelf. chuck blurbed IN THE LIVES OF PUPPETS and i was blown away i heckin loved it

MOST RECENT UPDATE:

here is more

#love is real #chuck tingle #tingleverse #texas library association #actually autistic #lgtbqia #Youtube

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woogilicious · 2 months ago

Text

didn't think i'd fall here ꒰ mingi ꒱

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ rating: 18+ (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pairing: song mingi x female!reader ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ word count: 6.5k ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ genre: strangers to lovers, comfort, virgin!reader, virgin!mingi, friends-to-lovers energy, soft angst, smut, fluff ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ warnings: emotional manipulation, toxic friendship, crying, anxiety, self-esteem issues, first time sex, consensual sex, safe sex, soft dom!mingi vibes, realistic first time awkwardness, condom run to the convenience store lol, mentions of blood during sex (light), aftercare, mingi being obsessed with you, reader threatening to chop mingi's dick off lovingly ♡ ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ author's note: it's been a while y'all. hope you enjoy this smut, and also I've been trying some new layout lol cuz i'm not satisfied with my previous layout.

You didn't even want to come here today.

Lotte World was supposed to be fun—cotton candy, carousel selfies, maybe something gentle like bumper cars. But with Yujin and Hana, it was never about fun. It was about appearances. About pushing you into situations just to get a reaction, to laugh behind their hands at how you squirmed.

"Ugh, you're seriously scared of this?" Yujin groan, snapping a photo of the massive Atlantis roller coaster ahead, the steel tracks twisting like some cruel maze in the sky. "It's not even the scariest ride here."

"Right?" Hana chimes in. "God, you're so boring sometimes, Y/N. No wonder no guy ever looks at you."

You laugh. It's hollow.

It doesn't stop the sting.

The queue is already packed when they drag you towards the entrance. You hesitate, but Yujin latches onto your wrist like you're a toddler about to run into traffic.

"Don't be a baby. It's just a ride."

"But I really don't—"

"Do not make a scene," she hisses, smiling too widely as a group of boys glance over. "You're already embarrassing enough. Come on."

The line inches forward. Every step closer makes your chest tighter, like the straps of an invisible harness locking you in. Your stomach churns, hands tremble. But you don't say a word.

Yujin and Hana are too busy taking selfies to notice. Or care.

You stand behind them, quiet, small, barely existing.

"Swear to god," Yujin mutters at one point, "you're going to die single if you keep acting like this. You gotta be brave. Guys hate weak girls."

Hana laughs way too loud. "She needs a guy to knock some sense into her. Or just knock her up. Either one might fix it."

Your ears burn.

You try to laugh again, just to keep up the illusion. It sounds like you're choking.

And still, the line moves.

You're maybe five people from the platform when the operator suddenly shouts, "Two seat available now! Anyone here riding as a pair?"

Yujin doesn't even ask. Doesn't even glance back.

She and Hana leap forward.

"We're two!"

They disappear up the stairs in a blink. The group in front of you steps forward. And just like that, you're alone.

You don't cry, not yet.

But your body's reacting—shaking hands, clenched jaw, vision blurring at the edges. You're aware that walking backward through the crowded line would be more embarrassing than just riding the damn thing. At least, that's what your brain tells you.

The panic bubbles anyway.

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes glued to the track. It creaks and rumbles as the next cart wooshes by in a blur. Someone screams in delight. You're going to throw up. Right here, in front of everyone.

And then—

"Hey."

You jump.

The voice is gentle, low, curious. You turn around.

Three boys stand behind you, next in line. The tallest one—broad shoulders, brown hair—tilts his head at you.

You blink. "...huh?"

He offers a small smile. "You look like you're about to faint."

You open your mouth, then shut it.

The second boy, shorter but muscular with sharp features and a piercing stare, cuts in. "She was with those girls, right? They just ditched her."

The third guy, softer looking with black hair and pretty eyes, nods. "That's messed up."

You look between them, startled that they even noticed.

"I'm—fine," you lie. "I'll just... I was gonna leave."

"Back through that crowd?" The tall one says, gesturing behind.

"...yeah."

He glances at the operator, then back at you. "Well, you don't have to ride alone. I'll go with you."

You blink. "What?"

He smiles again, this time more reassuring. "I mean—if you want. We can ride together. No pressure."

"...why?"

He shrugs. "You look like you need a buddy."

The one with the sharp stare grins now. "This guy's Mingi. He's annoyingly a gentleman sometimes."

"I'm Jongho," he adds, giving you a little nod. "And that's Yeosang."

Yeosang gives you a tiny wave.

"Thanks," you mumble, feeling overwhelmed but... oddly warm. "I'm Y/N."

Jongho snorts. "Yeah, we heard your friends being total assholes. Y/N, you seriously deserve better than that."

You swallow. The words hit harder than they should.

Mingi gently touches your elbow. "You okay riding the roller coaster with me?"

You look at him—his soft gaze, his open posture, the zero judgement in his tone. And for once, someone isn't making you feel like a burden.

"...yeah," you breathe. "Okay."

The staff waves you forward.

Mingi lets you take the seat first, then slips in beside you, pulling the safety bar down. He's close—his knee brushes yours, and his scent is something clean and warm, like citrus and sun.

He glances at you.

"You're brave for doing this."

You almost laugh.

The ride jerks forward with a lurch.

Your fingers grip the bar.

Mingi's hand moves, gently resting on top of yours.

It's warm. Your fingers twitch beneath his at first, unsure, but then the roller coaster jolts forward with a hiss of steam, and you instinctively grip him back like your life depends on it.

He chuckles low under his breath. "That tight already? We haven't gone up yet."

You shoot him a panicked glance, knuckles going pale. "I'm not gonna survive this."

"You will," he says, voice soft. "You've got me now."

The ride starts its slow, agonising climb. Your heart funds like it's trying to launch itself out of your chest.

Mingi doesn't let go. Not even once. His thumb strokes over your knuckles in lazy circles, like he's trying to distract you from the threatening death drop ahead.

"Deep breath," he murmurs. "You've got this, Y/N."

The cart tips.

You scream.

It's not even cute. It's pure terror.

And Mingi just laughs—not at you though, but in joy, throwing his hands up as you fly down the track, wind whipping through your hair, your body tossed left and right.

You never let go of his hand.

By the time it slows and returns to the platform, your voice is gone, and your legs feel like jelly. You stumble forward a little when the bar lifts, but Mingi's hand on your back steadies you.

"You alright?" he asks, eyes scanning your face.

You nod, breathless, dazed.

He smiles, wide and proud. "You did amazing. Seriously! That was brave as hell."

You want to say thank you, but you're still processing the fact that your heart is beating and your limbs are still attached. You let out a small laugh instead, cheeks flushed, the adrenaline not quite fading yet.

Then you hear it.

"Wait, where's Y/N?"

Your stomach sinks.

You turn your head toward the exit ramp and spot them—Yujin and Hana—posing near a churro cart, phone angled high, lips puckered in matching fake smiles.

The voice is unmistakable.

"Probably chickened out and left the roller coaster," Yujin mutters, loud enough that you catch every word.

Hana scoffs, adjusting her hair. "We should find her, I guess. We did come with her car, after all."

"Ugh," Yujin groans. "So annoying. I hate her sometimes."

Hana snorts. "Sometimes?"

They both burst into laughter.

It hits you harder than the drop on the coaster.

You freeze. The sting behind your eyes burns hot, and you blink rapidly, refusing to let the tears win. Not here. Not in front of Mingi, Yeosang and Jongho.

But Mingi heard it too.

You feel the shift in his posture beside you, the way his jaw clenches just slightly. He glances back at Jongho and Yeosang, who both clearly clock the situation. A silent nod happens between them.

Then, without warning, Mingi gently grabs your wrist.

"Come on."

You look up, startled. "Wait—what? Where are we going?"

He's already walking you in the opposite direction.

"I—I need to go to them," you say, stumbling to keep with his pace. "I need to send them home—"

"Are they your close friends?" he asks, cutting you off calmly.

You stop walking. "Huh?"

"Do you hang out with them a lot?"

"…No. We used to be close in high school. But now… not really. We're all in different universities and barely meet up anymore."

Mingi hums like that’s exactly the answer he expected. "Good. So you can cut them off."

You blink. "What?"

He turns to face you properly, his expression serious but not harsh. "Why spend the rest of your day with people who treat you like that? Just hang out with us."

You open your mouth to argue, but then Jongho jogs up beside you, slinging an arm over your shoulder like you've been besties for years.

"You didn't hear what they said? They're literally using you for your car and shitting on you behind your back."

"Yeah," Yeosang says, catching up, a rare frown on his usually passive face. “That's not what friends do. That's just… sad."

"I don't wanna ruin your guys' day though," you say quietly, unsure.

Mingi shakes his head. "You're not. I asked you to stay. You're not an obligation. You're a choice."

That line makes your heart skip.

Jongho smirks. "Besides, Mingi's in his hero mode now. You're stuck with us."

Yeosang chuckles. "He only gets like this when something really pisses him off."

You glance at Mingi, who's pretending not to listen, but the way he nudges your arm with his elbow says otherwise.

And for once… it feels okay to be pulled in a different direction.

You're still holding your tray with half-finished tteokbokki when Mingi takes a seat beside you at the picnic table. Jongho and Yeosang are opposite, poking fun at each other while stealing bits from the fishcake skewer pile.

"You okay?" Mingi asks quietly, sipping from his soda.

You nod. "Actually… yeah. Thanks to you guys."

He hums. "Good."

It feels so normal, sitting here with them. You were smiling. Genuinely smiling. For the first time in weeks, maybe.

The stand nearby is selling fresh corndogs and hotteok. You notice Jongho eyeing them, and your stomach grumbles too.

"I'll grab some more snacks," you say, standing. "My treat."

"Are you sure?" Yeosang asks.

"Yeah," you smile. "You guys saved me today. Least I can do."

You approach the snack cart, debating how many corndogs to grab when—

Shove.

It's not hard enough to knock you down, but enough to make you stumble forward a step. You turn, startled.

"Oh my god, we knew we saw your big back over here," Yujin says with a laugh, like it's the funniest thing in the world.

Hana smirks, standing beside her, arms crossed.

You step back, lips parting. "You guys left me."

Yujin rolls her eyes. "No we didn't? We were waiting for you by the churros stand."

"I was standing alone in line," you reply, your voice still soft, careful not to escalate anything. "You jumped ahead without even checking on me."

"Please," Hana mutters. "You probably didn't see us because you were too much of a pussy to ride."

They both burst into laughter.

You feel it again—that familiar sting in your chest. But this time, before you can say anything, another voice cuts through the air.

"Hey, Y/N. Is there a problem here?"

You look to your side.

Mingi's there, standing tall, eyes dark, jaw clenched. And when he looks at Yujin and Hana, the playful energy around them dies instantly.

Yujin straightens up, adjusting her top. "Oh heyyyy~" she says, her tone suddenly flirty. "And who might you be?"

"Do you know him?" Hana adds, nudging you.

"Yes," you reply clearly. "He offered to ride the roller coaster with me."

Yujin raises an eyebrow. "Really now…"

Then Mingi steps closer, resting a firm hand around your wrist—not hard, just protective.

"If you don’t have anything decent to say to Y/N," he says, voice sharp like a knife, "you can leave. She's hanging out with me and my friends now."

He doesn't wait for them to respond. He gently pulls you away, guiding you back toward the table where Jongho and Yeosang are already watching with narrowed eyes.

You think it's over—until Yujin and Hana follow you.

"Oh my god, Y/N," Yujin says loudly. "Don’t be such a whore and take three guys at once~ At least leave one for us."

You freeze mid-step.

"…Excuse me?" you blink slowly, not even sure you heard her right.

Yujin grins, proud. "Sharing is caring, babe."

You glance at Hana, who won’t meet your eyes.

"…Yujin," you say softly. "You have a boyfriend."

"So?" she scoffs. "You're being a greedy whore with three guys up your ass. You're no better than me."

Your breath catches. You stare at her, shocked. Embarrassed. Ashamed, even though you've done nothing wrong.

Hana still won't look at you.

And that's when Mingi steps forward.

"You know what's actually disgusting?" Mingi says, his voice suddenly cold. "That you think humiliating someone publicly makes you funny. That mocking someone you call a friend is just a joke. That dragging her down is the only way you feel better about yourself."

Yujin's face stiffens.

"And calling her a whore?" Mingi scoffs. "Girl, she's more decent than either of you. If having three people care about her makes her a whore, then maybe you should ask yourself why no one treats you that way."

Hana lets out a tiny breath like she's been slapped.

Mingi turns to them fully now, shielding you with his body.

"Don't talk to her again," he says firmly. "Don't call her. Don't look at her. Don't even think about her. Got it?"

Yujin crosses her arms. "Oh really? But she's our ride. She drove us here."

Jongho suddenly stands from the table. "Then go ask your boyfriend to pick you up."

The silence is loud.

Yujin's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Hana still won't look at you.

You don't say a word. You just follow the boys as they walk away, head high, shoulders squared. Mingi's hand brushes yours. You don't pull away.

Behind you, you hear Yujin groan like a spoiled brat not getting what she wants.

And you don't look back.

You're quiet as you sit back at the table. You feel small again—not because of what they said, but because of how much it still hurts.

Jongho passes you a drink without a word. Yeosang silently offers you the hotteok you didn't get to buy.

Mingi sits beside you again, elbows on the table, glancing sideways at your face.

"You okay?" he asks for the second time today.

You nod, eyes glassy.

"You don't have to be," he adds softly.

"…I don't get it," you murmur. "I never did anything to them. I was always… trying to be nice."

"You were too nice," Yeosang says, voice calm. "Some people take kindness as weakness. That's not on you."

"She was jealous of you," Jongho adds bluntly. "Both of them were. You're quiet and kind and people like you without having to perform for it. That's threatening for girls like them."

You stare at your lap. "…I just hate that it got so ugly in front of everyone."

Mingi leans in closer, dropping his voice low. "If anything, you should be proud of yourself. You stood your ground. And you have three guys now who will never let anyone talk to you like that again."

You look up, eyes wide, lips parting.

Yeosang raises his soda. "To cutting off shitty people."

You laugh, finally.

And Mingi… he just watches you.

Like he's proud.

Like he’s already planning to keep you close all day.

The sun had dipped low by the time you all wandered back to your car, arms full of leftover snacks, plastic bags rustling with street game prizes and bottled drinks. The entire afternoon had gone by in a blur. One that smelled like honey butter corndogs and felt like safe hands holding you up.

"This your car?" Jongho asks, tapping the roof lightly.

You nod, unlocking it. "Yeah. It’s not fancy, but she gets me from A to B."

"It's cute," Yeosang says, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. "Matches you."

You glance at him, surprised. "Matches… me?"

"Yeah." He shrugs, smiling. "Kind of cozy. And a little beat up, but still standing."

You laugh. "Are you calling me emotionally damaged?"

"Absolutely," he says without blinking.

Mingi chuckles, watching you giggle as you swing the backdoor open to stash the snacks.

Jongho leans against the trunk, stretching. "We should hang out again sometime."

"Seconded," Yeosang says.

You smile. "I'd like that."

Mingi steps beside you and pulls out his phone. "Give me your number."

You blink. "Just like that?"

"Yeah," he grins. "No games. Just want to be able to text you."

Your heart skips.

You rattle off your number, and he saves it under Y/N 🎢, making you groan and hit his arm.

"What? You survived that roller coaster like a champ."

"I screamed."

"And held my hand the whole time," he says, low and teasing.

You turn away before your face gives too much away.

They all pile into their own car a few minutes later—Yeosang at the wheel, Jongho arguing over aux cord rights. Mingi rolls his window down just before they drive off.

"Hey, text me when you get home."

You glance up. "You too."

He smiles. "I will."

One week later.

You're sitting under a shady tree, picking at your sandwich while scrolling on your phone. Midterms are creeping up and your brain is half-fried. You barely notice the tall figure walking toward your bench until a shadow falls across your lap.

"Hey."

You look up—and blink.

"…Mingi?"

He grins, hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. "Surprised?"

"Uh—yeah?? What are you doing here?"

"Your university's not that far from my dorm. I was in the area… and I was hungry."

You raise a brow. "So you decided to find me?"

"Obviously," he shrugs, plopping down beside you like this is the most normal thing ever.

Your heart does a backflip. "You're really bold, huh?"

He leans back on his palms, tilting his head toward you. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. After all… I haven't heard much from someone."

You flush. "I—I've been busy…"

"I know. I'm just teasing."

There's a pause.

The breeze rustles the leaves above. He's looking at you again, but this time with something softer in his expression.

"You seemed kinda quiet that day when we left," he says. "Was worried."

You glance down at your hands. "I was just… processing everything. It felt weird cutting someone off like that."

"They deserved it," Mingi says, voice firm. "You don't need people who treat you like garbage just because they've known you for a long time."

"…I know," you admit. "It just takes time to process all that."

He nods slowly. "Makes sense. Still. You're stronger than you think."

You smile, small. "You really don't have to keep being this nice to me, you know."

"But I want to."

That makes your breath catch.

He sits up straighter, taking a bite of the snack he brought—some triangle kimbap from the uni convenience store.

"Anyway, what's your major again?" he asks, chewing.

"Communications," you say. "Why?"

"Just wondering what kind of power you'll have in the future. I gotta make sure I stay on your good side now."

You laugh. "What about you?"

"Dance," he says proudly. "But I'm also thinking of minoring in theatre. I like performing."

"That… makes sense. You're kind of a natural."

"At performing?"

"At… pulling attention," you admit, looking away. "You make people feel comfortable."

He hums. "Not everyone. But I guess I try."

There's a comfortable silence again.

Then Mingi glances at your phone screen, noticing the time.

"You have class soon?"

"Yeah. In twenty minutes."

"Damn," he says, standing slowly and stretching his long arms. "Time flew."

"It did," you say. "I didn’t think I'd talk to anyone this long today."

"Lucky you. I'm charming."

You roll your eyes.

He steps a little closer now, towering over you just slightly—but he's not intimidating. He's playful. Easy. Gentle.

"Hey," he says, voice low.

You look up. "Yeah?"

"Do you wanna go out Friday night?"

Your heart skips a beat.

"Like… just us?"

He smiles. "Yeah. Just us."

You swallow, trying not to look too flustered. "Sure. That sounds nice."

He winks. "It's a date then."

And with that, he turns and walks off toward the exit gates, hands still shoved in his pockets like nothing happened.

You just sit there, dumbfounded, heat crawling up your face.

You're pretty sure you don't taste your sandwich after that.

Friday.

When you open the door, the last thing you expect to see is Mingi in all black—loose button-up tucked into slacks, gold necklace glinting faintly under the porch light—and a massive bouquet of pastel flowers in hand.

Your mouth opens. But nothing comes out.

He smiles. "Too much?"

"I—no, no," you sputter, staring at the bouquet. "These are gorgeous. Are those peonies? Wait… are these imported?"

He glances at them. "I dunno, I just told the florist I wanted something that looked like you."

Your face burns instantly.

"Stop saying stuff like that so casually!"

Mingi laughs, handing you the bouquet as you step aside to let him in briefly. "It's true though. Pretty, soft, and a little expensive-looking."

You glare, trying not to melt.

Once the flowers are safely in a vase, you both head out. He opens the car door for you like a damn drama male lead, and you have to mentally scream at yourself not to act too giddy.

The drive is filled with music, light banter, and the occasional glance that lingers too long at red lights. When he pulls up to a high-rise building with a fancy valet and dim chandelier lighting peeking from the glass walls, you blink twice.

"Wait," you say slowly, reading the restaurant sign. "We're eating here?"

"Yeah," he says, unbuckling his seatbelt casually. "Why?"

"Mingi… this place is expensive. Like, minimum 5-digit bill expensive."

"So?" He laughs, turning to look at you. "It's not every day I take someone out on a date. Plus, I invited you. I can't just take you to the food court."

You stare at him. "You're rich…"

He snorts. "Does that make you look at me differently?"

You shake your head. "Of course not. It's just… I grew up thinking that when people date, it should be fifty-fifty. I feel kinda guilty when someone spends too much on me."

Mingi looks at you for a second, soft but amused. "That's cute."

Your cheeks flush.

He continues, voice warm, "But seriously, Y/N, today's my treat. Maybe in the future you can treat me. But for now… your presence is already more than enough."

You make a face. "You're such a flirt.”

He grins. "You haven't seen the half of it."

Dinner is unreal. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the Han River, and your seats are by the glass. The food is plated like art, the conversation flows effortlessly, and the wine Mingi orders (which you swear costs as much as your monthly internet bill) is surprisingly good.

At one point, you both laugh over nothing, and Mingi leans his cheek on his hand.

"You know," he says, "Jongho hasn't shut up about that day."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. For someone who's a year younger than me, he sure loves teasing me like he's older."

You pause. "Wait—Jongho's younger than you?"

Mingi blinks. "Oh, we didn't clarify that, huh?"

"Oh my god, I thought he was the oldest!"

Mingi bursts out laughing. "You're not the first person to say that! Everyone thinks that! He's just too mature for his face."

"Or," you smirk, "maybe you and Yeosang are just too immature."

He gasps. "Hey! I'm mature!"

"I stalked your tagged photos on Instagram," you say nonchalantly. "Your friends call you a big princess."

He chokes on his drink. "You what?"

You grin. "That's right. I did my research."

Mingi leans in closer, voice suddenly low and playful. "Why were you stalking me, hmm? Miss this princess that much?"

Your heart slams in your chest.

"Mingi, stop it," you say, rolling your eyes to hide your very real flustered state.

He chuckles, pleased. "I love teasing you."

"And you're way too good at it."

He shrugs. "Only with people I like."

That line hits harder than it should.

By the time you finish eating, the staff clears your plates and refills your glasses with water. You sit back, full, sipping slowly.

You glance at him. "So… where are we going next?"

Mingi raises a brow. "Someone's excited."

You smirk. "I mean… I haven't been on a real date in a long time. This already beat my expectations."

He leans forward slightly, tilting his head. "Wanna do something more relaxed? We can go for a walk near the river. There's a quiet park close by with lights and benches."

You nod. "That sounds really nice."

"Cool," he says, standing and reaching for your coat. "Let's go. I've got a playlist ready and everything."

"You have a date playlist?"

"I might have made one last night."

You stare at him.

He shrugs. "What? You make me nervous."

Mingi walks you to your door, still chatting about some guy from his dance class who tried to moonwalk in socks and almost dislocated his knee.

You laugh softly, fingers brushing your keys, reluctant for the night to end.

"Y/N?"

You glance up. "Yeah?"

He leans in quickly, and before you can process it, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. Warm. Quick. Sincere.

He pulls back, eyes wide, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry if that was too sudden. You can tell me if you're not okay with it—seriously."

You blink—then laugh, cheeks warm.

"Thanks. I don't mind."

He exhales, a tiny puff of relief, then smiles as he starts walking back toward his car.

"Wait—Mingi!"

He turns around. "Yes?"

You grin, still standing by your door. "Let's go out next week. My treat."

His smile stretches so wide it almost splits his face.

"Okay, princess. See you next week. Update me always, okay?"

He winks, hops into his car, and drives off—while you stand there, clutching your warm cheek and thinking about nothing but him.

A few months later.

You've gone on more dates than you can count now.

Some were cute and simple—arcades, cafés, late-night convenience store runs. Others were more put-together, gallery dates, dance showcases, even grocery shopping for dinner you'd cook together. There's a comfort between you and Mingi now.

Tonight, it's just a Netflix night.

It's Saturday, you're at your place, and Mingi's stretched out on your couch, arm around you while a movie plays. You're curled beside him, blanket over both of your legs, a half-finished bag of popcorn resting on his thigh.

And then—on screen—an erotic scene plays out. Soft moaning, slow kissing, heavy breathing.

Mingi shifts slightly.

"Are you okay watching this?" he asks, voice low, cautious.

You scoff, barely glancing at him. "Uh, yes? I'm not a child, Song Mingi."

He laughs, head tilting. "Well, excuse me. Just making sure."

There's a beat.

Then he glances down at you again. "What are your thoughts on doing this kind of stuff… y’know, as a couple?"

You pause for a second, then answer honestly.

"Um… I don't mind, honestly. Everyone's different, right? But for me—it's about trust. It doesn't matter whether it's before or after marriage. What matters is… being safe, knowing the risks, and being sure you're with someone who respects you."

Mingi nods slowly. "Yeah. I feel the same way."

You turn your head slightly. "Have you done it before?"

That question slips out faster than you meant.

Mingi blinks.

Your eyes go wide. "Oh my god—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make that weird. You don't have to answer—"

"No, no!" he says quickly. "It's just surprising coming from you. But nah—I haven't. I'm a virgin. And I'm not embarrassed."

You smile. “There's nothing to be ashamed of. Some people just use sex like it's a status thing. Like if you're not doing it, you're behind."

"Exactly!" Mingi grins. "It's such a stupid mindset."

He turns slightly toward you. "What about you?"

"I'm a virgin too," you admit. "But I've always been curious. Just never wanted to give that part of me to someone random. One-night stands never appealed to me."

Mingi nods, biting the inside of his cheek. "It's so weird that we both feel the same."

You squint. "Are you just saying that to get on my good side? Trying to look all respectful and boyfriend-of-the-year?"

Mingi gasps, dramatically offended. "What?! I would never! I swear I mean it!"

You elbow him lightly, both of you laughing.

Then—

"…Do you want to try it together?"

You freeze. Eyes wide. "Wait. What?"

Mingi blinks hard. "In the future!! I meant—in the future! Not now—God, Song Mingi, you're an idiot—"

You laugh. Full-on giggle that makes your shoulders shake.

Then you lean in, gently place your hand on the back of his neck, and pull him into a kiss.

It's deep. Soft. Lingering.

He stiffens slightly at first, surprised, but then relaxes—his hand finding your cheek as his lips move slowly with yours. His eyes shut. The world fades.

When you pull away, your forehead rests lightly against his.

"I trust you."

His eyes flutter open and you can see the blush rising to his ears.

You also can't help noticing the very obvious bulge forming in his pants.

You smirk.

"Are you hard just from kissing?" you tease gently.

"…Yeah," he admits shyly. "And because I love you so much, that's why."

He kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand stroking up your back, careful and slow like he's memorizing the shape of you.

And your fingers start to tighten around his shirt.

You're kissing him.

You don't remember when the shift happened—from sitting side by side, to lying down with your fingers gripping his shirt, his hand on your waist, mouths moving together slowly. But you don't care. Mingi's lips are hot, breath a little shaky, body pressing against yours like he wants to crawl inside your skin.

You moan softly when he licks into your mouth—hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as you whimper and tug at his hair. His hand slides under the back of your shirt, fingers brushing up your spine. It's slow. Careful. Nervous.

He pulls back, panting slightly. "Is… this okay?"

You nod, cheeks flushed. "Yes."

"I mean, we can stop anytime."

"I know."

He hesitates, and you see it in his eyes—nervousness, excitement, a little disbelief. You lean forward, kissing his jaw, then whisper in his ear,

"Let’s keep going."

That makes him groan.

Mingi's hands start to explore more freely—stroking your thighs, up your shirt to caress your sides, then cup your breasts over your bra. He's still tentative, like he's worried he's doing it wrong.

"Touch me," you whisper.

"I am," he says, confused.

"No—touch me for real, Mingi."

You guide his hand under your shirt, placing it over your bare skin. He swallows hard, fingers trembling just a little. When he finally cups your breast fully, brushing your nipple with his thumb over your bra, you arch into his touch with a quiet moan.

He gasps. "Holy shit…"

You laugh breathlessly. "What?"

"You feel… really good."

"You're cute when you're this overwhelmed."

"You're evil," he groans.

You switch positions slightly, tugging your shirt off and tossing it aside. He stares at your chest, clearly enchanted.

"You can touch more, you know," you tease.

"Permission granted?" he raises a brow, smiling.

"Permission granted."

His hands roam—soft kneading, lips kissing between your breasts before he pulls your bra down and takes one nipple into his mouth. You gasp, threading your fingers through his hair, while he moans against your skin.

"You're a quick learner," you mumble, breath hitching.

"Porn and imagination," he replies.

You snort. "Didn't you learn this in school?"

"Yeah," he scoffs. "As if the teacher taught us about sex positions and nipple sucking."

You both burst into laughter—even mid-makeout—and it's oddly comforting how fun this is. Messy, awkward, real.

Your hands slide down his chest, under his shirt, feeling lean muscles flexing under your touch. When you unbutton it, he lets you strip it off—his skin warm, his face flushed, his body trembling just slightly.

You reach between his legs, palm cupping the hard bulge in his pants. He jerks.

"Fuck—Y/N…"

You kiss his throat, voice low. "Wanna keep going?"

He pauses.

Then—his eyes widen. "Shit. I—I don't have a condom."

You blink. "Wait, seriously?"

"I didn't think—fuck—I'll go get one!! There's a 7-Eleven like two streets down—"

"You're gonna run to the convenience store right now??"

He's already scrambling off the couch, grabbing his t-shirt with his chest still bare. "I'll be back in ten minutes! Don't fall asleep!!"

You burst into laughter, watching him panic-shuffle into shoes and sprint out the door like a man on a mission.

12 minutes later.

He returns, slightly out of breath, holding a small plastic bag.

You arch a brow. "How many did you buy?"

"Three boxes."

"…Why?"

"I panicked!"

You're both half-laughing when you strip again, kissing between giggles, settling back into each other's arms. But this time, it's different. Calmer. More focused.

Mingi slowly pulls your shorts down, kissing your thighs, his breath hitching when he sees your panties already damp.

"Y/N…"

"Don’t be shy," you whisper.

He slides them down and tosses them aside. His fingers brush between your legs, and when he finally touches you—fingers stroking through your folds—you whimper and press into his hand.

"You're so wet," he says, awed.

"For you."

He swears softly under his breath.

You moan louder when he finds your clit, gently rubbing, unsure at first—then more confidently as your hips twitch under his touch. You reach down, palm cupping his erection through his boxers.

"You're hard again."

"Yeah. You're kinda ridiculously sexy."

You roll him onto his back and tug his pants off.

And when his boxers come down—you both freeze.

"…Oh," you blink.

"Too big?" he teases nervously.

"Guess we'll find out."

Condom's on.

You lie back, legs spread, heart pounding.

Mingi positions himself between your thighs, hands on either side of your face, eyes locked with yours.

"You sure?" he whispers.

You nod. "I trust you."

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly.

It hurts.

Not unbearable, but a deep stretch, an ache that makes your body tense.

Mingi stops instantly.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just go slow."

He pushes in again, carefully, slowly—

And then you both freeze.

"…Is that… blood?" Mingi asks, voice rising slightly.

You look down. Just a bit. But enough.

Mingi freaks. "Oh my god. Are you okay?? Did I hurt you?!"

You put a hand on his cheek, trying not to laugh at his horrified expression. "Mingi—it's normal."

"But—are you sure? Should we stop?"

You smile. "Let’s just take a break. Five minutes. You're overreacting."

"I'm not overreacting! You're bleeding. I've seen horror movies that start like this!"

You burst into laughter, gently shoving his shoulder.

After a short pause (and a lot of overthinking from Mingi), you kiss him again—slow, soft, grounding.

"I still want to keep going," you whisper. "If you're okay."

He nods, exhaling. "Yeah. Just don't die on me."

This time when he slides in—it's easier.

Your body's more relaxed, your hands are tangled in his hair, and Mingi is whispering "so beautiful" and "you feel amazing" into your skin like it's the only language he knows.

The pace is slow, careful. You moan under him, hips rolling together, your bodies finally syncing.

He kisses your neck, your lips, your forehead. You're both sweaty and shaky and a little uncoordinated—but it's perfect.

You're his first. He's yours.

You cling to each other like the world is too small to contain what you're feeling.

And when you come—whimpering his name, shaking underneath him—Mingi follows right after, burying his face in your neck with a moan so sweet it makes your heart throb.

Afterward, you lie tangled on your couch, barely covered by the throw blanket.

Mingi's still red in the face. "I think I panicked like ten times."

You giggle. "It was cute."

"Was it… good?"

You nod, nose brushing his cheek. "It was more than good."

Mingi's breath is still a little shaky as he pulls out of you carefully, rolling the condom off and tying it, tossing it into the little trash bag beside the couch. You hiss faintly at the sudden emptiness and sensitivity.

He notices immediately.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just sore. And… wow."

He lets out a soft laugh, brushing your hair out of your face.

"We should clean you up," he murmurs. "Don't want you to get an infection."

You nod, and he helps you sit up slowly. Your thighs are sticky, a little shaky, and you wince slightly as you stand.

"Shit," Mingi mumbles, catching you. "Are you hurting?"

"Not really. Just sore and, you know… my pussy probably looks like a war zone."

Mingi laughs, even as he scoops you up bridal-style without warning.

"MINGI—!"

"We're washing you properly, princess," he says, grinning as he carries you into your bathroom like some romcom idiot boyfriend. "Gotta take care of my girl."

He helps you sit on the toilet, then kneels in front of you, helping you clean. Every touch is gentle now—damp tissue wiping your thighs, warm water trickling slowly, his hands making sure not to rub too hard.

"Sorry if this feels weird," he mumbles.

"It doesn't," you whisper. "I like this."

He smiles at you, so soft, so genuine it makes your chest ache.

Once you're clean and dry, he carries you again—back to your bed this time, gently laying you down before slipping beside you under the blanket.

Your head rests on his bare chest, legs tangled, fingers tracing random patterns on his stomach.

Mingi shifts a little, looking down at you.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N."

You glance up, smirking. "Took you long enough to say that."

"I was busy panicking."

You both laugh.

But then he kisses your forehead.

"I'm serious," he says quietly. "You're so fucking beautiful. Your body… your heart… your whole existence. I've never felt this way before. Not even close."

You blink slowly, heart beating in your throat.

Then he murmurs—

"We're a thing now."

You grin. "We better be a thing. If not, I'll chop your dick off."

Mingi wheezes out a laugh, pulling you into a kiss. "God, I love you."

"Thank you for coming into my life." His arms tighten around you.

"No, you saved me," you say, brushing your nose against his. "Thank you for coming into mine."

You breathe in deeply, warm and full in his arms.

A few minutes later, while cuddling in silence, you shift a little.

"Mingi?"

"Mm?"

You glance up at him, playful sparkle in your eyes.

"…Should I satisfy you more?"

He blinks. "Huh??"

You smirk. "You’re still a little hard. I can feel it against my leg."

He flushes red instantly.

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classjezter · 5 months ago

Note

does baby Optimus remember Dee...?

Is he wondering why Dee isn't around anywhere?

Short answer: yes. Long answer: it’s complicated.

I decided to write a small scene to explain it better since it’s kind if hard to portray what’s going on in his head in a comic. You can read below the cut 🔽

Elita, Ironhide, Prowl and Jazz were currently gathered in the command center, cataloguing recent Decepticon activity. A large screen displayed intelligence reports: battle footage, old archives, images of key targets. It was nothing they hadn’t seen or done before.

But to Optimus in his now sparkling state, it was something new and exciting.

He had been perched on Prowl’s lap, quietly observing the Autobots work. Prowl had taken to letting Optimus sit with him, since the sparkling seemed less likely to be up to getting into trouble next to his calm presence. At the moment his tiny optics were scanning the flashing images on the screen, wide with curiosity at seeing other cybertronians other than his caretakers.

Then, a picture of Megatron appeared. A still image of him spotted in one of their latest battles, nothing special or particular to the Autobots at this point. But to Optimus, it was special. With the excitement of a sparkling recognizing someone they love, he pointed at the screen and chirped out a name that none of them had expected to hear.

“D!”

Everyone froze. Elita could feel her spark skip a pulse. Jazz’s visor flickered and his wings dropped. Ironhide’s optics widened while his mouth dropped open. Even Prowl, who always seem composed, visibly tensed, his wings snapping to a sharp V shape behind him. And for a moment, nobody could speak.

Optimus wasn’t done though. He leaned forward, tiny servos reaching toward the image. His optics, bright and full of innocent recognition, stayed locked on Megatron’s face “D! D!” he repeated, a huge, delighted grin on his little face.

The Autobots were silent while processing this. D-16, Megatron’s old designation. The name Optimus, Orion, had once used for him. Before the war. Before all the hatred. Before the endless battles and the ruined cities. And now Optimus didn’t remember any of it. To him, the bot in the image was just “D”, his friend. And none of them knew what to do with that.

Prowl subtly shifted his hold, pulling Optimus closer to his chest. He didn’t know why, but something about the way the sparkling lit up at Megatron’s face made his spark ache. Ironhide was the first to recover though. His voice was gruff, but there was something uneasy in his tone “…That’s Megatron, kiddo”

Optimus blinked at him, then looked back at the screen. His happy chirps fading into quiet, confused little hums. His brows furrowing, he squirmed in Prowl’s hold, glancing back at the screen, then at the others. His tiny servos gripped Prowl’s frame a little tighter. Something felt… wrong.

His first instinct had been joy, excitement, recognition. But now that moment had passed, and a new strange feeling settled over him. Something about that bot wasn’t right. His tiny frame tensed and his little face scrunched up in a frown, letting out a soft whine. Prowl rubbed his back soothingly “Shh, Optimus. It’s alright”

Optimus wasn’t sure it was. He didn’t understand. His spark was telling him that this mech he was seeing was supposed to make him happy, he was happy. But then why did he also feel… sad?

Not only that, his friends were tense now, and he could tell. He could always tell. Why did looking at Megatron “D” make them upset? Why did he feel upset now?

Optimus whined again and buried his face into Prowl’s chestplate, seeking comfort. His caretakers always made things feel better. Maybe if he didn’t look, maybe if he just stayed close to them, this bad feeling would go away.

The others had no idea what was going on in that tiny processor. No way of knowing what thoughts or fragmented feelings were buried in there, waiting to resurface. They just saw how badly this was affecting the now tiny mech with now idea how to fix it.

Prowl, despite himself, felt his hold tighten slightly. He could feel the sparkling’s tiny vents hitching, his soft, uncertain beeps. Elita just watched silently, her expression unreadable, but her tense stance portrayed her emotions.

Jazz finally exhaled, the sound more like static than a proper sigh. He had been silent up until now, visor dimmed in an unreadable expression. But now, he shook his helm and muttered "Primus, that's rough" He didn’t know what else to say. What else could he say?

Ironhide, who had been standing stiffly with his arms crossed, let out a deep grumble. His optics softened, just a bit, at the way the little Prime was curled into Prowl’s chest, tiny frame still tense "Poor lil’ guy," Ironhide muttered, shaking his helm. "Ain't fair. No kid should hafta feel like this" None of them could argue with that.

Prowl carefully rubbed a servo along his back, optics dimming slightly. He could feel the subtle tremors running through Optimus' tiny frame. Uncertain as to how to help when he didn’t even really understand what was wrong. Finally, he settled on calmly whispering "It's alright, little one. You're safe" But Optimus still clung to him, emitting soft chirps and beeps filled with grief.

Elita took a stiff step back from the console, rubbing her temples as if trying to ward off a processor ache "Turn it off. Now" voice sharp with the effort of forcing the words out.

Jazz obliged, pressing a few keys, the screen powered down with a quiet bzzt. The absence of the image didn’t seem to make Optimus feel better. If anything, it only made his whimpers deepen, his tiny servos curling into Prowl's plating.

"Ain’t nothin’ we can do about this now," Ironhide said finally, voice low. "Just gotta be here for ‘im"

"Yeah," Jazz murmured. "It just doesn’t feel like enough"

Another long silence stretched between them.

They all knew he was right.

——

Okay! Hope that somewhat explains it. I’m not really a writer, sorry if it’s not great. And sorry not sorry for the angst :)

#baby prime #baby prime asks #transformers #transformers one #transformers au #class jezter art #tf optimus prime #tf elita one #tf prowl #tf ironhide #tf jazz #tf d16 #tf megatron

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polarisjisung · 7 months ago

Text

ꨄ X-O, KISS ME, DON'T SAY NO

KISSES WITH ENHYPEN

pairings: enha x fem! reader genre: fluff wc: 1k warnings: use of petnames, slightly suggestive notes: I wrote this for dream had to do it for enha too ! | LIBRARY

HEESEUNG — desperate, flirty kisses

A simple peck doesn't exist for Heeseung. You're like his drug, once he gets a taste, he's addicted. Quick morning kisses are impossible. One peck on your forehead easily turns into a full makeout session and suddenly you're late for work. And not for a second is Heeseung worried about your impending anger, instead he'll try and convince you to call in sick, no work meant more time for kisses, right?

“Heeseung, I have places to be” You know it's no use arguing but you seem to try anyway.

You'd been in this situation countless times before, and it ended the same way each time. In your defence, Heeseung was pretty good at convincing.

“Yeah, want me to list a few?”

Something about a kiss-driven Heeseung is so exceptionally flirty. You both know that you're never getting out of this your way. “My arms, the bed, against the wall if you're into that.

Okay maybe you didn't take much convincing either.

“All of the above?”

Heeseung can't dispute that.

JAY — forehead kisses

Jay's kisses are spontaneous, but so tender and loving, like a scene cut out straight from a high school romance.

You're perched up on the sofa with your nose stuck in one of those picture-perfect romance books you love so much.

Jay can barely make out your face from the material of the hood pulled over your head.

You look cute. There's a pair of blue light glasses resting on your nose and your eyebrows are furrowed with concentration. Jay couldn't help but leave a soft peck against your forehead. He takes a couple moments to just sit beside you and stare, truly wondering how he ever got so lucky.

Next thing you know, his hand moves carefully to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his thumb positioned just under your chin, guiding you into a slow, soft kiss.

JAKE — messy kisses

Jake kisses like a man starved.

Hands tugging at your hair, arms around your waist, loud, shallow pants filling the room. It's like he can't get enough.

He pulls back to stare at you, breathless. But only for a moment.

To Jake, catching his breath seems awfully difficult when you're staring up at him with swollen lips and a sultry gaze.

“I could kiss you forever.”

His words are more a promise than a statement, and how could you not believe him when he pulls you back in so impossibly close, letting his cold fingertips run across your skin.

Both his hands cup your cheeks, passionately. Lips moving over yours with an unsteady, fervent rhythm, and so much urgency, you swear you feel your heart beat out of your chest.

Each time you kiss is like the first, brash. But Jake always holds you so tight, like he's afraid you'll disappear the second he lets go.

When he does finally pull away, Jake exhales a soft laugh, giggling almost.

“You alright?”

You can only nod, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

SUNGHOON — distracted kisses

Playful fights or debates like whether orange juice is better than apple (it's not) or whether milk comes before or after the cereal always seem to arise with you and Sunghoon.

Part of it has to do with the fact that Sunghoon thinks you look so insanely fine when you're passionately arguing your point forwards.

But somewhere along the way Sunghoon stops listening to what you're saying, eyes zeroing in on your lips when he'd come to a sudden realisation. That shade of lipstick suited you, a little too well maybe.

“Hoon, are you even listening?”

He nods, he's not listening.

He wouldn't have this problem if the lipstick wasn't there. But you were still explaining in full detail, hand gestures and everything. And as much as he loved to hear you ramble, Sunghoon could not concentrate.

He was going insane— he needed to kiss you. Now.

You don't really know why you continue, seeing as Sunghoon's clearly not present, but you can't help but gasp when he pulls you in close and crashes his lips to yours.

“You're right, I wasn't listening”

JUNGWON — soft morning kisses

Soft and intimate, that's what kissing Jungwon feels like.

There’s quiet whispers of ‘I love you's’ and the sweetest compliments.

Even if you've just rolled out of bed, when your hair's a mess and your eyes can barely open all the way, Jungwon thinks you're beautiful.

“Good morning my love” he presses a kiss to the back of your head, just below your ear as he slips past you on the couch, making his way to the kitchen so he can check on breakfast.

But he can only stay away for so long, running back a few minutes later with your morning coffee and a couple kisses to keep you occupied while you wait for it to cool down.

“I love you.” he'd keep it short and sweet, holding your face in hands with so much care. By the time breakfast is ready, not a single inch of your pretty face remains unkissed and that's an achievement Jungwon is insanely proud of.

SUNOO — giggly kisses

You and Sunoo are like the epitome of PDA— cuddling, quick pecks on the cheeks, always holding hands— you have to have your hands on each other at all times. It's sickeningly sweet.

And matters only get worse when your behind closed doors, Sunoo would spend all his time with his lips glued to yours if he could.

He's obsessed with you, and your strawberry flavoured chapstick is anything but helpful. He needs kisses, no matter what it is you're doing.

“Sunoo, I'm busy.” You roll your eyes at him playfully, but he only shrugs, spinning you around on your desk chair.

“Too busy for kisses?”

When you nod, it's Sunoo's turn to roll his eyes.

“Wrong answer.”

And he crashes his lips to yours just as he had intended, illiciting a few giggles from you, laughing at his urgency.

NI-KI — kisses in the rain

Kisses never last too long with riki, quick pecks, passionate and loving but short. Long kisses, something you'd both be down to try but had never actually made the effort to. It's felt scary, awkward, maybe?

The two of you always had a more easygoing relationship, so your more affectionate gestures had always been kept to a minimum.

Until one night when your car broke down and you found yourself stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Rain pelted down from the sky and the wind whistled loudly, but even so, you'd be a fool not to step out of the car and watch the sunset in person.

You and Riki sat with your legs crossed, dangerously close to the cliff edge, bodies pressed against each other as an attempt to conserve heat.

There was something about that moment— maybe the soft glow of the sky as the sun dipped just below the horizon — or the way your eyes beamed and sparkled as each strand of your hair slowly grew wet. Something so raw.

Riki couldn't even bring himself to hesitate, pulling you into his lap in one swift motion and kissing you urgently.

One hand reached back to grip your hair, and another cradled your chin, guiding your lips further into his.

Safe to say, kissing in the rain might just be his favourite.

taglist: @chenlezip @nanawrlds @mystverse @jenobubbles @flaminghotyourmom @lotties-readings

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moonstruckme · 4 months ago

Note

Hi!

I just watched 'me before you' (so sad wtf)

Anyways the one scene with the bumblebee tights? I can't stop thinking about it and was wondering if you could write something with whimsical!reader and the marauders (individual or poly) inspired by that?

Oh that is the cutest little storyline! Thanks for the request angel <3

cw: reader has hair long enough to have a clip in, but the hair itself isn't described

James Potter x whimsical!reader ♡ 1k words

James grins at the blue vervain hung above your front door before he knocks three times, hiding the small gift bag behind his back. You open with an easy smile on your face. It widens once you see him.

“James,” you say, voice a pleased hum. “I thought we already went on our date?”

“We did,” James agrees, “yesterday, but…” he digs in his pocket “...I think you left this in my car.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen delightedly at the large acorn he holds out in his palm. “I did! I was going to call and tell you, but I thought surely by this morning it would be gone.”

James feels his eyebrows bunch even as he smiles. “Where would it have gone, lovely?”

“Well, it’s a very nice acorn, so I thought for certain faeries would pluck it up if I left it unattended. I wouldn’t have blamed them, it’s only fair.”

James doesn’t see anything particularly remarkable about the acorn—aside from it being rather large—but you often see beauty in stuff that James doesn’t. It’s one of the things he loves about you. He’s learned that you collect these sorts of things the way other people might collect postage stamps; it’s not for him to question.

“I’m glad it was still there, though,” you say, pushing up on your toes to give him a kiss that, in James’ opinion, is far too brief. “Thank you for keeping it safe.”

“It was no problem.” He leans forward for another kiss, but you’re already turning, disappearing into your home.

He follows you inside, though you haven’t invited him in—sometimes these things simply don’t seem to occur to you; James is learning to interpret your cues.

“You look lovely today,” he says.

You send him a curious look. “You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

“It can’t be the same amount of true every time,” you say, finding a place for your acorn on the windowsill above your kitchen sink. You’ve a small collection of things there, from propagated plants to dead bugs to little origami stars.

“Can’t it?” James asks.

“My hair never looks exactly the same,” you point out, not arguing so much as musing in the way you’re given to, “and last week when you saw me I didn’t have any spots, but today I have two.”

James captures you in a gentle embrace, his hand on your cheek. “You’re just as lovely,” he vows, kissing you, “every single time.”

Your eyes have gone soft and cloudy; you’re easily mollified. “If you say so.”

“I do.” He kisses you again, smiling. “I have something for you.”

“Mm, for me?”

“Who else?” He reveals the gift bag. The tips of his fingers are buzzing with excitement. “Open it.”

You take the bag, appearing bemused. “It’s not my birthday.”

“I know that.”

“Is it a holiday?”

“No.”

You look at James, still not opening the bag. “What’s this for, then?”

“Maybe I just like to give you things,” he says. “It made me think of you.”

“Oh.” You relax, the mystery resolved. “Because you’re nice.”

“Sure. Would you just open it, please?”

“Okay.” You give James a puzzled sort of smile, but part the folds of the bag. “Oh.” Your voice softens as you look inside. “Oh, James, this is lovely.”

“Yeah?” he asks, suddenly nervous as you draw it out. Up until just this moment, he’d felt nothing but confidence that you would love it, but now he’s unsure. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.” You turn over the barrette in your hand, expression awed. It’s a dragonfly, larger than life and incredibly detailed, with wings an iridescent green color that shimmer in the light coming in through your kitchen window. “It goes in my hair?”

“Yeah, but there’s a trick to making it work.” James leans closer, giddy. “Can I show you?”

You nod mutely, and he leans over, blowing gently on the gift.

In the palm of your hand, the dragonfly comes to life. You gasp as its wings shift and flutter, the colors becoming even more vibrant. If you look really closely, even its tail is moving, the only still part of it the legs so that they stay fixed in your hair while you’re wearing it. It took a nifty bit of charmwork to achieve that amount of specificity.

Your eyes are alight with wonder. It’s the sweetest thing James has ever seen, and he knows—if the ministry cracks down on him, if he’s never allowed to practice magic again—he knows he’s done the best thing.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, softly, as though afraid to scare the creature. “Where did you find this?”

“Just—at a market.” James tries to sound casual. “It was a pop-up, I think. Cool that they make them like this, yeah?”

You make a sound of agreement, eyes still on the dragonfly as it begins to settle down. “It’s like magic.”

James leans over to kiss your forehead. “Want me to put it on for you?”

Your expression lights up as though the possibility hadn’t yet occurred to you. “Could you? Please?”

“Of course, lovely. Give it here.”

You transfer the barrette to James’ hand delicately. He smiles at how preciously you treat it, turning you by your shoulder to fix it in the back of your head. Once he gets it situated—James really isn’t very experienced at styling hair—he draws you into the bathroom so you can approve.

“Can you blow on it?” you ask when he holds up a mirror for you to see the back of your head, barely leashed excitement in your tone.

James does, and you make the most elated sound he’s ever heard from you. He laughs as you turn to put your arms around him, his soft-spoken, placid girl nearly jumping with glee.

“Thank you,” you say, pressing your lips to his. “Thank you, James. No one’s ever gotten me anything so thoughtful.”

James reckons he has a thing or two left to do about that.

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emskryptonite · 20 days ago

Text

Fit to be a Mother

a/n: here it is!!! so SO sorry for the wait, but i gotta say i'm really proud of how this one turned out! this is quite a big plot point in this au, so i'll be happy to hear any thoughts you all have after reading!! i hope you all enjoy!! - Emmy ❤️

Summary: No one ever said motherhood is easy, and Mrs. Wayne has fallen victim. What happens when she finally voices her thoughts on her unconventional journey through motherhood?

Pairing(s): Bruce Wayne x southern!wife!reader, Batfamily x southern!batmom!reader

Word Count: 5k

Content/Warnings: reader/batmom is depicted as a southern woman, angst, hurt/comfort (LOTS of comfort), self-deprecating thoughts, suggestive (??) scene at the end (it's barely anything), somewhat proofread, i think that covers it but if i've missed something let me know!!

Masterlist | Bruce Wayne/Batman Masterlist | Southern!Batmom Masterlist

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Bruce,” she sighs. They’d been going back and forth for over ten minutes now, and Bruce was prying. She was trying to stay strong, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could handle it.

“I just want you to talk to me, my love. You’ve been distancing yourself since Sunday. I’m concerned…” He trails off, but his eyes remain on her face, watching her expression carefully. He immediately notices the way she folds in on herself slightly, making herself seem smaller, and the way she’s refusing to meet his eye. Something happened; he knows it. “Wait, Sunday, that was Mother’s Day. What could’ve happened? Do you miss your mother? We can go down and see her; it’s really no problem, darling.”

“No, darlin’, that’s not it.” She turns away from him, hating how close he is to figuring out what’s truly bothering her.

“Then what is? I just want to help you-” His words are cut off by his wife.

“I don’t deserve the kids, alright?” Her voice is raised, and it’s obvious she’s had enough of the back and forth.

“What?” His voice drops to a whisper, amazed at what he hears.

“I just…” She moves to sit on the end of their shared bed, and she continues her rant as her husband sits beside her. “I was never supposed to be a mother, Bruce. I don’t have any kids of my own-”

“They are your kids-” He tries to cut in, but she puts a quick stop to it.

“Just- Just let me finish, alright? I need to get this out, and if you keep cutting in, I’ll end up bottling it all up again…” She waits for his nod of agreement to continue. “Look, I love all our kids with everything in me, no matter what. It’s just… they all had a mother before me, a woman who was meant to raise them, to watch them grow, and instead, they got stuck with me. I’d barely been around kids before we met, and even now, the youngest I’ve dealt with is an eight-year-old. And, I get that some of them had a not-so-great childhood, like Jason and Cass, but that doesn’t mean that I’m the best person to mother them…”

“Oh, honey… You’re a wonderful mother. You always have been. Besides, what about Dick? Or, Damian?”

“Dick makes me feel the worst,” she sighs, hunching over and hiding her face behind her hands. “He had wonderful parents. The Graysons were exactly what he needed, and they were ripped away from him. Then, when someone somewhat resembling a mother figure walks into his life, he’s eighteen, and all he gets is me. And then Damian, I mean… You finally have a child that’s your blood, and- and I wasn’t the one who gave him to you. I’m not fit to be a mother, Bruce, and I’m not sure that I ever was.”

He swears he can feel his heart slowly cracking open at her words. How long has she been feeling like this? How long has he let her pain go unnoticed? What kind of husband is he?

“Sweetheart, no, that’s not true at all. You’ve done so much for all of our kids. I mean, look at everything they did for Mother’s Day! It’s not every day the manor is completely full like that. They love you so much, darling.”

“No, I-I know they do, but that doesn’t mean that I feel like I deserve it…” Bruce is quick to bring her into a hug, wrapping his big arms around her in hopes it would bring her some sense of comfort.

“How can I help?” That’s all he wants, to make his wife feel better, to take her pain away. He’s only ever wanted her happiness.

“I think… I think this is something I have to work past on my own, darlin’...” She nuzzles further into him, enjoying the comfort that comes from being so close to her husband. They stay there like that for a long while, just resting in each other’s arms in silence. The talking was done now; there was nothing more to be said, but that didn’t stop Bruce’s mind from running a million miles a minute. How could the woman who saved him in so many ways think so little of herself?

“Ma has been… off… right?” Jason wonders aloud, looking toward his siblings for answers. He’d been noticing it for a while, but it had gotten worse recently. He was concerned, to say the least.

“I’ve noticed it, too. Some of the things I’ve heard her say just don’t sound like her…” Dick agrees, trailing off.

“It has only gotten worse since Mother’s Day. Something must have occurred that affected her emotionally,” Damian deduces. The others share a glance, and the pieces slowly begin to fall into place. They are detectives after all, trained by the best.

“Wait. Mother’s Day?” Dick questions.

“Yes, Grayson. Ummi has been acting out of character for a while, as you and Todd mentioned, but it seems to have worsened since Sunday, Mother’s Day,” the youngest deadpans.

“Okay, well, the tone was unnecessary, first of all. The point I was trying to make was that maybe something about motherhood is setting her off.”

“What makes you say that?” Cass cuts in.

“She just… said something the other day, but I didn’t think much of it until now.”

“What did she say?” Jason steps forward. He cares a great deal for his Ma, and he wants to help her feel better. For that to happen, though, they need to figure out what’s wrong.

“We were talking about that lady in her book club who’s expecting, and I asked her what the most difficult part of becoming a mother was. She said that wasn’t meant for it.”

“What in the world does she mean by that? I’m not even a Wayne, and she still treats me like her kid. I’ve quite literally never met someone more qualified to be a mother.” Steph joins in, taking a sip from her slushy as she speaks.

“You’re right, but the theory checks out. Plus, just yesterday, I reminded her that she told me she’d help me look over the files from the Scarecrow case last week, and she said, and I quote, ‘Sorry, Timmy. I’ll do better.’ I was confused, but I let it slide in the moment,” Tim breaks his silence.

“So, what do we do? Duke is the next to share his thoughts.

“We show her how amazing our mother is,” Dick decides. The others agree quickly, huddling closer together to formulate a scheme. The kids want their mother to know how much they appreciate her for everything she does for them. Even Barbara, Steph, and Duke, who weren’t even technically Waynes, no matter how often they were at the manor, want her to know just how loved she is. Sooner rather than later, a plan is set in stone.

It starts with the girls. They cornered her the next day, Saturday, explaining that they were in dire need of a girls’ day.

“C’mon, Mama Wayne, please,” Stephanie drags out the last word, dramatizing every motion she makes.

“Yeah, when was the last time you got out of the manor? Away from all the testosterone?” Barbara cuts in.

“C’mon, Mom. Just a trip to the mall, and then some food. It’ll be fun!” Cassandra is the last to plead their case. Mrs. Wayne shoots a look toward her husband, who had been watching the interaction from the other end of the couch.

“Go on. It’ll be good for you. Use my card.”

“Bruce-”

“Nope. No arguing. Go have a good day with our girls.” He turns back to the book he was reading, silently holding out the black card he’d just fished out of his wallet. Steph is the one to snatch it while Cassandra drags her adoptive mother off the couch.

“Alright, alright. Let me go get dressed, jeez oh peez.” She laughs as she walks away.

As she ascends up the stairs, her husband looks toward the three girls.

“What are you three up to?” he smiles.

“Nothin’,” Steph shrugs.

“Right. Well, have fun.” He stands, wandering off toward his study. He isn’t sure what was going on, but he decides to let it play out. It seems harmless.

The four of them had done their sweep of the mall, using Bruce’s card as he had said, and now they were sitting on the outdoor patio of a restaurant in Gotham Central, with all the bags in the back of the Aston Martin in the parking lot.

“So, Mother’s Day was nice, especially for you, I bet.” Babs looks toward Mrs. Wayne, “We should all get together like that again.”

Mrs. Wayne offers a kind, albeit forced, smile, “We should. Bruce and I love havin’ all of y’all together at the manor.”

“We love being with you guys! I know I’m not really one of your kids, but you, specifically, always make the manor feel like a home. You make it… nice there, welcoming, I guess.” Stephanie jumps in.

“Really?” the older woman questions the blonde girl.

“Yes! I remember when you first took me in, I was worried to say the least, about fitting in, about being welcomed, but you and Bruce, mostly you, made everything seem so easy, like I had always been a part of your family. I’ll never forget that,” Cassandra looks away as she speaks, attempting to hide the blush creeping up her face.

“I- We really made that much of an impact?”

“Yeah, I’ve never had a reason to doubt since then, not really. You were just always so…motherly, just the way you swooped in and cared for me.”

“Don’t tell Bruce, but you’re kinda the real hero at the manor,” Barbara winks.

Mrs. Wayne doesn’t say much as the conversation begins to drift; Stephanie is ranting about some professor she’s already tired of. Mrs. Wayne’s mind is still reeling, though. Motherly, that’s what Cass had called her. She couldn’t make sense of it, but it still lifted a few of the countless bricks from her shoulders.

Next was Damian, her baby, although he’d complain if she ever said it to his face.

“Ummi, can we do that activity where I do one thing while you do something else, but we’re in the same room?” he asks, his disposition surprisingly sweet.

“Parallel play?” she questions. When he nods, she speaks up again, “Yeah, of course, pumpkin! You wanna paint for a while? I need to work on finishing that crochet blanket I started a while back.”

“Actually, could you make me something? I don’t mind what. It can be of your choosing.”

“Well, sure I can! You can’t think of anything you might want? Some kind of stuffy, maybe? I think I have some extra polyfill lying around…” She’s talking to herself more than him, but he finds it endearing how ready and willing she is to take care of him, even with the smallest things.

“That sounds…nice, I suppose.” He tries to hide his smile, but he never succeeds in doing so around his Ummi. She’s always been able to bring out that side of him, that softer side that his birth mother forced down. It was a total three-sixty when he first got to the manor, and back then, he didn’t hesitate to voice his “disdain” for the differences between his birth mother and his stepmother. Eventually, though, he realized how much he needed that softness, how nice it was to just be a kid, not the heir of the Demon’s Head or the son of the Bat, just Damian, just a pre-teen boy who was still learning how to be just that. He’s always been able to seek comfort in her, and although he chooses to do it in ways like this, not too close, he’s much more secure in doing so than when he first came to the manor at nine years old.

From then on, not much more is said. Damian quietly paints, laser-focused on making his vision come to life while his Ummi occasionally hums from where she’s crocheting on the couch on the other side of the study. The evening passes slowly, but neither of them minds; this is their ideal way of spending time, close enough to someone else to feel their comfort, but without the pressure of keeping up conversation. They both enjoy the peacefulness that comes with nights like that. Eventually, though, it’s time for Damian to patrol and for his stepmother to retire to bed. He’s more than eager to show off the work he’s put in, though.

“Would you like to see the progress I’ve made, Ummi?” He peeks around the canvas to look at her after she tells him it’s time to call it a night.

“Of course I do, pumpkin!” she grins. She slowly makes her way to the other side of the canvas, revealing a dragon that’s too realistic to have been drawn from the imagination of a twelve-year-old. Her eyes widen in awe; her baby’s talents never failed to amaze her. “Oh my- Damian! That’s amazing! How much more do you have left?”

“Mostly just shading,” he shrugs, pretending not to bask in the praise from the woman he cares so deeply for.

“Well, it looks wonderful as is. Oh! I managed to finish your stuffy! I had a lot of red yarn, so I decided on a little Goliath stuffy,” she smiles brightly as she presents it to the young boy. His draw drops in shock, not only at the artistry his stepmother showed to complete the project so quickly, but also at how well she knew him. She knows he loves nothing more than his animals, so she used that as inspiration for something that could’ve been so meaningless. How in the world could this woman believe she wasn’t meant to be a mother?

“It’s… more than adequate. Thank you, Ummi. May I go show Grayson before patrol?” She knows that although his words sound less than polite, coming from Damian, they’re a huge compliment, especially considering that his first thought was to show his eldest brother, likely to brag. It warms her heart to say the least.

He had already run off toward the door after she nodded, but he screeched to a halt to turn back and say one more thing, “I really do appreciate this, Ummi, and you, and all that you do. You mean a deal to everyone.” Before she can even comprehend everything he’s said, he’s gone, probably halfway to the cave by now, bragging as he goes about the nice gift from his Ummi.

Then came Duke and Tim, challenging her to the greatest, most noble competition in Wayne family history: Mario Kart. The kids played almost every time any amount of them were together, and on occasion, they had even talked Bruce into joining for a round or two. Her though? Never. She always refused, told them she’d much rather watch the disaster that was bound to happen from a safe distance. This time, however, Duke and Tim were more than prepared, and they were more than comfortable using every resource they had, the most notable resource being Bruce.

“Boys, Bruce told you it was time to head down to the cave. You know it’s your night to patrol,” she speaks to them as sternly as possible, but everyone knows Bruce is the “bad cop” parent; it takes a lot to get her to the point of seriously scolding any of them.

“And we will,” Tim starts, allowing Duke to finish his statement.

“After you play Mario Kart with us.”

“I don’t play Mario Kart. Y’all know I prefer to watch.” She shakes her head at them, trying to hold her ground. She looks toward her husband for reassurance, or at least back up, but that’s not what she finds.

“They’ve made their demands,” he shrugs, like there’s absolutely nothing he can do. “Looks like you’ve gotta give in.” By now, the Bat had figured out what his kids, and the other children who like to hang around the manor, were up to. Somehow, they’d pieced together why his wife was feeling down, and they’d taken it upon themselves to fix it. He had no plans to stop them, especially since he could see the light slowly returning to her features day by day.

“Ya know what? Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you two.” She pretends to be upset that she has to play, but inside, she’s bursting at the seams. It’s been too long she’s played this game, and it’s well past due for her to show up the younger generation.

“Alright, Mrs. Wayne, we’ll even be nice and let you pick the cup,” Duke speaks up, brows already furrowed in determination.

“Okay. Let’s go with,” she drags out the word for dramatic effect, “the Turnip Cup.”

Tim snorts to her right, “Oh, yeah. You’re going down, Mom.”

She fakes a gasp, “You know, yours was the first set of adoption papers I ever signed. I can’t believe you’d treat me so poorly.”

“Oh, c’mon, you can’t play that card! Bruce!”

“Tim, we both know who I’m gonna side with every time. She calls the shots around here.” Bruce raises his hands in mock surrender, once again pretending like there’s not a thing in the world he can do about the situation, but this time it was in her favor.

Soon enough, the drivers and carts had been chosen, and the races were about to begin. First up was a track called New York Minute; she held back a little, finishing in a strong third. Tim was right in front of her in second while Duke was held back in fifth. She could work with this. Next was Mario Circuit 3, a fairly basic course. She played a bit more confidently in this round, still being careful not to give too much away. When the race ended and she had passed Duke, last second, to get first place, she turned to her husband in false surprise.

“Did you see that? I just won!”

“You got lucky,” Duke playfully rolls his eyes. “If I hadn’t taken out Tim, you wouldn’t have had a chance.” As his sentence finishes, the race she’d chosen the cup for is about to begin: Kalimari Desert. A wicked grin overtakes her face, and the two young men share a confused look.

“You two are going down.” Bruce stifles a laugh from behind his wife. He knew how this would end from the start; she’s as competitive as him, and if there’s one game she never lost at, it’s Mario Kart.

By the time Tim had crossed the finish line in fourth, just inches behind Duke, she’d already been waiting for them.

“Wha- How?” Tim looks toward his adoptive mother, wondering where her apparent secret talent for Mario Kart had come from.

“Honey, we still have video games in the south. I grew up playing that exact course on the Nintendo 64 almost every day after school. The only reason I’ve never played with y’all is because I didn’t wanna have to humble you like this. Apparently, though, you were getting just a little too big for your britches.”

“So, there’s, like, no hope for the last race, right?” Duke asks from the other side of her.

“Oh, definitely not, but I don’t raise quitters. Now, c’mon, it’s startin’.”

Much to the chagrin of Tim and Duke, the final race, Waluigi’s Pinball, ended much like the race before. Mrs. Wayne had cleared the other racers early on and was sitting patiently waiting for them to finish their own final lap.

“Now, you’ve had your fun, and I’ve had even more. I believe it’s time for patrol.” She gives the two of them a knowing grin, and they share a look as they begin to gather their things and head down to the cave.

“I can’t believe we’ve gotta go on patrol after getting our butts handed to us like that…” Duke trails off.

“You’re never getting out of Mario Kart night again, Mom!” Tim shouts as they disappear down the hall.

“You know he wasn’t kidding, right? The others won’t let it go until you play with them, too.” Her husband wraps his arms around her waist from behind her, reveling in the warmth his wife always seemed to radiate, physically and emotionally.

“Well, I suppose it was about time I joined in anyway. Besides, I almost forgot how much I love that stupid little game,” she huffed out a laugh.

“I hope you know how much it means to them that you played, even if they did have to lose pretty badly.” Her heart swells at her husband's words, and again, she feels some more of those bricks just floating away. Maybe she had been looking into things too deeply. The kids do all seem to care for her, even in the tiniest ways. Still, though, she couldn’t help but let the doubts creep in.

Last, but never least, were her two eldest boys, Dick and Jason. Dick was older when she came into Bruce’s life, and Jason had only recently been taken under Bruce’s wing. Back then, she and Bruce were only friends, hadn’t even been on a date yet, so she hadn’t even seen their adoption papers, let alone signed them. Either way, if you asked her, or Bruce, or even Dick or Jason, they were her boys, and she was their mother. It was as simple as that.

They had known her the longest, and they took it upon themselves to do something a bit more significant to show her how wonderful of a mother she truly is.

“Hey, Ma,” Jason says as he peeks through the open door of her library. “Can we talk to you for a second?”

“Who’s we?” she questions with a smile, her head tilted to the right in slight confusion.

“Just us, Momma,” Dick’s head pokes out from his brother.

“Of course you can! C’mon,” she waves her hands toward herself, ushering the young men inside the room. She doesn’t miss that Dick shuts the door behind him, although it was only cracked before. He’s the first to speak.

“We have something kind of important we want to bring up to you, and I,” Jason elbows Dick in the middle of his sentence, “we need you to promise you won’t freak out or anything, alright?”

She looks between the two of them, a quizzical and slightly concerned look on her face. Eventually, she relents, “I won’t freak out. Promise.”

“We’ve been bouncing this idea around for quite a while now, but it just never felt right,” Dick starts.

“The other day, though, we noticed that you’d been feeling kinda down lately, and we all wanted to do something nice for you to show you how appreciated you are around here,” Jason steps in.

“Don’t think that we’re doing this because we have to or we feel obligated to,” Dick takes the reins again.

“Or that this is just something to cheer you up. It’s not. It means a lot to us, and this just felt like the right time to bring it up,” Jason finishes for both of them.

“Okay? You two have me a little worried,” the woman lets out a nervous chuckle.

“We’d really like it if you would legally adopt us…” Dick trails off.

“We want you to be our mom, in every sense, not just emotionally,” Jason agrees. “Because you are our mother. This is just us asking to make it official.”

“I- I don’t even know what to say. Are- Are you sure? What about Bruce? W-What will he say?” It takes her getting choked up on her words three times to realize she’s crying.

“We’ve already talked to Bruce, Ma. He’s more than okay with this, I promise,” Jason reassures.

“I mean, like, really, are you two absolutely sure? I won’t be offended if you change your mind. I know I’m not the best option out there-”

“Hey,” the eldest is quick to cut off her self-descriminating rambling, “that’s where you’re wrong. You are the best option, and either way, you’re the only option we want. Like Jason said, you’re already our mom, we just wanna make it legal.”

“Ma, I don’t think you realize how much you’ve done for me, for any of us. When I came back, woke up, however you wanna put it, my first thought was you. I wanted my mom, and I wasn’t thinking about the addict who had me stealing tires to pay the bills. I was thinking about you, and you weren’t even with Bruce yet, at least not that I knew of. Point is, from the moment you came into my life, you were the mother I always needed, the comfort I always wanted to find in someone. Don’t downplay yourself like that, not when you’ve been everything and more for me.”

“Jay’s right. I know I was eighteen and out of the manor when you started coming around, but within minutes, I could feel the warmth you brought out in everyone, the reassurance that only a mother could give. I didn’t want to admit it, but for ten years, I had been craving that feeling, wanting nothing more than to just feel my mother’s arms wrapped around me, just one more time. Then, you hugged me, and it was everything I’d been missing and more. Right then, even though it was before you started dating Bruce, and even though I barely knew you and you barely knew me, you were my mother. I started coming back to the manor more, hoping you were here so I could get that silent consolation again. You’ve always been that person for me, from the very start. I don’t want you to forget that.”

“Oh, my babies,” she chokes out, pulling both of them into a tight hug. “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess right now. I just… I didn’t know all of that, and you two have no idea how much this means to me, okay? I’d be more than happy to officially adopt the both of you, as long as you’ll have me. I love you both so much.”

“I love you, too, Ma,” Jason repeats the sentiment.

“I love you, too, Momma,” Dick repeats at the same time.

Later that night, she finds herself wandering down the stairs into the Batcave. Patrol times are well past over, the kids who don’t live in the manor are back at their own places, and the ones who do still live in the manor have already retreated to their beds. All that’s left is for her husband to finally call it a night.

“You know you can’t fight crime if you can’t keep your eyes open, right?” She leans one arm on the back of his chair. He turns away from the Batcomputer to look at his wife.

“Maybe I just wanted to get you alone down here.” He grabs her waist tinderly, pulling her into his lap.

“I’d much rather be alone in our bedroom…asleep…with my husband next to me…also asleep…”

“Alright, alright. I get it,” he chuckles. “Let’s just sit her for a while, though.”

“I suppose that sounds nice,” she sighs, laying her head on her husband’s muscular shoulder. He has his cowl off, hanging loosely on his back like the hood of a sweatshirt. The rest of the suit is still on, though, and she can’t help but appreciate how well it frames him. “The kids have been…something else recently.”

“They care about you as much as you care about them. They just wanted their mom to be happy.” Subconsciously, his arms tighten around her, just for a moment.

“Well, it worked. I won’t say that I’m completely healed or that I’m not having a single doubt about my self or my abilities as a mother anymore, but…they’ve done a lot. I don’t know where I’d be without them, or you.” She nuzzles further into him.

“I knew it wouldn’t magically cure your self-doubts, but I’m glad they were able to cheer you up. It does remind me, though, of something I wanted to bring up with you…” He trails off, gently pushing her to sit upright so they can look at one another.

“Okay?”

“You said that one of the reason you felt like you weren’t a good mother was because you don’t have a child, yourself, not a blood-child at least. What if- What if we…started trying?” He avoids her eye, and she’d never tell him how adorable his nervousness is.

“Bruce, we’re forty,” she laughs.

“So, what? We could do it,” he shrugs.

“You’re serious?” Her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline.

“Deadly. C’mon, you don’t want another, one that’s half you and half me?”

“That sounds wonderful, darlin’, but-”

“No buts. Besides, you said it yourself. We’ve never had one that young, never had a baby.” His eyes are shining so brightly with hope, and she can’t find the energy to lie to herself any longer.

“Okay.”

“Really?” His face is pure shock, like he hadn’t actually expected her to agree, at least not so easily.

“Why not? You’re right, anyway. I wanna see you with a baby,” she grins.

“Oh, really?” He narrows his eyes, standing up and taking her with him. “Guess we better get to work on that, huh?” He gives her his infamous smirk, the one that he used on her the night they met, the one that she fell in love with all too quickly. She’d never been able to turn that smirk down, and she wasn’t about to start now.

“Yeah, I guess we should.”

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