#Any one I want is dumb and stupid and won’t help me in life and dad says he won’t pay for it

[cressidagrey]

Money, Money, Money

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary:  Felicity runs Oscar’s life. Oh, and she also handles all the money. 

Warnings and Notes: Some more context for the Silverstone chapter, also some insight into Piastri family dynamics in this verse. Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

1: Chris Piastri

Chris had been patient. He’d waited through the contract drama, the Alpine mess, the quiet chaos that was the lead-up to McLaren’s announcement. He’d even stayed calm when Oscar casually dropped that they’d officially moved to a farmhouse—because, quote, “Felicity liked the light.”

But now he was looking at the numbers.

And blinking.

Hard.

"You’re going to be making how much next year?"

Oscar leant back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Depends on bonuses. But yeah. That’s the base.”

Chris whistled low. “Jesus Christ. That’s… real money.”

Oscar grinned. “Told you the sim rig was a good investment.”

Chris didn’t laugh. He was still holding the contract summary printout Oscar handed him ten minutes ago.

He tapped the top corner. “Okay. So you’ve got this. Great. Now who’s handling it?”

Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “Felicity.”

Chris’s eyes flicked up, sharp. “Still no financial advisor?”

“She’s more than capable.”

“And no prenup,” Chris added flatly. “Still.”

“You’re still upset abou that,” Oscar said drily.

“I’m upset you refused to,” Chris replied. “I asked you. I begged you to be smart. You were eighteen. And you married the first girl you ever kissed. You always brush it off.”

“I’m not brushing it off. I’m making a choice.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Chris snapped. “You married at eighteen. You had a child at nineteen. And you still refuse to take any precautions to protect the career we all sacrificed for.”

Oscar didn’t move. But something in his posture shifted—straightened. “What do you want me to say, Dad? That you were right? That we were reckless and dumb and ruined my future?”

Chris exhaled harshly. “I never said you ruined anything.”

“No,” Oscar said, “but you’ve never really believed us either. About anything.”

Chris blinked. “Excuse me?”

Oscar’s voice was low, but steady. “You’ve never believed us when we said Bee was planned. When we said we knew what we were doing. When we said we didn’t need help. You think we were just two stupid teenagers who got in over our heads and now you’re waiting for the fallout.”

Chris scoffed. “Right. The planned baby at nineteen.”

Oscar’s face shuttered. “Yes. Planned.”

“You can keep saying that, Oscar,” Chris said, “but you and I both know it wasn’t the timing you had in mind. You threw your entire career trajectory off-course. No nineteen-year-old plans a baby, Oscar. That’s not how this works.”

Oscar looked like he’s been slapped. “You think we’re stupid.”

“I think you were young.” Chris fired back. “And I think she got pregnant and you felt like you had no choice—”

“Don’t you dare,” Oscar snapped.

The air cracks.

Chris didn’t back down. “You were barely in junior formula. You were already under pressure. And instead of focusing on that, you were raising a kid in a rental flat with hand-me-down furniture and no job security— You were nineteen. No one knows what they’re doing at nineteen.”

“Maybe not,” Oscar said. “But we knew what we wanted.”

“And I spent six and a half million dollars making sure you got where you are,” Chris fired back. “So excuse me if I want you to think.”

Oscar went still. The words hung between them like a slap.

Chris pressed on, voice harder now. “I spent years calling sponsors, working second jobs, selling off anything we didn’t need just to keep you on the track. Your mother gave up every holiday to stretch the travel budget. And now you’re handing your entire financial future to the girl you married at eighteen and won’t even sign a piece of paper to protect yourself if it goes wrong.”

Oscar spoke slowly. Cold. “She is not just some girl.”

“I know that,” Chris said, finally sounding frustrated. “I know she’s brilliant and capable and—impressive. I know she kept you standing when things got ugly. But this isn’t about how resourceful Felicity is, Oscar. It’s about you.”

“I pay for my life,” Oscar said quietly. “Every grocery bill, every flight, every coat Bee’s ever worn—we paid for that ourselves. We’ve never asked you for help outside of racing.”

“You rushed into a marriage, a baby, and now you’ve wrapped your entire life around a girl who pawned designer handbags instead of calling us for help.”

Oscar’s fists clenched. “You think that was a bad thing?”

“I think it was pride,” Chris said, suddenly cold. “On both your parts. She didn’t want to come with her tail between her legs after her family cut her off. And you— you didn’t want to admit you were in over your head.” 

Oscar took a slow breath. “We didn’t want you to feel obligated.”

Chris’s jaw tightened. “I was obligated. I spent millions of dollars getting you to F1. Do you think I did that so you could let your teenage wife manage your future out of a color-coded spreadsheet?” Chris rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s not the point anyway.”

“No,” Oscar said. “The point is that you don’t trust me. Or her.”

“That’s not true,” Chris said.

“Isn’t it?” Oscar challenges. “You think she married me for the money I might have. You think we had Bee by accident. You think I’m sleepwalking through life and one day I’ll wake up broke and bitter and you’ll have to pick up the pieces.”

Chris’s mouth was a thin line. He didn’t answer.

Oscar took a breath. His voice softened—just a little. “I know what you gave me. I know I wouldn’t be here without you. But I’m not a teenager anymore. And I don’t need you to manage me. I need you to believe me.”

***

Nicole was sitting at the dining table with a glass of red wine and her reading glasses perched low on her nose, sorting through forms.

Chris stood in the doorway, visibly agitated.

Nicole didn’t look up. “If this is about Felicity again, I’m pouring myself another glass of wine.”

Chris sighed. “You could at least pretend to take my side.”

Nicole set down the pen and looks at him over the rims of her glasses. “I divorced you, not because you were wrong all the time, but because you’re so annoying when you think you’re right.”

Chris threw his hands up. “Nicole. Please. Just talk to Oscar. He listens to you.”

“Because I don’t condescend to him,” she said pointedly. “I treat him like the grown man he is.”

Chris ran a hand through his hair. “He’s married without a prenup. He’s letting her manage millions. What happens if something goes wrong? What happens if she changes—”

“She’s not going to change,” Nicole cut in.

“You don’t know that.”

“Felicity manages my pension, Chris.”

He blinked. “What?”

“She took a look at it last year,” Nicole says casually. “Pointed out I had a dead fund and fees I didn’t need. Reinvested the whole thing in an afternoon.”

Chris stared at her. “You let your daughter-in-law manage your retirement?”

“She’s smarter than both of us combined,” Nicole said, tone sharp now. “You know that. You’ve always known that.”

“She was eighteen when they got married,” Chris muttered.

“And runs a household better than most people twice her age,” Nicole replied. “Felicity could run a Fortune 500 company if she wanted. She just happens to be more interested in upcycling cabinets and taking care of Bee.”

Chris scowled. “She plays housewife, Nicole. And Oscar lets her.”

“She chooses housewife,” Nicole corrected. “Big difference. And it’s not because she can’t do more—it’s because she already did. She literally got a PhD this year because she was bored, Chris. You remember what she gave up. I do. She had that whole trust fund, the estate in Singapore —until she told her parents she wasn’t giving up the boy.”

Chris exhaled again, tight and heavy.

Nicole softened—just a little. “  get it. You put everything into Oscar. You burned yourself down to build him a ramp. But our boy fell in love, and the girl he chose? She wasn’t a mistake. She was the best decision he ever made.”

“I just want him to be protected,” Chris said, quieter now.

“He is,” Nicole said. “And if anything happens, you better believe Felicity already has a five-tab spreadsheet, three binders, and a financial nuke pointed at the problem. Don’t confuse softness for weakness. She’s not fragile, Chris. She’s focused.”

Chris was quiet for a long time.

Finally, he muttered, “I still think he should’ve signed a prenup.”

Nicole sighs. “Yeah, well. I think you should’ve watered the lemon tree before it died, but we all have regrets.”

Chris stared at her. “That’s not remotely the same.”

Nicole sipped her tea. “Isn’t it?”

2: Mark Webber

Mark Webber had long since stopped pretending that Oscar Piastri ran his own life.

Oh, he showed up on time. Did the briefings. Signed the contracts. Knew the car and the data and the long-run pace.

But when it came to logistics, taxes, insurance, estate planning, or remembering that the electrical system in their farmhouse was still running on pre-war wiring—Oscar did what every sensible man should do.

He said, “Let me ask my wife.”

Mark had found it funny at first. A bit sweet. The overachieving childhood sweetheart turned stay-at-home-wife. Until he realized, somewhere between Oscar’s seamless contract transitions and the fact that his tax filings were always submitted early and perfectly formatted, that Felicity Piastri wasn’t playing house.

She was running an empire.

Quietly. From the kitchen. Usually with flour on her cheek.

Mark had seen it up close too many times now. 

She was the one who tracked Oscar’s schedule in a calendar that put race engineers to shame.

 She was the one who had his income split across diversified portfolios before McLaren ever offered him a multi-year deal. 

And she was the one who’d once casually texted Mark a five-point list of everything he needed to fix in his personal retirement plan—because she’d overheard him complain about capital gains tax while making Bee a peanut butter sandwich.

He’d actually followed all five points.

So when he found himself holding a financial summary from his advisor, confused about a line item labeled “Australia – Deferred Liability: TBD,” there was only one person he thought to call.

The phone rang twice.

“Hi Mark,” came Felicity’s voice, crisp and warm as ever. “What did you mess up this time?”

Mark chuckled. “Got a minute?”

“Always. What’s the line item?”

He read it out. She hummed. “Deferred liability’s probably from your property sale in 2019—was that still in NSW?”

“Yeah. You remember that?”

“I remember everything. What’s the advisor’s email? I’ll send you the reference table.”

Mark rubbed his forehead. “Do I need to start paying you?”

“You couldn’t afford me,” she said cheerfully. “Besides, I’m already managing Oscar’s empire and Nicole’s pension. I’m full up.”

Mark snorted. “Jesus Christ. Does Oscar know you’re moonlighting as my financial therapist?”

“Oh, he knows,” she said breezily. “He told me to invoice you last time.”

Mark chuckled. “He still pretending he understands half of what you do?”

“He stopped pretending after I explained capital gains to him using Bee’s sticker chart,” she replied. “Now he just signs what I give him and asks if we can afford more smoked almonds.”

Mark shook his head, grinning. “He’s a lucky little bastard.”

“He knows. Oh, and by the way,” Felicity added, “tell your guy to check your international tax treaty allocations. You’re probably being double taxed on passive income through your EU holdings.”

Mark paused. “Have I ever told you you’re a menace?”

“Only every time you call me.”

And then she hung up.

Mark stared at his phone, then looked at the spreadsheet again.

There was a reason he always CC’d her on Oscar’s contract reviews. The girl could spot a hidden clause faster than most team lawyers.

He wasn’t just impressed anymore. He was a little scared.

People in the paddock liked to talk about Oscar’s talent. His calm. His racecraft. His future.

But Mark?

Mark knew the real secret to Oscar’s success wore denim dungarees, knew how to budget a household down to the cent, and had personally scared two marketing execs into submission using nothing but polite email phrasing and a well-timed spreadsheet.

In Mark Webber’s not so humble opinion: 

Felicity Piastri was the best investment Oscar had ever made.

3: Lando Norris

Oscar was still in his race suit, slouched halfway off a physio ball, towel draped around his neck. His hair was damp. 

He was scrolling on his phone one-handed, the other absentmindedly rubbing at his shoulder. Across from him, Lando was sitting upside-down in a beanbag chair like he was part of a modern art installation, frowning at his iPad and muttering numbers under his breath.

He squinted, then sat up properly. “Hey,” he said, pointing vaguely. “Do you use Capex?”

Oscar didn’t look up. “For what?”

“Investments. Advisors. Tax strategy stuff.” Lando waved the iPad like it’s obvious. “Zak’s been on about it. Wants us to think about long-term wealth management. Something about portfolio diversity and 'future-proofing our legacy.'"

Oscar hummed noncommittally. “Nah, I don’t use Capex.”

Lando raised a brow. “Okay, so who do you use?”

Oscar finally looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Like—who’s your guy?” Lando asked, a little impatient now. “Everyone’s got someone. I’ve got Simon. Charles got his brother and that weird Swiss dude. You’ve got, what, Mark handling yours?”

Oscar blinked. “I don’t have a guy.”

“You don’t—?” Lando cut himself off, leans forward. “Wait. You don’t have a financial advisor?”

Oscar shrugged. “Nope.”

Lando just stared at him. “Oscar.”

Oscar stretched his legs out. “What?”

“You’re a Formula 1 driver. You make… a lot of money. You don’t have anyone managing it?”

“I do,” Oscar said, reaching for his water bottle. “Felicity.”

Lando blinked. “Felicity who?”

Oscar gave him a flat look. “My wife, Lando. Felicity my wife,” Oscar confirmed cheerfully, like he wasn’t casually setting fire to Lando’s entire concept of financial management. “She’s good at it. Better than me. She likes spreadsheets and interest rates. It makes her happy.”

Lando’s mouth opened. Closes. “No. No. That doesn’t count.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Why not?”

“Because—because she’s your wife! That’s like saying, ‘Oh yeah, my daughter handles the catering.’ It’s—It’s nepotism!”

Oscar laughed. “She’s not taking a salary, mate. She’s running our life.”

“That’s worse!” Lando flailed his hands. “You’re telling me you trust her with everything? Like, she just… handles it?”

“Yes,” Oscar said simply. “She’s good at it.”

“She’s good at—what, managing millions?”

“Actually, yeah.” He looked mildly offended on Felicity’s behalf. “She started with nothing. Budgeted down to the cent when we were nineteen and pretty much broke with a newborn because we didn’t want to depend on my parents. She made our tax spreadsheet color-coded and terrifying. She played the stock market while Bee was teething. Said it calmed her down. I was too busy trying to figure out why Bee would only fall asleep if I sang Let it be from the Beatles.”

Lando squinted. “...She has a spreadsheet?”

“She has seven.”

“And you’re just—fine with it?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, no hesitation. “She’s always been smarter with money than me. Back when I was on a feeder series budget and Bee was in nappies, she made every cent stretch. She bought me a secondhand coffee machine when I was surviving on two hours of sleep and bad instant. She used our first proper bonus to start a fund she literally called ‘Future Stuff That Matters.’ She pays for every single house reno out of portfolio gains. I don’t ask anymore—I just send her the contract info and go race.”

Lando looked at him like he’d just confessed to free-climbing a skyscraper. “You don’t even check your paychecks?”

“I check they’ve gone in,” Oscar said. “But otherwise, I forward everything to her. Contracts, bonus details, travel reimbursements. She’s got this whole color-coded system.”

“Okay, but like—" Lando ran a hand through his hair, clearly spiraling—"there’s not even a backup guy? Like, a tax consultant? A wealth planner? An app? A spreadsheet?”

“She has all three. She showed me once. The spreadsheet had tabs called Future Stuff That Matters and Oscar’s Idiotic Tech Purchases."

Lando blinked.

"There's a colour-coded section just for sim rig accessories," Oscar added, helpfully.

“She made you a budget category for sim rig accessories?”

“I exceeded it last year. I got a warning.” Oscar grinned. “I send her the contracts, she handles the rest. I don’t even know what our heating bill is. I just get warm in winter and assume it’s paid.”

Lando collapses back into the beanbag. “You are so weirdly married.”

“I’m extremely married,” Oscar agrees. “To someone who built an emergency fund, planned our retirement, and still re-grouted the kitchen herself last month.”

There’s a pause.

Then: “You’re insane.”

Oscar smiled. “I’m stress-free.”

Another beat.

Then Lando muttered, “Do you think she’d take me on as a client?”

Oscar burst out laughing.

4: Tom Stallard

Tom had been on the phone with his mortgage broker for twenty minutes and was losing the will to live.

“No, I said I do have the updated P60, but your online portal is down,” he said through gritted teeth. “No, I’m not uploading it again through Safari, I’m using Chrome. Why does that matter?”

He ended the call with a sigh, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered, “I have a master’s in engineering from Cambridge and this is the most complicated thing I’ve ever done.”

A quiet voice behind him said, “Everything alright?”

Tom turned to find Oscar, cooling off post-sim, cradling a water bottle and looking vaguely concerned.

“Oh, yeah,” Tom said, deadpan. “Just losing a slow war with mortgage applications. Spreadsheets, interest rates, new build tax. Very sexy stuff.”

Oscar hummed. “Felicity would love it.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “She likes mortgage paperwork?”

“She likes paperwork in general,” Oscar said with a small smile. “Spreadsheets. Forecasting. Financial plans.”

Tom chuckled. “Yeah, well, maybe I should hire her. At this rate my family is going to end up living in our car.”

Oscar tilted his head. “She’d probably help. She’s scary good with money.”

“Really?” Tom asked, vaguely curious. “She handle the household stuff?”

Oscar blinked. “No, I mean she handles everything. My salary, bonuses, investments, Bee’s custodial account, tax optimization. All of it.”

Tom paused. “Wait—wait, you don’t do any of that?”

Oscar shook his head. “She’s better at it. Has a system. Color-coded folders. Charts. She built a whole model to project how many years I could race before retiring without touching the principal. I think it includes inflation and… milk prices?”

Tom blinked. “You’re telling me your wife handles your entire financial portfolio.”

Oscar shrugged. “It just makes sense. She’s meticulous. She used to do it all while Bee was napping and we were living on a single paycheque and pawned handbags.”

Tom sat back, stunned. “Mate, I have a financial advisor and a mortgage consultant and I still don’t know what I’m doing. You’re telling me your wife just—does it all?”

Oscar gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Yeah. She’s good at it. And she enjoys it. I just sign things and ask her if we can afford new garden furniture.”

Tom looked at him for a beat.

Then said, deadpan, “I think I hate you.”

Oscar grinned. “She runs my retirement planning. I’m sorted for three recessions and a space war.”

Tom groaned. “Don’t tell me that. I just cried over a fixed rate of 5.3%.”

***

Tom hadn’t meant to bring it up again. Really, he hadn’t.

He’d only stopped by to drop off a folder Oscar left behind at the McLaren HQ. A quick in-and-out. No fuss. No existential crisis over adult responsibilities.

But then he made the mistake of saying, “I still haven’t figured out that mortgage stuff, by the way.”

And now he was in the Piastri kitchen.

Holding a cup of tea.

Watching Felicity Piastri, in a linen apron with a bee embroidered on the hem, pull up an amortization schedule like she was about to perform surgery on it.

“Alright,” she said, tapping at her laptop with a practiced efficiency that made his stomach clench. “Fixed rate of 5.3%, 25-year term, first-time buyer exemption, and a deferred LMI?”

Tom blinked. “Yes?”

“Okay, well, first of all, they’re charging you too much on your escrow buffer. That’s negotiable. And you can knock 0.2% off your rate if you bundle with their associated home insurance policy.”

“I—what?”

Felicity didn’t look up. “You haven’t consolidated your super, have you?”

“I—no?”

She made a soft tsk sound, clicked twice, and then turned the screen toward him. “I’ve made you a comparison sheet. These two lenders are offering better packages with less red tape. The third one has a better early exit policy in case you want to upgrade later. You’re a high-income, low-debt client, Tom. You should be getting treated like it.”

Tom stared at the screen, then at her.

“I have never felt so financially inadequate in my life,” he muttered.

Felicity gave him a bright smile. “That’s okay. Most people feel that way after twenty minutes with me.”

Oscar wandered in, holding Bee upside down by the ankles. “She fix it yet?”

“She rebuilt it,” Tom said faintly. “She bullied my mortgage into submission.”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “I simply pointed out that he’s not a charity case and shouldn’t be paying interest like one.”

Bee giggled from where she dangled. “Mama makes the numbers scared.”

Oscar dropped her gently onto the couch. “That she does.”

Tom stood up, cradling the printed spreadsheet like it was a sacred text. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

Felicity handed him a small foil-wrapped bundle. “Banana bread. No walnuts.”

Tom looked at it. Then back at her. “You’re incredible.”

She beamed. “I know.”

5: Zak Brown

Zak liked to think of himself as a forward thinker. Risk-aware, but not risk-averse. Smart with money. Not shy about opportunity.

Which is why, after a particularly positive investor call and a lunch meeting with a tech-startup founder, he cornered Oscar Piastri in the McLaren break room, armed with a protein shake and a golden nugget of advice.

“Listen,” Zak said, leaning on the counter while Oscar poked through the fruit bowl like he wasn’t paid seven figures to do much cooler things. “If you haven’t already, you should really look into green robotics. Smart manufacturing meets sustainability. It’s going to explode in two years. Get in now.”

Oscar paused. “Green robotics?”

“Yeah. Startups, mostly. Private equity entry points. Could be a good addition to your portfolio.”

Oscar nodded slowly. “Right. Sounds interesting. I’ll check with Felicity.”

Zak blinked. “Your agent?”

“No,” Oscar said casually. “Felicity. My wife.”

Zak frowned. “As in… she checks it?”

“She handles all my finances,” Oscar replied, grabbing a banana. “She’ll know if it fits with the rest of the portfolio.”

Zak stared. “Wait—you don’t have a financial advisor?”

Oscar looked genuinely confused. “I have Felicity.”

“No, I mean like… a firm. A professional. Someone who manages your money.”

“I do. Felicity.”

Zak was now blinking very slowly. “You’re telling me your wife manages your finances.”

Oscar peeled the banana. “Yeah. Has for years.”

Zak struggled for a moment. “Like… salary? Bonuses?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Investments?”

“All of it.”

Zak straightened. “How much do you even know about your own portfolio?”

Oscar chewed thoughtfully. “Um… it’s green? Ethically aligned? We don’t do oil, fast fashion, or surveillance tech. And I think there’s a clause about chocolate companies with bad labor practices. Felicity added that after Bee got obsessed with cocoa beans.”

Zak made a small, stunned noise. “You don’t… manage your own money?”

Oscar shrugged. “I mean, it’s our money. She just handles it. She’s better at it. She has these terrifying spreadsheets.”

“She’s not licensed.”

“Nope,” Oscar said, smiling. “She’s just brilliant.”

Zak stared at him for a long beat.

“You make seven figures,” he said slowly. “You’re one of the most promising drivers of your generation. And you’re telling me that you’ve outsourced your entire financial future to your wife.”

“Yes,” Oscar said. “She has a whole system. Reinvested dividends, ethical ETFs, a growth fund, a rainy day fund, and this weird little stash labeled ‘Oscar’s Panic Button’ that I’m not allowed to ask about.”

Zak’s voice rose slightly. “And you’re okay with that?”

Oscar blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’re a public figure!”

Oscar finished his banana. “So? I’d trust her with everything if I was a postman.”

Zak leaned heavily on the counter. “And what did she say about green robotics?”

Oscar tilted his head. “She had ethical concerns. Something about the AI lab's hiring practices and a conflict with a union group in Denmark.”

Zak exhaled. “Jesus Christ.”

Oscar grinned. “Yeah. She’s good.”

+1: Oscar Piastri

Oscar had long since stopped questioning where the money went. 

Not because he didn’t care—he did. He cared a lot, actually. 

But because sometime between their first apartment and the farmhouse, he’d realized something fundamental: Felicity knew what they needed before he did. 

And more than that, she knew why. 

There had been a time—back when he was nineteen, with a newborn and a contract that barely covered rent—when every cent mattered. 

And Felicity had stretched them with a kind of brilliance that made survival look like strategy. She’d budgeted nappies down to the cent. She’d thrifted furniture, sewed her own curtains, and somehow still found a way to buy Oscar a coffee machine when he couldn’t function without caffeine and 2-hour sleep blocks. 

Even then, he knew: if there was anyone he trusted with his life—or his bank account—it was her. That trust never changed. 

The first time he got a real bonus—something large, something meaningful—he handed it over without hesitation. “Use it for whatever you want,” he’d said, tired and sunburnt and half-delirious after a weekend in Spa. 

She didn’t blink. Just tucked it away and said, “I’ve got a plan.” That plan, as it turned out, involved savings accounts, index funds, and a meticulous spreadsheet labeled Future Stuff That Matters. 

Over time, their finances shifted. Grew. Stabilized. But Oscar never took that control back—not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t want to. 

Felicity didn’t spend for status. She didn’t buy expensive handbags or flashy watches. 

She bought insulation for the attic because she wanted Bee to stay warm in winter. She bought antique light fixtures from a man named Jerry on Facebook Marketplace because “they had character.” She bought sandpaper and primer and tile grout and then used it herself. 

She handled taxes. Investments. Long-term planning. She set aside money for Bee’s education, Oscar’s retirement, and an annual holiday they still hadn’t taken. 

And she never once acted like it was hers alone—just theirs, and safe in her hands. 

Oscar loved that about her. That she didn’t treat money like power. She treated it like possibility. 

And while the outside world saw him as the Formula 1 driver, the rising star, the man with the million-dollar contracts—he knew better. 

Knew that the reason he could focus on racing at all was because Felicity kept the rest of their world running so seamlessly behind the scenes.

Once, early in their marriage, he’d jokingly called her his CFO. She’d rolled her eyes. “I’m your wife.” But honestly, she was both. Because when his paycheck came in, he barely looked at it anymore. 

He just handed it over, kissed her cheek, and said, “Tell me if we can afford a new front porch.” Felicity always smiled. 

Always kissed him back. And somehow always replied, “Already ordered the wood. Bee helped me pick the stain.”

Felicity didn’t treat money like power.

She treated it like possibility.

And Oscar had learned to see it the same way—not in numbers, but in what it meant: security. Choice. Freedom. A future where his wife could say yes to things for herself. Where Bee would never grow up thinking that survival had to look like sacrifice.

And when people—Zak, Lando, even his own father—asked how he could trust one person with all of it?

Oscar just smiled.

Because that one person had been holding their entire life together since she was nineteen, tired, and holding a baby on her hip with a spreadsheet open on her lap.

She was the safest bet he’d ever made.

[teaboot]

You dont have to answer it. Im just kind of venting because nobody understands or listens to what im saying.

You mentioned financial abuse and women not being allowed bank accounts even though they could work. Every time someone brings this up it feels so similar to my own situation it pisses me off.

I'm a minor. I *do* have a bank account but i can only use it in a physical store and not online or anything because my darling mother thinks it's unnecessary. She says that i can just ask one of them to buy things for me. Even tho there have been times where i have to call her a million times to just buy me a train ticket to get me home. She asks if i have secrets if i want to use my money so much.

It's not about that. It's not about trust, it's not about secrets. It's about independence. Bitch, i will become an adult soon enough, will you stoll treat me the same way? It's about her trust in me. I am a prisoner as it is why does she have to rub it in. I know i'm not a person until i'm 18 i KNOW but like. I'm only living off of permissions and allowances. I can't fucking donate to palestinians because "there is no reason for that" and then i ask her to do and she says she will but DOESN'T. I couldn't buy a bknder i had to have someone else do it.

Oh, let me be clear, you ARE a person NOW. That is incredibly unfair.

If you are old enough and responsible enough to work and earn a paycheck, you’re old enough to spend your money.

I used to fight CONSTANTLY for this sort of thing. Adult responsibilities, child privileges. Do the labour, reap none of the benefits. FUCK that.

And, frankly, you ARE going to make a few dumb financial decisions at some point in your life. The IDEA is that you do it while you’re young and have your family as a safety net in case it’s too big or you fuck up TOO bad and need help- no school lunch money cause you bought games? You won’t go hungry, but you WILL pack a sandwich from home. Baby steps.

Or, what, you’re supposed to go from zero to 100 the day you move out? How the HELL are you going to just *spontaneously develop* the ability to balance a check book, budget, save, prioritize your expenses?

You absolutely have the right of it, one hundred percent. There will come a time when your mother has to let go, but what you are describing is ABSOLUTELY financial abuse and is her way of exercising control over you and denying you privacy.

I do have to ask though, how does your workplace pay you out? Is it possible to request a partial payment in cash? That way, you can have a little on hand in case you need it.

Also… I’m not sure where you live, but if you can, consider maybe stopping by that bank at some point and book in a consult with an advisor. Ask if there’s any way of locking your mother out or getting online banking together for yourself. If she’s the one handling your finances and giving you no access, I wouldn’t trust what she says in regards to what you can do without her.

And if it comes up… this isn’t just a matter of trust, it’s a matter of respect. Or, what, they think you’re stupid? They think you’re a secret drug dealer handling dirty money? What? What POSSIBLE reason could they have for keeping you from spending your own money, unless they think you’re a dumb irresponsible kid, and if that’s the truth, why let you have a job at all? Why not lock you in a tower for the rest of your life? Why let you go to school, if they’re going to be caring for you like a sickly Victorian waif forever? Or do they think you’re so fragile that making a mistake will cause you to crumble forever, like you’re not smart or determined or tough enough to survive a few monetary hiccups in life?

Sorry, Jesus, I’m angry on your behalf. My parents sucked sometimes but financial independence wasn’t something they fucked around with, that’s some feudal lord ass shit right there

[hedwig221b]

Have you ever read “You would kill for this, just a little bit, you would” by alice9?

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/51306448) it’s an absolute favourite of mine and I wonder whether you know any fics similar to it?

Also recommended by @avabean24 ❤

It's been 84 years, and I didn't really get what recs you wanted, bc this wonderful fic has so many tropes. I focused on secret relationship, so here we go, I guess?

You would kill for this, just a little bit, you would by alice9

The Hales didn’t like him. He didn’t like them either. And for fifteen years he made it a point to have as little interaction with them as possible. It comes as a shock then, when Derek Hale turns up at his door one night, screaming baby in his arms, asking for help.

Operation Girl Scout Cookies by katsu_kiri

After a minute Derek looks back up, his lips puckering in thought, “so…we just…see each other in secret. Then in November after local elections we can see each other for real?” “We are seeing each other for real! It’s just us who know about it for the first few months,” Stiles corrects. “Okay.” Stiles holds his breath, eyes widening, “okay as in okay let’s secretly date?” “Yes,” Derek adds his tone a little less bitter as if he is just now warming up to the idea. “Awsome! Holy shit, dude we’re mates,” Stiles beams. Or the one where both Talia and John are running for mayor of Beacon Hills and their sons end up being mates. Enter a secret relationship, a dash of smut, and a way too involved Laura Hale.

Made Your Mark on Me (A Golden Tattoo) by writteninthewolfstar

Beacon Hills High and Lycan Heights High are well-known enemies. Derek Hale, Lycan Heights' star quarter-back, is well-known for being aggressive and arrogant. Imagine Stiles surprise when he discovers that Derek Hale is actually his soul-mate.

Pry Him From My Cold Dead Fingers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"So they’re coming for our Emissary because they lost theirs?” Derek asked, somewhat angrily. “It would appear. The McCall-Hale Pack’s reputation precedes itself.” “Don’t worry,” Scott said, “we won’t let them touch you.” Deaton turned to him, offering a private smile before inclining his head slightly. “Very comforting, Scott, thank you. But,” he looked between them, “I’m not the Emissary they’re coming after.” Derek frowned and shared a look with Scott, who looked as confused as he did. “What do you mean?” Scott asked. “What other Emissary is there?”

Operation Get Derek Laid by Kikileduc

There's pining, misunderstandings, confusion, a little jealousy… Stiles and Derek have a nice thing, no one knows, yet. The issue is, the pack wants their alpha to get lucky at the werewolf seminar, and well Stiles thinks Derek wants that too…

Mismatched Match by LadyDrace

Getting to date hot senior jock Derek Hale should be cause for shouting from the rooftops, frankly, but life is a little more complicated than that. Until it isn't.

You Look Like Bad News (i gotta have you) by standinginanicedress

Option A : violently tell Derek that they are under no circumstances ever to hook up again because it was stupid and dumb. Option B : tell Scott the truth, stand back and watch as Scott kills Derek with his bare hands so Stiles doesn't even have to face the music. Not an option at all, actually. Expunge this from the record. The real Option B : calmly explain to Derek that the situation is too fucked up and hey, maybe if Derek and Scott ever shake hands and make up, he and Stiles can hook up again because, man…it was great. Option C : forget everything, charge headfirst into danger like fuckin' Bravehart and have sex with Derek all over again. Option D : bury himself alive and wait for the worms to eat him.

Until Sunrise

"You told me I would have time,” Derek said, simmering with anger. “You promised to leave the choice to me.” “The court is starting to talk,” said Peter. “We do not have a stellar reputation as it is, and your ventures into the world of simple pleasures do not go unnoticed. You do not care, of course. But you are, pardon me, too loud for it to remain discreet.” “You think if I were to have a wife, I would stop fucking?” Peter cringed his nose. “No. It would make you a proper, civilized man. You are getting too old, nephew.” “Fine. But I’ll choose.” “No,” Peter smiled. “I shall choose.” Derek opened his mouth to argue, but Peter did not let him. “We both know you will continue to fuck whomever you want. None of us will be able to stop you. Let me have a pick of a proper spouse to placate the court. That’s all I ask.”

[masterlist link]

[exeggcute]

the leaked mrbeast production doc kills me because like, for better or worse, this guy clearly has his shit down to a science. he knows exactly what game he's playing and he knows how to play to win. the actual doc is structured well, communicates its ideas clearly, but also was thrown together by a youtube guy who paid no attention to visual formatting or proofreading. and yet as much as I hate to say it, stuff like this is actually great and widely applicable advice:

What you consume on social media, when you watch youtube, tv, the games you play, etc. are what I like to call your information diet. Chris Tyson (our first subscriber and the guy in the videos) is a wonderful example of an information diet being used to perfection. The dude is funny as fuck. I’ve never met anyone in my entire life that can make people laugh like he can and I never understood why he was so good at it until I lived with him for a few years. The dude watches an obscene amount of cartoons and stupid shit. His eyeballs exsist to inhail copious amounts of just goofy, dumb, and brain numbing content. And as a result he can quote almost any line from any episode of spongebob. He’s able to draw from so much stupid shit in his head as inspiration to make jokes and be quirky. As a result he is fucken hilarious. But let’s imagine a different Chris, let’s say instead of cartoons and stupid shit, his information diet was stocks and investing advice. And for 5 years that’s all he consumed. Do you think he’d be just as funny as he currently is? No. He in my opinion wouldn’t even be 20% as funny. If you’re a writer or director you really need to monitor and perfect your information diet. If your diet is not correct, you won’t have a good pulse on culture. I don’t want you to be a chris, in fact, I think that would probably do you harm. Talent needs to inhale cartoons so they can be funny, writers need to inhale inspiration. Let’s say there is a purple fruit in the middle of Australia that when eaten makes you 2 feet taller. If it truly did exist, you wouldn’t have known that until just right now. But now that you know of it, you can draw on it for inspiration for every piece of content you write going forward. That’s beautiful, it can now sit in the back of your mind waiting for that one video where it is needed. It might take 10 videos or even 100 but eventually you’ll be brainstorming a bit and think of the right one to use the fruit for. Apply this to everything on this fucken planet. You. Can’t. Get. Inspired. By. Things. You. Don’t. Know. Exist. So how do you learn more about what's out there in the world? How do you stay up to date on the latest memes? How do you know what’s going on with celebrities? What’s trending on youtube? What other creators are doing? What’s popping on tik tok? Your information diet. Consume things on a daily basis that help you write better content.

[pittsick]

2010s SCENE EMO PATRICK HEADCANONS.

cw: +18. mdni. graphic sexual language and imagery. fingering (receiving). impact play (spanking, thigh/cunt slapping). degradation & dumbification kink. praising mixed with humiliation. oral sex (receiving). overstimulation. spit, drool, and messy bodily fluids. use of rings/jewelry during sex. consent-based rough play and bratty dominance. clothing/underwear kink. power imbalance dynamics (soft dom x naive virgin sub).

pairing: scene emo patrick zweig x sunshine!virgin afab girlfriend.

taglist: @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @strfallz, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @magicalmiserybore, @destinedtobegigi, @fwaist, @talsorchard, @lovefaist, @shahabaqsa0310, @prismozo, @jesuistrestriste

★ ── Patrick paints his nails black religiously. He always messes one up before it dries, curses, wipes it with a corner of his hoodie, and starts again. He lowkey loves when you help him, especially when you sit on his lap to do it.

★ ── His sex playlist is chaotic. It bounces between 2006 Myspace-core bangers and weird remixes. You’ll be getting fingered to “Bring Me To Life” one second and suddenly hear a slowed-down Nightcore cover of something cursed. He won’t even blink.

★ ── He degrades and praises in the same breath. Patrick’s the king of mixed signals: “You’re such a stupid little slut, aren’t you? Gonna cry if I stop touching you? That’s my good girl.” He needs you whimpering and begging, but the moment you seem too unsure, he’ll slow down and stroke your hair. “That’s right, sweetheart. I got you.”

★ ── He wants to take you to Warped Tour (in spirit). He knows it’s dead. But if he ever gets the money, he wants to road trip with you to every dive bar pop-punk show he can find, wearing matching eyeliner and making out behind merch tables.

★ ── He does his eyeliner better than any girl you know. Patrick wears it thick and smudged, a perfect grungy wing that makes his eyes look darker than sin. He always applies it with one leg on the sink to be closer to the mirror and his tongue sticking out slightly. He teases you about watching him, then offers to do yours—and he's shockingly gentle with the pencil when he leans in, thumb under your chin, voice low: “Stay still, baby.”

★ ── Patrick lives to make you cry during sex. Not out of pain—out of pleasure. He’ll talk you through it, whispering filth while his fingers keep curling just right. “That’s it, sunshine. Let it drip down those pretty cheeks. You look so good when you cry for me.” He uses your tears as lube sometimes, just to be a menace.

★ ── His room looks like a haunted MySpace profile. Posters of MCR, The Used, and old Warped Tour lineups. Black bedsheets covered in band patches. LED lights set permanently to blood red. But there’s a framed photo of you on his nightstand. Soft lighting, your cheeks pink, and a sticky note on the frame: “My girl. Hands off.”

★ ── Patrick’s wardrobe is 90% black—but it’s never just black. He layers textures like it’s a religion. Distressed mesh over ripped tank tops, black-on-black graphic tees, low-rise studded belts, and skinny jeans tight enough to kill circulation. His hoodies are oversized and always worn off one shoulder, revealing scribbled Sharpie lyrics on his collarbones (“i’m not okay and that’s hot”). He lives in platform Converse and chains that jingle when he walks. Sometimes he adds arm warmers with little skulls or bats, just because they match his nail polish.

★ ── His favorite thing is getting you dumb and messy. He wants you drooling on yourself, mascara running, babbling his name between broken moans. He’ll pull your panties to the side, rub slow, hard circles, and mock you in that low, teasing voice: “God, look at you. Can’t even speak, can you? Just a dumb little thing with a sweet little hole.”

★ ── His jewelry is cursed and heavy. He layers necklaces like armor: razor blade pendants, lock and key charms, Hello Kitty chokers with spikes, half-tarnished chain links and broken locket pieces. Some of them he got from thrift stores. Some he definitely shoplifted. He wears six rings—most of them skulls or hearts or something chipped. One of them has your initial on it. He won’t tell you where he got it.

★ ── He’s obsessed with ruining cute underwear. Especially pastel sets. Especially the ones with bows or ruffles. He’ll pull them down with his teeth, bite the waistband, and then tuck them in his back pocket. “Too innocent to be wearing shit like this, angel. You know I’m gonna stain ‘em.”

★ ── He makes friendship bracelets with words like “SLUT” and “CRYBABY.” Yes, he actually wears them. Yes, he gives them to people. No, you’re not allowed to take yours off. He once made you one that said “CUMDOLL” in alternating pastel beads. Then he kissed your cheek and told you never to lose it. He says it’s “like a collar, but cute.”

★ ── He gets off on being watched. Not by strangers—by you. He’ll jerk himself off while you’re recovering from your own orgasm, licking his fingers clean and spitting in his hand. “You like that view, princess? Want it inside you again? Then beg for it. Say please.”

[ponderingmoonlight]

(y/n) sparing Kokushibo's life for him to save her

Pairing: Kokushibo x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,9k

Synopsis: You find yourself standing in front of none other than the upper moon one. And while you know your chances are low and that your life might end in the dusk of day, you are able to cage Kokushibo into the upgoing sun. Until his eyes are filled with sorrow, until you make a decicion that might cost your life...

Warnings: this is my first ever Kokushibo fic so please let me know what you think! Like for Yorichii, I inserted a few pics into the fanfic itself so be prepared, angst to fluff, not proofread yet, NO MANGA SPOILERS 🤍

Special thanks to my dear @lavenderdrxp for the request!

The cold air of the night lashes against your sensitive skin without mercy, only warmed by your blood that runs down your frame like rivers. You are so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of your life. Why did you decide on becoming a demon slayer, developing into a quite skilled hashira? Right, because one of them murdered your whole village without blinking, because you wanted to protect humans from their cruel hands.

Your fingers start to tremble uncontrollably while you hold onto your sword for dear life, the handle smeared in crimson. The second you laid your eyes on him, felt his presence, you saw death itself. You’ve never encountered one of the upper moons carefully chosen by Muzan Kibutsuji himself. Until today, you were so keen to win this endless fight, thought you’d stand a chance against the demon king.

“Give up your dreams and die.”

But the man in front of you is the upper moon one. The man in front of you was able to almost kill you with just one skilled slash of his sword. Is this how you’ll die? In a 10-minute fight with a demon? Of course, you always knew your life would end like this. After all, this is the fate of a demon slayer, this is what you chose.

But…you don’t want to die. You want to live a long and healthy life, want to eat mochis until sunset and play cards with your friends.

“I will never give up”, you press out, dashing forward over and over again.

Your body begs you to stop and rest, to let your blade fall and never return to this life. But instead, you stare into his cold eyes, those beautiful colourful orbs that would fascinate you in another situation. How did a man like him end up being such a powerful demon?

“Foolish human. Do you really think you are able to defeat me?”

Your eyes dart up to the sky above. That cursed night that makes it possible for these creatures to walk on earth freely. But that faint shimmer of orange tells you that day will soon arrive, that maybe…

It might be stupid to even consider a win, that you’ll make it out of here alive. But if you are able to entertain him for a couple more minutes and trap him until sunrise, you’d be able to not only escape, but kill him.

Your mind starts to race, eyes scanning his body up and down. He’s quite tall and muscular, it won’t be easy to defeat him without any weapons. No, not even your katana will be enough. But maybe the poison you created with Shinobu-san will be.

“Use this against a demon whenever you feel like you can’t defeat him otherwise. This will make any demon unable to move for at least a few minutes.”

Every demon, she said. Every demon definitely includes the man standing in front of you. But will this be enough, are you actually skilled enough to even hit him? You need to inject the poison into his body, meaning a slice with your poisoned blade would be more than enough.

But that means you have to land a hit.

“You’re a fool if you really think I’ll give up so easily.”

Kokushibo needs to move, needs to end this fight before the sun starts to rise. You’re a hashira, his worst enemy. But instead, he can’t help but stare at you through the darkness of the night. You seem so unbothered by his presence, so confident in your abilities that it simply sweeps him off his feet.

Are you actually dumb enough to underestimate him? No, the fact that you keep your save distance to his sword tells him more than urgently that you know very well who is standing in front of you. No, your firm believe in yourself is enough to make you stand your ground.

And again, you dash towards him, holding onto your sword so tightly that your knuckles stand out white. He dodges your attack with ease, slicing through your tender flesh too light to hurt you critically. Oh, he knows all too well that he’s holding back, that you should be dead already. Why is he not able to end this fight, to finally get rid of you? Your eyes seem to gleam in the darkness, light up the word around him. When was the last time he saw the sun? He can’t remember. But your eyes have to be close.

A sudden pain crawling up his back rips him out of his pondering. What was that? Did you manage to hit him, is the sun starting to rise? Slowly he turns around, eyes finding your cramped-up figure on the floor. His flesh starts to heal in an instant, the only hint for your attack being a minor cut in his cloak. Yes, you indeed managed to hit him.

“I thought you are a hashira. Aren’t you aware that as a demon, I’m healing in an instant?”

Your heavy breaths hang in the air between both of you, your blood discolouring the forest ground crimson while your hands dig into the mud. This was all you’ve had left. It has to be enough, the poison has to function. Otherwise…

Your tired eyes dart towards him and the way he slowly approaches you. Will this be your end? Like in slow motion he raises his sword over your head, ready to behead you. At least you did what you could, faced him with everything you’ve head. Becoming a demon slayer meant being ready to give your life sooner or later. You allow your lids to rest, awaiting the bow of his sharp blade in silence. At least your end will be graceful, right?

But instead of his sharp blade, you are greeted by his tall figure crashing into you onto the ground. Is this real? Did the poison work? You force your eyes open, heart almost beating out of your chest when you begin to realize.

You made it. Despite the stinging fact that this man is the upper moon one, you somehow managed to stand up against him and steal his ability to move.

“You…poisoned…me”, he presses out.

What a fool he was for sparing your life when he had the chance to kill you so easily. Now the sun slowly but surely starts to rise, makes his skin burn uncomfortably while his venomous eyes stare right through your soul. You really are a brave one, bright orbs set on him while you free yourself from the pressure of his body above you.

“I did what I have to do. You are my enemy.”

Yes, you have to remind yourself over and over again. It doesn’t matter that his facial features suddenly begin to soften, you really don’t care about the way he stares into the rising sun. No, it doesn’t bother you that he looks almost…hurt.

“I haven’t seen a sunrise for a long time”, he mumbles.

“I love to see the sun rise. There is no better feeling than the first warm rays of the day against bare skin and that striking colours painted in the sky.”

“You look exactly like a woman who adores sunrises”, he comments so tenderly that you rip your gaze away from the orange sky for a second.

“And you look like a man who did as well”, you reply without thinking twice.

In the dim light he looks breathtakingly gorgeous. Yes, there is no doubt that this demon once was a handsome man with the kindest eyes. You hold your breath, the mark engraved into his eye reminding you more than urgently that this man is indeed a powerful demon. You should leave him to the sheer force of the sun, let him burn for all the sins he committed. But instead, a deep grief holds onto your heart tightly.

“I did indeed.”

Is that a tear escaping his eye? No, impossible. No demon you ever encountered cried, regretted his actions. Does he feel the presence of death haunting after him, the way his skin starts to burn under the first rays of sunshine? His forehead starts to redden before catching fire, making a deep whimper escape his lips.

“Do you want to live on?”

What a stupid question to ask, how reckless to even talk to him. Why does your hand cup his cheek all of the sudden, why do you feel sorry for one of the strongest demons in existence?

“Maybe dying in the upgoing sun is more than I am able to ask for”, he speaks out slowly and reserved.

Your mind starts to raise, comes up with a plan more poisonous than anything Shinobu has ever created. This is ridiculous to even think about, you are a demon slayer, a hashira to be exact. The thought alone is ridiculous.

But not ridiculous enough to stop yourself from grabbing him under his armpits and start hovering him into the safety of the thick woods, away from the dangerous rays of sunshine. You feel like fainting, your very own blood following you behind like a trail while you huff in exhaustion. But still, you keep on moving, shield his body from the sun with your blood-soaked coat while all he does is staring at the angelic sky.

This will be the death of you, as soon as he regains the power over his body, he’ll slice you into pieces. Why? Why are you not strong enough to outstand your pity, why weren’t you able to leave him to his fate? Instead, you find yourself hauling him up a pair of stairs leading into an abandoned cottage you’ve known for years. This is your safe place, your retreat from this cruel world.

And this will be the place you lose your life in.

You fall onto the cold wooden floor the second the door behind both of you is closed, your mouth tasting like iron while coughing up blood. You must be severely injured, given the fact how numb your body starts to feel and how your heart seems to beat slower with every passing minute.

Your eyes catch his shadow next to you, how it builds up into its old frightening gloom. The poison must have worn off, gave him back the ability to move freely. You swallow hard, glossy eyes widened in thick horror.

This will be your end.

“Why did you save me?”

His dark voice sends shivers down your spine, the sheer presence of his powers alone while laying on the floor helplessly almost making you lose your composure.

“I don’t know”, you mumble in response, voice nothing more than a fade away whisper.

His heavy yet light footsteps make the floor vibrate underneath his weight when he crosses the room and comes to a stand in front of you. All you can do is stare at his feet next to your head, waiting for your certain death.

“I’m the upper moon one”, he reminds you.

“And I’m…a hashira…”

You feel the wood next to you give in under his weight as he kneels down next to you, six eyes staring at you intensely. Why…why is he still hesitating? It wouldn’t be hard to kill you in the state you are in, even though the sun now almost fully rose. What a victory, killing another hashira off with ease, coming closer to being the strongest.

Kokushibo can’t help but admire you for the way you still carry yourself with so much pride. Despite the fact that you’ll die within an hour if not treated, despite his sheer presence by your side, your eyes still hold contact with his unwavering. Like in trance he leans forward, lets go of the handle of his sword for the first time since forever. As gentle as his hands remember to move, he places them onto your stomach, watches as your eyes fill with dread. Is he even able to use his powers after all this time ignoring them? He has to try.

The room lights up in red as your body seems to burn alive, a silent scream escaping your lips before you are able to stop it. Out of instinct, you grab on of his hands, hold onto it tightly while waiting for the sharp pain haunting down your body.

But nothing happens. No, it almost feels as if…your pain slowly fades away.

“You…You healed me”, you breathe out in utter disbelief, chest rising and falling so sharply that oxygen refuses to fill your lungs.

Your hands wander around your body rapidly, scan every inch of your busted skin to be greeted by nothing.

“You healed me.”

“You saved me”, he replies briefly, hands still pressed onto your stomach ever so slightly.

Time stands still, the only thing you can think about are his eyes. The eyes that were filled with sorrow when staring into certain death, the eyes that roamed around your body to check for your injuries, the eyes that are now locked with yours.

“Thank you.”

“I need to thank you as well”, he answers calmly.

“I-…”

You don’t know what to say. Is all of this just a dream? This creature, this force of a man kneeling next to you is none other than the upper moon one, the most dangerous demon after Muzan Kibusuji himself. But he didn’t kill you. No, in fact he even healed your severe wounds, saved your life instead of sinking his teeth into you.

He spared you.

Your life was saved by a demon.

“Join the demon slayer corps. Come with me.”

Your words leave your mouth faster than you are able to even think, regret immediately washing over you like a wave. What on earth were you just saying?

“Did you forget how I am?”

“In exchange for saving your life”, you continue.

He just stares at you, eyes widen in sheer surprise. He expected everything when he followed your tracks tonight, the mission Muzan Kibutsuji entrusted Kokushibo with still present in his mind. It was fairly simple: Kill the hashira with the bright orbs, the girl on her way to a nearby village flooded by demons.

But now that he’s sitting right next to you, his hands still resting against your stomach, your heartbeat pounding against his palms, he simply can’t imagine to end your life right here and now. No, the urge to brush his fingertips over your cheek just once, to feel the heat of your skin becomes almost unbearable. Is it because of your innocent eyes, because you saved him despite he injured you severely?

“We live in different worlds, (y/n). It is simply impossible for me to be a part of yours.”

Your stomach drops by the way he says your name, breath getting stuck in your throat. You’ve seen countless demons in your life, always hated every single one with all of your heart. But this man showed you his real face, that he is still human after all these years. Maybe there is still hope, maybe turning into a demon doesn’t have to be a death sentence. Maybe…maybe you’ll be able to save Tanjiro Kamado’s sister.

“Promise that we’ll meet each other again. Promise me that you’ll visit me here right here again soon”, you urge.

“I…”

Kokushibo is los at words, lost in your bright orbs, lost in your tenderness. Not so long ago, he was on his way to end your life violently, to kill you and leave with the arrival of the sun. But now he finds himself right by your side, his mind wandering just by the exciting thought of meeting you again.

“I will visit you again”, he finally gives in.

“Good”, you breathe out.

“Now, tell me a little about yourself. After all, we are trapped here until the sun goes down.”

“I don’t enjoy talking that much.”

“Come on…”

-one year later-

Your eyes gleam in the down-going sun, whole body electrified in excitement. Only a few minutes before the sun is gone, only a few minutes until you finally see him again. As much as you adore the play of colours in the sky just before the sun sets, you started to love the tenderness of the night far more.

Because it means he’s able to walk freely, because it means finally seeing him again.

“There you are, sweetheart.”

Your heart skips a beat, cheeks already heating up before you even turned around. You wrap your arms around his tall figure in an instant, his thumb gently stroking over your forehead.

"I still despise that scar", he states, eyes lost in your sight.

He was the one who did this to you, the one who almost killed you that night.

“That was long ago, Koku, please don't worry about it. I missed you, where have you been?”

There he stands as charismatic as ever, his sheer presence alone signalling nothing but power. You never fail to notice that he’s around no matter where you are, looking after you while fighting off demons. Oh, how much he hates to hide in the shadow, to keep his affection a secret. But there is no way he’ll allow any other upper moon to harm a single hair on your body, let alone Muzan Kibutsuji himself.

Gently, you wrap your arms around him the way he adores so much, rest your head against his chest while he strokes your hair gently.

“I need to keep you save, I am not risking your life over one meeting, (y/n)”, he explains in all seriousness.

“I’d rather die than not seeing you”, you reply with a grin.

“Don’t say that, (y/n)”, he warns you while wrapping his arms tighter around your waist.

Need more? Click here for my Yoriichi x fem!reader fic!

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @kayleegomez @snowywhiterose @chosomybeloved3

[chaotic-major]

Every time I throw my hat into the prediction ring, I always end up a little to the left. That being said, I am not one to give up easily, so here we go.

I’m not sure Rui 5 will be the next wxs event.

WAIT!! Before you start calling me a dumb stupid bozo for even thinking that, just hear me out.

Backlight lens flare is agreed to be a pretty nothingburger event (a fun nothingburger event with bakuno reki, but nonetheless). The only lore piece for Rui’s story that it introduces is the unnamed director who (as far as I’m aware) has not reappeared.

With the second WL for WxS having come and gone, it seems like colorpallette could take it two ways, imo:

A) We touch back on Asahi’s offer to Rui, possibly leading to a trust based conflict (“why didn’t you tell us in the first place?!” Yada yada yada)

Or

B) We find out who the unnamed director is and whats his deal (who knows, maybe he wants to steal Rui away to his own theatre company)

With Nene and Emu’s 5th and 6th events tying off the opera troupe part of the arc, and the WL2 finalizing that they have completed their training tour, I can really only see us returning to PXL.

A lot of people, myself included, really want and believe that Rui 5 will be the arc ender, especially because he hasn’t been one yet and well, why wouldn’t we want a Rui event as our arc ender after a YEAR AND A HALF without a focus of his.

Problem is, there is one massive loose end from the very beginning of this arc that hasn’t been touched on since it was introduced back at the start of this arc.

That’s right everybody, I’m talking about Nakayama from A story where you are the star. Introduced in the 8th chapter of the event, “Becoming the character” the entire thing is almost 12 minutes of 3 main things: Rui’s inner monologue, Tsukasa acting as Nakayama, and “Nakayama’s” inner dialogue.

And that’s the most important part. Nakayama’s inner dialogue. Because it’s not Tsukasa’s, they tell us this directly.

As far as I am aware, this has never happened before. Every time a character, especially Tsukasa, is acting and we see their inner dialogue, their name replaces the characters name.

Even more important is the fact that only Rui notices. No one else, not Bakuno, not Nene, not EMU. No one but Rui is aware. In this case, two things are established.

1) Rui and us as the audience are the only people privy to this. This makes Rui particularly special.

2) While Tsukasa is aware after that he went too far with his acting, only Rui is able to establish how dire what happened is, to us and himself.

So, you might be thinking, Major, where are you going with this? I’ll tell you.

During Mizuki 5, the writers made a direct, in universe parallel between Mizuena and Ruikasa’s relationships. Mizuki and Rui being saved and learning to open their hearts to others once more because of Ena and Tsukasa. In Ena 5, Mizuki is properly “saved”, assured that she will never lose Ena as a friend and support in her life, that she will never be alone because of who she is. But Rui already had this experience through the main story of WxS. So what’s my point?

I think what’s going to happen is that we will be getting a similar 2 part continuation event with Tsukasa 6 and Rui 5, as we did with Mizuki 5 and Ena 5. They reintroduce the loose end fact that Tsukasa’s method of acting is getting dangerous for him personally, and with Rui as the only person who has any prior knowledge and experience of this happening before, is the only person able to help Tsukasa, to return the favour and save him from himself. The reason I specify this will be a 2 part, continuing into Rui 5 as the arc ender, is because I think the initial efforts will fail. I think that no matter what Rui, or WxS as a whole do, they won’t be able to help him right away.

While it’s never said outright, it’s heavily implied that Tsukasa is a method actor. I myself was an actor for a bit, and can give one or two cents on the matter. Method acting is often described to be the most effective way of portraying a character, the most realistic, but also the most harmful to the actor. Looking at how Tsukasa’s acting has evolved over each event, I think we’re standing on the precipice. Back in Sky’s Edge he was emulating the conditions Rio went through to better understand him (ie, trying to survive off of water for three straight days), that’s method acting. With the Nakayama thing in Story where you are the star, “Becoming the Character” and all that, and acting the character to a point that the narrative tells us that his inner dialogue isn’t his anymore but the character’s? Yeah, I’m calling that method acting.

All of this is to say, the next big step Tsukasa can take in his acting journey, is off the cliff; trying so hard to be the character he’s given and succeeding. Once an actor has adopted the mannerisms, the attitude, the thoughts of the character they’re playing, it’s hard for them to unlearn them. You hear stories of how actors can’t get rid of an accent they adopted for a movie, or have a limp because the character they played did.

That is where I believe Tsukasa is heading, and only Rui can save him. This is why I will say, that by the end of Tsukasa 6, Rui fails; hardening his resolve to save Tsukasa from himself, the consequences of his acting, and pull him back to Rui, to WxS, and to himself in Rui 5’s story.

TL;DR I don’t think Rui has enough narrative pieces in play to make his 5th event narratively compelling or the arc ender, which is why Project “lore over schedule” Sekai will have Tsukasa 6 as the july 7th hakolim and Rui 5 as the arc ender to tie up the Nakayama loose end.

Or I’ll be wrong. Who knows. Only proseka and Apollo at this point. What do you all think?

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 27, Unhinged - Pt. 8

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, violence, voyerism, coercive sex, manipulation, Pocket reaching her Ultimate Bitch Form.

Word Count: 1.5k

Previously On...: Carthage has been spying on you and manipulating both you and Bucky from Day One.

A/N: THE FIRST TIME DIDN'T COUNT, GUYS!

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Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

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“She was just toying with you, Jamie, because she could. She doesn’t respect you. Do you honestly think she would pick you over Steve Rogers? Captain Fucking America? Especially with all the pain you’ve caused? The lives you’ve ended? Come on, Jamie, don’t be dumb.” Video Jade caressed Bucky’s shoulders.

Bucky’s face fell, and you knew she’d hit him where it hurt him the most.

Jade sat back on her haunches on the mattress. “Don’t be stupid, Jamie,” she reiterated. “Do you really think she’d want someone like you, who can’t even control their cock in a fight, when she could have America’s Golden Dick? I bet they laugh at you, how easy it is for them to get away with it, right under your nose. You think it’s just a coincidence that, as soon as you're out of the country, she’s seen by all of New York’s elite getting cozy with your best friend? The one person you asked her to stay away from? She was just waiting for you to get out of the picture so she can show her real boyfriend off to the public.”

You watched as Bucky’s entire body clenched, his face tightening in anger. “You said you wanted to get back at her,” Jade urged, putting her hands back on Bucky’s body. “To punish her for what she did. So punish her, Jamie. Use me. Use me to make her hurt the way she made you hurt. Don’t let her play you for a fool.” You saw Bucky struggle, at war with himself, but you could see the anger pulse through him, and you knew that, with this snake whispering in his ear, there was no way he could have come to any other conclusion than that you had betrayed him. You almost felt sorry for him– he didn’t have a chance.

“Come on,” she said, leaning Bucky back so he was lying propped up on the pillows. “You won’t even need to do anything. Let me take care of you, okay? Let Vixen make you feel good.” Bucky scrunched his eyes closed, putting his hands over his face. It was painfully clear he wasn’t an enthusiastic participant, but it still hurt knowing that he had been so angry at you for something you hadn’t done that he was willing to do this.

“We just have to get Little Jamie to come out to play,” Jade teased as she straddled him. Your view was obstructed by her body, but you had no doubt that she was jerking him off in an attempt to get him hard. 

It just… seemed to be taking a really long time. 

“Come on Jamie,” Jade said after a few minutes. “You gotta help me out here. Give me a little something to work with.”

It seemed to finally work after a while, and Jade re-positioned herself as she lined Bucky up with her entrance. You couldn’t watch anymore, so you shut your eyes. It didn’t stop you from hearing the horrible sounds of her moaning as she bounced up and down on his cock, though.

You thought you were going to be sick, but then you heard it, so soft that if you had your eyes open, your senses diluted, you would have missed it. “Pocket,” Bucky moaned. “Fuck, Pocket. Keep going, baby. I’m so sorry, doll. I’m so sorry. I love you so fucking much.”

His moans grew louder. “Pocket,” he cried, “God, baby, I miss you so fucking much!”

You started laughing. It was the fucking weirdest, most uncomfortable position you’d ever found yourself in in your entire life, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

“Oh my god,” you panted, trying to catch your breath as Jade looked down on you in confusion. “That’s the most pathetic thing I have ever seen!”

Jade wrapped a hand roughly around your throat and squeezed threateningly, cutting off your laughter. “What did you say?” she seethed.

You coughed when she’d released your neck and you could breathe again. A few drops of your blood had fallen from your nose to rest on Jade’s wrist. “I said, that’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever fucking seen.” You jutted your chin toward the phone she still held. “You think that’s proof that he wants you? Oh, honey. You truly are a stupid cunt, aren’t you? He couldn’t even get hard for you without thinking about me. You were a convenient fleshlight– just a hole when I wasn’t available.”

You would have felt monstrous speaking to any other woman like that, truly, but you had to do everything in your power to keep her distracted, to keep her from moving forward with her plan to auction you off to the highest bidder, so that you could buy some time for the calvary to arrive. And besides, Carthage wasn’t just another woman– she was your fucking nemesis, and she deserved every foul word you could throw at her. 

God, you hoped Tony showed up first. The image of him sending Jade through the wall with a repulsor blast was enough to send you into fits of giddy laughter. Then maybe Bruce could toss her around like a ragdoll, the way he had with Loki. You’d pay to see that. You wondered if Carthage had headbutted you hard enough to cause a concussion– you certainly weren’t feeling fully in your right mind.

Jade backhanded you, the force of the blow so hard that your head snapped to the side, leaving you seeing stars. “You’re LYING!” she shouted. Grabbing you by the hair, she hoisted you up, metal chair and all, and slammed your face into the nearest wall. Perhaps she’d rattled a screw loose, because you couldn’t seem to get your laughter under control. “Don’t damage the merchandise, Vixey,” you coughed, spitting out even more blood. “Wouldn’t want to hurt my chances at auction, would you? Bad for business.”

“You fucking bitch!” Jade shouted. She ripped your bindings free from the chair and lifted you up by the throat. “Fuck–” she punched you in the stomach– “the auction!” In the face. “I’m gonna–” In the solar plexus– “fucking kill you–” back to the face– “myself!” Each blow was excruciating, and you were sure you’d heard a rib or two crack under the force of her fist, but still, you kept laughing at her. 

“Poor little fox,” you wheezed through the blood that was pouring down the back of your throat. “All those years wasted, thinking you could ever have a chance with him.” Your head lolled to the side as you tried to look up at her through your rapidly swelling eyelids. “Thinking you were special, that you were made for him, and you can’t even get his dick up. He’s so repulsed by you, he has to imagine being with someone else!”

“Shut up!” Jade screeched. “Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” She grabbed your left arm in her hands and snapped it. The pain was blinding, sending your vision into a white hot pulses. You screamed, holding the broken appendage to your body, as though that would protect you. You didn’t dare look down at it; knowing you’d be sick at the sight if you did, of your arm dangling uselessly at an unnatural angle. Instead, you curled yourself up into the fetal position, cradling your arm close to your core. 

Jade began pacing the room, tugging at her hair and mumbling to herself. You couldn’t quite make out what she was saying– you only caught snippets of words, like “fucking whore,” and “mine.” The girl had completely lost it, had completely gone off the deep end. Meanwhile, you suspected you were going into shock as you listened to the rat-a-tat-tat of your rapid heartbeat. 

No. You cocked your head, listening. That wasn’t the sound of your heart, beating out of your chest– that was the sound of gunfire echoing through the bowels of the base. You strained your ears. Mixed within the gunshots, you could hear screaming, voices crying out in agony and then cut short, as if their owners suddenly lost access to their breath. 

Through the distant din, you could make out a familiar voice, roaring with rage, and the sound filled your heart up like a balloon. “POCKET!”

You started laughing again.

Jade turned to look at you, her expression furious. 

“I feel sorry for you, Vixen,” you said, grinning like a madwoman. “Me?” she asked you incredulously. “I just snapped your arm like a fucking twig and am going to enjoy the shit out of killing you nice and slowly, and you feel sorry for me?”

You nodded vigorously, gleefully noting that the sound of battle was growing closer. Bucky called for you again, his voice contorted with rage and worry. Jade turned her head toward the sound, noticing it for the first time. “Yup,” you agreed, forcing yourself to stand and face her. You could feel the blood dripping from the corners of your mouth as you smiled from ear to ear. “Seems like my boyfriend’s looking for me, and when he sees what you’ve done, he’s going to kick your fucking ass.”

<- Previous Part / Next Chapter ->

[acescorazon]

Changes

Title: The art of...flirting?

Chapter: 23

Rating: M

Warnings: Language, Dialogue Heavy.

Word Count: 6541

Chapter Excerpt:

“You try too damn hard,” Buggy mutters under his breath. He’s not actually complaining or anything, though. If anything, he’s just stating the truth. He doesn’t think he’s ever had anyone try this hard to get on his good side before. Hell, even his own men don’t try this hard to win him over.

“Am I bothering you or making you feel uncomfortable?” Mihawk asks, “If so, I apologize. I just haven’t had feelings for someone in a long, long time.” He admits, “I’m nervous and I just…” he chuckles quietly. He's nervous? No, that can't be true. Mihawk doesn’t get nervous. “I just really want you to return my feelings, but I’m worried that our disastrous past will prevent you from ever liking me back,” He squeezes Buggy’s hand softly, “I’m completely lost here, Buggy. I don’t know how to redeem myself and make myself more likable. If i’m bothering you in anyway, though, just tell me and i’ll back off. I swear.”

…

…

It takes Buggy a moment to respond, but he eventually squeezes Mihawk’s hand back, “...You’re not bothering me.” he whispers quietly. Part of him hopes Mihawk won’t hear him, but the moment he sees Mihawk smile softly and look down at their hands, he knows he got his hopes up for nothing. God, what am I doing? He finds himself wondering yet again. 

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Buggy passes the hell out not long after he returns to his room. When he wakes up, it's almost dinner time, and he's surprised that he’s slept all day. He sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes, before he glances over at the clock at his bedside. It’s 5:45 PM, and Buggy can’t help but wonder why his crew or even Mihawk and Crocodile let him sleep for so long. When was the last time he got the chance to sleep the day away like this? It’s been a while, hasn’t it? And in theory, he should feel refreshed after what? 10 or 11 hours of sleep? Instead, there's a dull ache in his skull, and he has the urge to lie back down. He doesn't allow himself to rest any longer, though, he has a ship to run.

As Buggy dresses himself, thoughts of Mihawk briefly enter his mind. Why can’t he get that man out of his damn head? He’s always thinking about Mihawk for one reason or another and he hates himself for it. Before Mihawk and Crocodile came into his life, most of Buggy’s thoughts were related to the mundane aspects of his daily life – He often wondered how he would run his island, how he would get more recruits and make more money, or how he would make the most of his power as a warlord. Of course, Buggy’s past would also come back to haunt his thoughts more often than not and he would think about his old crew a lot and his good for nothing best friend, but he doesn’t think there was ever a time when he couldn’t pull himself out of his own thoughts. That all changed after the formation of Cross Guild, though. 

Buggy thinks back to earlier in the morning when he and Mihawk held each other so… tenderly. He hates to admit it, but that’s exactly what they did. They didn’t have a simple, fleeting hug, they held each other in a tight embrace that meant a lot more than either of them let on. It was too warm, too secure, and way too intimate for them, or it should have been. Buggy should have hated that hug, he should have been repulsed by the mere idea of hugging someone who has caused him so much pain and suffering, he shouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place, really, but… 

Something major has changed whether Buggy admits it or not.  

Buggy can still remember how Mihawk's body felt pressed against his. In fact, it’s almost like his stupid brain has the shape and feel of Mihawk’s body memorized after that one dumb hug. Mihawk is almost all muscle. His shoulders and back in particular are firm and broad, but Buggy would be a liar if he said he wasn’t secretly a sucker for broad shoulders. That god awful, red-headed best friend of his has some of the broadest shoulders that Buggy’s ever seen on a man, and he would also be lying if he said that there wasn't a point in his life when he was obsessed with Shanks' body and more meaty, well built body types in general. 

Mihawk is slightly smaller than Shanks, and he’s not as meaty, but he’s… Nevermind it doesn’t matter. Buggy shouldn’t be thinking about Shanks and he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about Mihawk, not like that, at least. He will admit, though, that Mihawk’s chest is comfortable. It’s kind of like a brand new pillow - firm yet still comfortable enough to lie his head on. His grip is also insanely tight and secure, too. 

Buggy truly thinks he’s gone too long without being touched because he practically melted in Mihawk’s arms the moment he grabbed his waist. Good lord that hug was snug, but it felt so good. Buggy…Buggy has this thing… He thinks it’s because he’s spent his life living dangerously, but he’s not sure. Anyways, a good, secure hug always does numbers on him. Maybe he just wants to feel safe and protected for once. Being the captain or even the leader of Cross Guild means he’s supposed to be the strong one who protects everyone and gives them the support and encouragement they need, but sometimes he just wants to be the one who's being taken care of. He wants to be the one who feels loved and protected.

But Buggy doesn’t want to think about all that. He doesn't want to think about how long their embrace lasted, or how he felt during it, or even how he let Mihawk pull him in for a second deep embrace. If he thinks too much about it, he might go nuts.

The fact that Mihawk and Buggy were able to hug so tenderly without anything feeling awkward or forced is surreal. It shouldn’t have happened, not in this lifetime at least. Buggy supposedly hates Mihawk, and Mihawk isn’t the affectionate type, so why were they hugging like that? Why did it seem like Mihawk’s been waiting for the day that Buggy would let him hug him? He grabbed him as soon as he was close enough, like he’s been dying to finally get his hands on him and then he hugged him and didn’t want to let go. God, Buggy needs to move on, it was just a hug. 

It was just a stupid, unnecessarily long hug, that’s all. He’s putting way too much thought into this. 

Why am I still thinking about it? Buggy wonders as he puts a shirt over his head. Just get over it already... He tells himself, despite knowing that he's never been the type to 'just get over' things. He has to get over this, though, he can't allow thoughts like these to constantly enter his mind. He can’t allow himself to constantly think about Mihawk, it’s…weird. 

With a sigh, Buggy finally leaves his room and heads out to check on his men and their ship. Much to his surprise, everything seems to be peaceful. It's almost as if the attack from the sea king last night never happened. The blood and tentacles are no longer on the front deck, and if there were any minor damages from the attack, his men made sure to fix them before Buggy woke up. That lingering sense of dread is long gone too, and Buggy's men happily make their way around the ship, either tending to their duties or chatting to each other happily. Buggy almost wonders if he dreamt the entire sea king attack until one of his men informs him that the ship has already made a slight change in its route and that they're now heading to a nearby island, just like Crocodile and Mihawk said they would.

At some point, after he's checked on his men and been brought up to date, Buggy spots his fellow leading members of Cross Guild. They seem to be in the middle of a casual conversation, one without any bickering or snide remarks. So even these two know how to enjoy a peaceful evening, huh? As Buggy has that thought, the ever perceptive Mihawk seems to notice he's watching them and glances over in his direction before silently beckoning him over to him and Crocodile.

Buggy hesitates for a moment before he makes his way over to the other two men. The art of having a casual conversation with Mihawk and Crocodile is still something he struggles with, but they seem to have the same issue. They greet each other and then there's a long, dreadful pause before Mihawk speaks up, "I take it that you're well rested now?" He asks. More or less, Buggy thinks as he gives Mihawk a quick nod in response. "Good. And I suspect that your men have already informed you that we will be going through with our plans and will be stopping at a nearby island." Buggy nods again.

"I still don't think we need to make any stops. The ship's fine, and so is the crew..." Crocodile mutters under his breath, "It's a pointless excursion if you ask me."

"Good thing nobody asked you." Mihawk replies. He seems to ignore the nasty look Crocodile gives him and continues telling Buggy about their plans: "We'll head to the nearest island and stay a couple of days. It'll be good for the mens' psyche after such a major attack took place. There we can restock, even though I doubt we'll need to do that, and we can also assess the ship for further damage." Mihawk makes a lot of sense and Buggy agrees with him completely, but Crocodile… Well, Crocodile never agrees with anyone but himself: 

"For fuck’s sake, the attack from the sea king wasn't that bad. You're just being dramatic, Hawkeye."

"No, I'm being the logical one, as always."

There they go again, Buggy thinks as he stands there, listening to Mihawk and Crocodile start to bicker again. The peaceful atmosphere on the ship was nice while it lasted, even though Buggy only got to experience it for about ten minutes at most. He looks out at the vast and open sea, taking in the breathtaking view of the sun setting over the horizon. Watching the sunset was always one of his favorite things to do as a child on the Oro Jackson. He doesn't do it much as an adult, but whenever he does, a sense of nostalgia always washes over him. Sometimes said nostalgia makes him sad, sometimes it comforts him like a warm embrace, today the latter seems to be the case, though. He allows himself to enjoy the scenery and stares up at the overcast skies that are painted in various shades of red and orange, but only for a moment, before he turns his attention back to Mihawk and Crocodile.

"Personally…I don't mind stopping at a nearby island," Buggy says slowly, with the goal of remaining a neutral party to avoid any arguments (mainly with Crocodile.) "It'll give us a chance to reevaluate our plans for this trip and finalize them. We can sit down and factor in things we might not have thought of before... like another sea king attack or unstable weather conditions, that way we're better prepared and won't have to stop again." He adds, hoping to pacify Crocodile so he'll finally shut up about their detour. "It won't be a pointless excursion, it'll be...a regrouping session."

"Whatever," Crocodile huffs, "This little detour better not set us back, or I'll be pissed."

"It won't." Mihawk assures him, "But if we do happen to face any setbacks, I'll take full responsibility for them."

“Yeah, you fuckin' better."

Buggy fights off the urge to roll his eyes at Crocodile's snarky reply. Well, at least one of their problems has finally been solved. They manage to put their little argument to rest right before they're told dinner is ready, and Buggy couldn’t be more grateful. As soon as he hears what's on the menu -- Some steak (and roasted vegetables that he couldn't care less about) -- he suddenly remembers that he hasn't eaten all day and takes off. Buggy has been dreaming about eating steak for weeks, and it looks like they’re finally having something other than seafood for once. He’s guessing it’s because they went through such a stressful night last night and this is supposed to be a treat, but even if that’s not the case, Buggy won’t complain.

Buggy ditches Mihawk and Crocodile the moment he hears the food is ready. He's the captain of the ship, and if anyone's guaranteed a plate of food, it's him, but there's always been a voice in the back of his head that tells him that if he isn't one of the first people in line to get food, then he just won't eat. Maybe that's just part of his trauma from being at sea his entire life talking again, though. In any case, Buggy gets his steak (and his vegetables) and has a seat in the dining room, where a few of his men are already sitting and enjoying their own meals.

He makes some casual chit-chat with his crew and listens to various members ramble about their day and tell some stories before he shares a few short stories of his own with them. Dinner time was always a big deal on the Oro Jackson, so naturally it’s the same when it comes to any ship Buggy’s the captain of. He loves feeling like a real family and having dinner with his children, if that wasn’t obvious already. Is it partially because it gives him the chance to brag and to tell a bunch of (fake) stories about himself and his past?! Maybe, but it’s really nobody’s business. 

“Say, did I ever tell you kids about the time I took on all seven of the orginal seven war lords?!” Buggy asks the small group of pirates surrounding him. “It was an intense seven versus one battle, and I didn’t even have Cabaji or Mohji to back me up!” 

The men surrounding him all give him a look of disbelief, as they rightfully should. There’s a brief pause in their chatter before things quickly become lively again. “No, you never told us that story, Captain!” One of the men replies. 

“Tell us about it, Captain!” Exclaims another. 

“Woah, you fought them without any backup at all? Chairmen, you’re too cool!” Praises a third member of the crew. 

Buggy grins at their responses, “You kids know me. Your captain Buggy is nothing but an honest man, So I won’t lie and say the battle was over quickly. In reality, it was a little difficult, even for someone of my caliber.” he pretends to think about this supposed battle he had with the seven original warlords. “Hm, out of all of them, I think Doflamingo was the toughest. No, it was Kuma. No, no it was…”

Just as Buggy’s about to finish his sentence, the door to the dining room swings open. First Crocodile comes in and then Mihawk follows closely behind him. The sight of them causes Buggy’s words to dry up in his mouth. “On second thought, I’ll tell you guys the rest of the story later. It really is a long one and I don’t think I could tell you it over dinner.”

Naturally his children look disappointed and begin to complain: “Aw, but we want to hear the story!” 

“Yeah, tell us about your fight against the seven warlords anyways, Captain! We’ll sit here all night if we have to!”

Buggy chuckles nervously, mainly because Crocodile’s staring him down now, “No, I'd rather tell you about the time I… I had a friendly dispute with Red-Haired Shanks and fought him for twelve days and twelve nights!”

One of the crew members gasps, “Twelve days and twelve nights?!” That’s what he said, isn’t it? Of course, it’s all bullshit regardless of what story he tells, though. Buggy does have some real harrowing tales of his own that he could tell, but he doesn’t like the emotions associated with some of said tales. He doesn’t like to admit that his past is filled with tragedy, defeat, and endless hardships. In fact, everything that’s ever happened to Buggy in his life was either dumb luck or bad luck, and there’s been no in between.

As Buggy tells this new fictional story, he somehow winds up sitting in the middle of Mihawk and Crocodile. He doesn’t understand why they have to sit right beside him when there are plenty of other free seats at the dining table. He tries not to think about it, though. After all, they are shipmates... or something like that, and Mihawk and Crocodile are the closest with Buggy, so their choice of seats makes sense in a way. The other two don't really socialize like the rest of the crew do, they only offer curt replies and grunts in response to most things said to them or asked. Nobody seems to really mind it, though, and the atmosphere somehow continues to be light-hearted and fun despite their presence.  

Buggy's not like Crocodile and Mihawk (obviously), he rambles endlessly to his crew as he eats because they never get tired of listening to him. Even if he sometimes retells the same story or gets caught telling a small white lie, his crew never bothers to correct him, so he never shuts up. “And that’s when Red-Haired Shanks threw his sword down on the ground and finally surrendered!” Buggy tells his men. They seem amazed, but Mihawk obviously doesn’t feel the same way. He snorts and mutters something under his breath, but thankfully Buggy can’t hear him, so it doesn’t matter anyways.

Funnily enough, Buggy doesn’t seem to mind that Crocodile and Mihawk are around. In fact, he forgets they’re even in the same room as him from time to time until one of them scoffs quietly after he says something unbelievable. Every now and again, though, he does catch one of them looking at him. Mihawk in particular, often stares at him with a blank expression on his face, whilst Crocodile looks just plain agitated with him whenever he looks at him. Buggy would assume that they’re angry or annoyed with him, but they never say anything. They don’t tell him to shut up, or really react, they just give him the same unreadable reactions over and over again. Surely if they were actually bothered by anything he’s saying or doing, they’d say something. So, after a while, Buggy realizes they’re not angry, just mean looking. (Well, he knew that before, but still.)

Much to Buggy’s dismay, his steak is gone within no time. He didn't even get to savor it really, he just inhaled his food without thinking, and now he’s poking at some potatoes that look rather unappetizing, well, less appetizing than a steak does. He glances over to his side and takes note of how Mihawk has barely touched his own entrée. Perhaps Buggy should have saved the best for last, like Mihawk did, but he was dying to sink his teeth into something that wasn’t fish, sea king, or crab for once. All of a sudden, Mihawk looks over at him again and locks eyes with him, "Here." He simply says before he cuts his steak and gives Buggy half of it without waiting for him to give a proper response.

“You don’t have t-...” Buggy tries to stop Mihawk from sharing his steak with him, but it’s too late. Less than a second later, it’s sitting in the middle of Buggy’s plate, and he stares at it. “Thank you.” He mutters, feeling slightly defeated yet grateful. So, the world’s strongest swordsman is good at sharing, who would have known?

“Mhm,” Mihawk replies in a quiet voice, “There’s no need to thank me…”

A sharp click of the tongue comes from Buggy’s right all of a sudden. “You starving or something?” Crocodile asks, glancing over at Buggy as well. 

“What? N–” Buggy tries to reply again, but before he can, there’s already a second piece of steak on his plate courtesy of Crocodile. Why are they like this…? “... Thank you.” he says yet again, and he receives a grunt from Crocodile in response:

“Tasted cheap anyways.” 

Of course, he would say something like that. Buggy thinks as he heaves a small sigh and continues his meal. This time he eats a little slower, and actually enjoys the juicy steak and all its rich flavors. It most definitely does not taste cheap in Buggy’s opinion, but what does he know? He’s not loaded like Crocodile is.

Dinner is fantastic and for dessert they have some chocolate cake. It’s nothing special, but when you’ve been eating the same crap for a while, anything slightly different from the norm tastes like heaven. Buggy was starting to feel full by the time dessert rolled around, but how could he ever pass up a piece of cake, especially when he doesn’t really get the chance to eat sweet things? 

Buggy groans softly when that first bite of chocolate cake enters his mouth. It tastes so rich and chocolatey, and– Mihawk glances over at Buggy, and watches him eat for a moment before he proceeds to slide his entire plate of cake over to him. “Eat it. I don’t like sweets.” He tells Buggy. Then why’d you take it in the first place? Buggy thinks, confused as hell. Why the hell would Buggy want his cake? He has his own, and Mihawk literally just saw him eat a huge meal. 

Buggy’s just about to tell Mihawk that he doesn’t want his food when Crocodile clicks his tongue, “Take mine too. Chocolate gives me heartburn, and I don’t like that shit.” Are they serious right now? What’s Buggy going to do with three pieces of fucking cake?! 

Buggy sighs, “Look, guys, I–...”

“Eat it.” Mihawk and Crocodile order at the same time, and Buggy… Well, Buggy listens to them obediently, just like he usually does. His original slice of cake is delicious and goes down smoothly, but halfway through the second slice of cake, he starts to wonder if he’s involved in some sort of cruel and unusual punishment. In the end, he doesn’t finish all of the cake given to him but Mihawk and Crocodile don’t seem to mind, and it makes Buggy wonder what this was all for.

… 

After dinner, the crew gathers around on the front deck and tries to figure out who will watch over the ship while everyone else sleeps tonight. Since Buggy is the most rested member of the crew, he volunteers for night patrol. He expects a few of his men to volunteer to join him or even take his place, but Mihawk beats them to the punch: “I’ll join you.” He simply states, “I don’t sleep well during the night anyways.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Buggy mutters quietly. Why is it that every time Buggy volunteers for something, Mihawk immediately follows suit? “It shouldn’t be too much trouble to keep guard on my own.” He gives a generic excuse, but truth be told, he’s not sure if he’s ready to be all alone with Mihawk again, especially for an entire night. He can’t tell him that, though. 

Mihawk puts up his hand, “It’s fine, I don’t mind helping out. Besides, there’s no such thing as being too cautious, especially after last night. It’s better to have an extra set of eyes around just in case something goes amiss like last night.” His argument makes sense, but Buggy can’t help but think Mihawk’s not being completely honest. Does he really want to just help Buggy look after the ship, or does he just want to be alone with him for around 8 or 9 hours? Actually, he doesn’t think he wants the answer to that. 

Buggy’s suddenly brought out of his thoughts when he hears Crocodile snort loudly, “You know, I was going to volunteer to keep watch with you, but Hawkeye beat me to the punch,” he complains with a scoff.

Mihawk heaves a sigh, “If you want to join us, I won’t stop you.”

“Oh, please. We both know you want him all to yourself.”

Buggy blinks once, twice, thrice. There was a lot to unpack from that small conversation alone, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to try to figure out the meanings behind their words. Nope. Instead he turns around and leaves while Crocodile and Mihawk start bickering with each other.  He starts saying goodnight to the rest of the crew, turns off any lights that the others accidentally left on, and makes sure they’re still on the right course before settling down for the night. 

Earlier in the day, one of his men had informed him that the island they’re heading to is about two days away. Mihawk picked their destination, and It’s supposed to be an island with a tropical climate that’s west of where they are right now. Buggy forgets the name of it, though, but thinks it’s something related to plants or nature. They’ll go there and then rest for a couple of days before following their original plans and going to Prickly Pear. Maybe Buggy will finally get the chance to relax and clear his mind during their little detour. God knows he would love to get Mihawk off his mind finally. 

Buggy’s sitting on a large wooden crate not too far from the ship’s helm when he suddenly hears soft footsteps approaching him. Speak of the devil, he thinks as Mihawk comes into view. He’s all alone, though, and Buggy can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “What happened with Crocodile?” He asks when his curiosity gets the best of him. 

“I ended up asking him to go to bed,” Mihawk casually replies as he has a seat on a crate that’s next to the one Buggy’s on. That reply makes Buggy even more curious. He knows he shouldn’t ask for Mihawk to elaborate but he ends up doing it anyways. 

“Why’d you do that?” Buggy asks - like he doesn’t already know. 

Mihawk is silent for a moment before he shrugs, “I didn’t feel like arguing with him all night.” He replies, which isn’t quite the response Buggy was expecting to hear. “Plus, he was right, I did want you all to myself.” 

Buggy almost chokes on his spit after the second part of Mihawk’s reply. “I didn’t think that the world’s strongest swordsman would be such a shameless flirt.” he mutters, looking away. Words can’t describe how irritating he finds it every time Mihawk’s words catch him off guard and make him feel all flustered. 

“A shameless flirt?” Mihawk repeats, sounding slightly amused. “I wouldn’t say I’m a shameless flirt by any means. I just don’t hold back when it comes to my feelings for you.” He can say that again. “Should I try and tone things down, though?”

“Oh, why are you even asking me something as stupid as that?” Buggy grumbles under his breath, “I don’t care what you do, okay? You could flirt with me until the end of time, and it wouldn’t make any difference!” 

“What a shame.” Mihawk sighs, “And here I thought maybe I was finally making some progress with you.” Ha, yeah, right! Buggy still feels the same way he felt about Mihawk as before. That hug earlier was a fluke and nothing more… Mihawk leans back, stretching his long legs out and getting more comfortable on the crate he’s sitting on, “Well, in any case, I’m just glad that we’re on speaking terms. I won’t ask for too much.” 

Buggy doesn’t have a reply for that. He doesn’t have a reply for, like, half of the things Mihawk says, actually. He’s come to realize that Mihawk’s ridiculously sweet and selfless at times, and he doesn’t know what to do with that information. He’s used to the aloof Mihawk that doesn’t try to talk to him and often insults him, not the sweet, regretful Mihawk who finds little excuses to be around him and converses with him at every opportunity. 

“Dinner was nice tonight.” Mihawk suddenly says, pulling Buggy out of his thoughts. It was nice, minus the part where Mihawk and Crocodile kept insisting he take their food. Ugh, Buggy still feels a little bloated and it’s been a whole two hours since dinner. “But what was that story you were about to tell the crew? The one about you facing the seven warlords all by yourself?” 

Buggy’s eyes widen to a comical degree. “What? What are you talking about? Me? Fighting the seven warlords on my own?! That didn't happen.” he says quickly, waving his hand dismissively. “I was one of you guys, remember? Why would I fight the other warlords?” 

“No, you definitely told the rest of the crew that you fought the other warlords on your own,” Mihawk insists, “I don’t remember this happening, though. Perhaps you knocked me senseless during battle?” 

Buggy covers his face with one of his hands. God, why did they have to walk into the dining room at that exact moment? He goes quiet for a long moment, unsure how to explain himself. “Did you beat me too?” Mihawk asks, and his soft voice takes on a playful edge to it. Well, at least he isn’t mad about Buggy’s story time.

“Yeah, yeah. I beat you.” Buggy mutters, still feeling painfully embarrassed by his own white lie. 

“Oh, Congratulations,” Mihawk tells Buggy, sounding a little impressed. “And here I thought I’ve gone undefeated in battle for over two decades now, If only I knew the truth.”

Buggy whines softly, “Please, don’t be mad. I just say shit sometimes, okay?” He says, trying to explain himself a little. He… He’s a chronic liar, a show-off, and a big mouth!  

“Oh, I know.” 

Oh, thank G– Wait, what does he mean ‘I know’? Buggy side eyes Mihawk for that little comment, but he doesn’t try to start an argument with him or anything (not that he would win anyways.) “If I really wanted to, I could probably defeat all of you, though.” 

Mihawk stares at Buggy wordlessly, “...” he turns his head away a moment later, and Buggy feels his eye twitching. What was that look supposed to mean?! Huh, is he saying Buggy couldn’t beat him? (he couldn’t). Is he saying Buggy is weak? Buggy is so tired of people looking down on him, an— 

“I’’m glad you’re finally acting normal again.” Mihawk suddenly says, and the words catch Buggy completely off guard. “You were awfully pitiful for a while there.” Yeah? Well, whose fault was that?! “I don’t like seeing you look down, but… I don’t know how to comfort people.” 

They stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment before Buggy replies in a soft voice, “I wasn’t feeling down. But, if I were, why would I want you to comfort me?” he asks, scoffing.

Mihawk shrugs, “You have a point. I haven’t been good to you in the past. You probably still see me in a negative light, right?” He exhales a quiet breath, “In the future, though…If you’re sad and need someone to comfort you, I hope you’ll come to me first.” he reaches over, and before Buggy can even process what’s happening or being said to him, Mihawk puts his hand on top of his. “I’m not good at comforting people, but I’ll try my best to ease your worries.”

Buggy shuts down completely. He can’t speak, he can’t think, all he can do is stare at Mihawk. He spends an unreasonable amount of time searching those golden eyes of Mihawk’s for any signs of deception. Mihawk’s face and expression looks so soft underneath the warm glow of the ship's lights, though, and he looks like he's being honest. Does he really mean it…? Buggy wonders one last time before he finally accepts Mihawk's words as the truth.

God, he means it. 

Buggy swallows down a thick wad of spit, “Ha! Nothing can bring me down,” He says at long last, lying through his teeth yet again, “But… I’ll keep what you said in mind,” He adds quietly before he looks up at the dark, starless sky. He searches for something to keep his mind off of Mihawk as well as the weight of his hand on top of his. There are no stars, no moon, hell, there’s not even a single cloud in the sky to look at.

With nothing else to focus on, Buggy’s thoughts bounce around chaotically. He suddenly realizes that Mihawk’s moved a little closer and that he smells incredible. Whatever cologne Mihawk is wearing smells warm and earthy, and kind of expensive too. Has he always smelled this good? Buggy shakes the question out of his head, and his attention soon turns to the fact that his heart is thrumming in his chest. He doesn’t want to think about how his body is reacting to Mihawk right now, though, so he forces himself to try to listen to Mihawk as he begins chatting to him again, but then he realizes that Mihawk’s talking to him more and more these days. Not only is he talking to Buggy more and more these days, but his voice is always so soft when he speaks to him, and the words he says are often thoughtful and earnest. 

Several words are exchanged, and conversations flow easier than ever before between the two. It’s then that Buggy realizes just how much effort Mihawk is putting into trying to talk to him, so… so he returns that energy. The two discuss their future plans some more, talk about Buggy’s men, and even exchange some stories with each other. Normally, Buggy would tell a story that makes him look good, that story could be real or fake, but it would most definitely make him seem like a great and mighty pirate. He decides to just tell small little tales from his time on the Oro Jackson instead, stuff that he’s always found funny. He doesn’t expect Mihawk to find his stories humorous or even interesting, but on more than one occasion, Buggy catches Mihawk leaning in closer, listening to him intently and even chuckling at some of the things Buggy says.

As they speak, Buggy also notes how every once in a while Mihawk will look down at his painted lips for about three or four seconds before he quickly looks back up at Buggy’s eyes. Buggy tries to ignore it, but it’s hard when Mihawk stares so shamelessly at him. Whenever he notices him doing it, he always short circuits, unsure what to do. In fact the next time it happens, he loses his whole train of thought. 

He’s in the middle of telling Mihawk another story when Mihawk’s gaze suddenly drops down to his lips again. It’s like the third time he's done that, but who’s counting? Once again, Buggy’s mind goes blank, and he can’t help but look down at Mihawk’s mouth in return. It was for, like, less than a second, though! He quickly looks away, horrified at his own reaction. 

God, what is wrong with Buggy?

There's another tense moment of silence before Mihawk finally speaks up again, “I have a random question to ask you,” Mihawk announces softly as he reaches out slowly and brushes a couple of pieces of silky blue hair out of Buggy’s face. “Do you have feelings for anyone right now? It doesn’t have to be for me, it can be for anyone.” God, it must be getting late in the night. The type of late where anyone talking to you wants to have deep and meaningful conversations. 

Buggy scoffs, “Hell no.” He replies, not wanting to think about the question or take too long to answer it, either. “I haven’t had feelings for anyone in over a decade.” He admits - that’s the truth. 

“Was it Shanks?” Mihawk asks, “I mean… Was he the last person who you had feelings for?” Oh, good grief, is it that obvious? Does Buggy seem like a bitter ex lover or something or is Mihawk just really perceptive?

Buggy groans, what a mood killer, he thinks as he looks away. “Yes, it was Shanks, but who gives a shit?” he retorts. 

“Was he your first love?”

“Oh, who cares?!”

“I’m just curious, that’s all.” 

Buggy feels a headache coming on, “Yes. He was my first love.  He was my first…everything, okay?” He replies with a groan, “But I’m telling you, none of that matters. We’re not together or anything, and we haven’t been together for a while now.” 

Mihawk is silent for a moment before he asks Buggy yet another annoying question, “Do you still love him?” He loves Shanks as much as he loves a hangnail. There couldn’t be a more annoying man on the surface of this planet than Red-Haired Shanks. “You can be honest, Buggy. I won't get upset or anything.” 

God, does he really think Buggy has feelings for Shanks? Is this what this is all about? Oh, that’s stupid. “Look,” Buggy replies, clasping his hands together, “I will always love him, he’s my best friend, okay?” 

“But are you currently in love with him, Buggy?” 

No, you idiot. Buggy pauses. For some reason, he wants to put Mihawk's mind at ease even though he knows he doesn’t have to. It’s not like he and Mihawk are together or anything, but still… Buggy sighs and continues, “I’m in love with a couple of memories from twenty years ago, but nothing more.” He admits, “I’m old enough to finally understand that we just want different things in life, and that’s okay. I’m over him, okay? He’s a fucking idiot.”

Mihawk nods in response, “So I’m guessing you’re into men who are more like Shanks then?” 

Buggy snorts, “Oh, god. No.” He groans, “I couldn’t be with someone like him again. He pissed me off too much. I would rather be in a more stable relationship with someone who is kind, loyal, and reliable, you know?”

“Mhm,” Mihawk hums, “That sounds like me.” You must be sleep deprived, Buggy thinks. Reliable, maybe, but Mihawk being kind and loyal? Buggy’s not too sure about that, even if Mihawk has been on his best behavior as of lately. “I’m reliable, loyal to a fault, and… I know I haven’t been the kindest in the past, but…give me a chance to prove myself, will you? I can be warm and gentle.” He threads their fingers together, holding Buggy’s hand for real this time. Buggy doesn’t pull away from his touch either, even when his stomach practically does flips, he still doesn’t pull his hand away from Mihawk’s. 

“You try too damn hard,” Buggy mutters under his breath. He’s not actually complaining or anything, though. If anything, he’s just stating the truth. He doesn’t think he’s ever had anyone try this hard to get on his good side before. Hell, even his own men don’t try this hard to win him over.

“Am I bothering you or making you feel uncomfortable?” Mihawk asks, “If so, I apologize. I just haven’t had feelings for someone in a long, long time.” He admits, “I’m nervous and I just…” he chuckles quietly. He's nervous? No, that can't be true. Mihawk doesn’t get nervous. “I just really want you to return my feelings, but I’m worried that our disastrous past will prevent you from ever liking me back,” He squeezes Buggy’s hand softly, “I’m completely lost here, Buggy. I don’t know how to redeem myself and make myself more likable. If i’m bothering you in anyway, though, just tell me and i’ll back off. I swear.”

…

…

It takes Buggy a moment to respond, but he eventually squeezes Mihawk’s hand back, “...You’re not bothering me.” he whispers quietly. Part of him hopes Mihawk won’t hear him, but the moment he sees Mihawk smile softly and look down at their hands, he knows he got his hopes up for nothing. God, what am I doing? He finds himself wondering yet again. 

[merrygay]

“Ah ah… What did you say ?”

Alastor x reader

Warning : NSFW, Dacryphilia, Dark Themes, cannibalism, Alastor is a Warning himself. English is not my first language. I’m bad at writing synopsis. I’m bad at writing in general in fact.

Synopsis : Innocent reader tries to make a deal with Vox in order to protect herself from Alastor.

Other : Lovely ; Alastor x reader

(Sorry for the long delay, college is kicking my ass)

————————————————————————

It’s been a week since the incident with Alastor happened, he hadn’t touched you since or even come your way.

Though you still tried to avoid him like the plague, every time you saw him, around the corner, in the living room, anywhere, you just quickly run away for dear life.

You were scared, what if this time he eats you for good ? What if he does the same thing he did last time and then proceed to eat you at the same ? You were getting paranoid at this point.

Seeing your small figure scare away from him like the pretty prey that you are made him grin even wider. He was clearly enjoying this, enjoying you, at first he hated that he lost control to a miserable thing like you, but as time passes the idea of a plaything didn’t seem to bother him anymore, especially when he was this hungry.

You've tried to forget what happened, you've really tried, but every night when you're alone in bed, you can't help yourself.

The pulsating feeling between your legs won’t stop, oh poor you, it gets even worse when the image of his head between your legs becomes clearer, his tongue unashamedly licking the most intimate part of your body, making a mess of himself with your juices as they drip from your sensitive pussy while you moan and whimper.

An innocent thing like you can’t even understand why you are feeling like this.

You rub your thighs to cease the sensation the same sensation you felt when he did this forbidden thing to you but it doesn’t work, you keep whining until you finally fell asleep.

You had to find a solution and quick, you don’t know when he’s going to jump on you again and this time eat you for good.

So Here you were, in front of the building of nonetheless than the Vees. It was a dumb idea let’s be honest here. Each step you take to get closer to the doors makes your heart beats faster. Making a deal with Vox must be better than being killed by Alastor right ? Right ?

_

“You want me to do what now ?”

The man in front of you, with a flat-screen TV for a face, looked at you as if you'd said the stupidest thing in the world.

“Why would I make a deal with an employee of this stupid fucking hotel huh ?”

You swallow nervously at his answer, playing with your fingers as you try to avoid his piercing gaze.

“I-I need to make a deal with you because I heard you are the only one who is as strong as Alastor-“

Vox smiles widen as he seems to like the compliment, “Ahah. Go on, continue I don’t have the whole fucking day” he says tapping against his office table.

You then proceed to explain, trying to avoid some of the… more embarrassing details.

he begins to laugh… laugh ? Why is he laughing ?

“You’re telling me that you are the new toy of Alastor”

He pauses for a second smiling devilishly while looking at you from head to toe

“You know what I’ll make deal with you, stealing Alastor fucking food is much more fun I can’t wait to see the face of this old prick when-”

His TV face starts to vibrate, you could see it was one of the other Vees calling. He puts the call in one of his other TV.

“Hello there, Velvet. How are you this Hellish morning”, in stark contrast to Vox lively greeting, Velvet response was one of pure annoyance.

“Cut the shit vox, i need you up here NOW. Your little boy toy is wracking my department while I tried to put together a show !”

Other voices could be heard behind her notably Valentino’s who was cursing around, yelling and destroying the entire department. Velvet ends the call without giving Vox any chance to say something.

Vox’s smiling face drops, he lets out a loud sigh.

“Here I was.. excited for something… anyway come this afternoon, so we can finalize our deal, I have a fire to put out upstairs”

With that, you leave the building, and quickly go back to the hotel avoiding the sinners running around and killing each other.

-

You open the doors, but it's strangely quiet - maybe they've gone out, you wonder. You climb the stairs back to your room, but when you finally reach the corridor, you suddenly hear a static sound.

“Are you still going to avoid me hmm ?”

You hear that familiar voice, filtered through the radio, with that all-too-familiar smile. He appeared right in front of you. You flinch and take a few steps back, your legs ready to run in the opposite direction.

He chuckles, his smile widening, awnnn how cute, you're still this scared of him.

“Now now don’t be scared, I just want to have a little chat with you” he says while turning around. Alastor was now walking towards your room Insinuating you to follow him.

“N-no ! I’m not going to, you should stay away from me, I made a deal with Vox !”

As those words settles in, the corridor seemed to shrink, suffocating you in a claustrophobic embrace.

The lights starts to flicker casting grotesque shadows on the peeling wallpaper.

A sudden chill permeated the air, causing goosebumps to rise on your already trembling skin.

“Haha.. What did you say ?” His voice took on a deeper timbre through his radio filter.

An oppressive weight settled over the corridor, squeezing the breath from your lungs and filling your minds with irrational fear.

He turns to you, his predatory eyes shining through the flickering lights. Each step seemed to echo with ominous intent while he grew taller and taller and his antlers increased in size.

"Do you really think he can keep me away from you? I don't think you really understand the situation you're in, my dear… You're my plaything, my prey and my meal. If you utter those stupid words again... I'll end Vox's life and broadcast his screams for every disrespectful wreck who dares to take what's MINE”

You were on the floor, you shaky legs were to weak to stand on their own, while Alastor’s glowing eyes pierced through your soul.

"Have I made myself clear?" He asks, leaning slightly so that his face is close to yours. You nod, lips pressed together, too scared to speak.

He tilted his head, his eyes softened, but the smirk that played on his lips refused to yield, a silent mockery that belied his gentle gaze.

In stark contrast to the anger that had consumed him mere moments ago, his voice now returned to its normal tone as he uttered the words “good girl” while petting your head.

The transition was jarring, as if a storm had suddenly given way to a calm, clear sky, leaving those around him bewildered by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

He straighten up and turns his back to you “Come now, I don’t know for you my dear but all that action has worked up quite an appetite, I'm absolutely famished !” he chuckles darkly as he starts walking towards your room.

He didn't give you time to get up, as one of his tentacles wrapped itself around your waist forcefully.

-

Next thing you know, Alastor was sitting at the edge of your bed, you straddling his lap facing him, with only your bra and skirt remaining still while your shirt was torn on the floor.

“You are terrible liar” Alastor force you to look at his smirking face.

“You didn’t make any deal .. yet” as he states those words without any warning he bites your neck, you let out a cry of surprise, you tried to get away, pushing him away in vain, he had one firm hand placed on your hips his claws digging in harder and harder each time you moved. Ironically his other hand holds yours in a romantic embrace, your fingers intertwined to his.

“Stay still, or I will devour you. You have no idea how much I’m restraining myself right now little one”, he can't help it, it's been a week since he's tasted you, since he's bitten your pretty little body, everything about you drives him crazy, your smell ahh your smell.

He goes back to your neck this time nestling there, inhaling deeply and then proceed to lick the spot he bit earlier, licking up the blood, his tongue started to go down, until he reached your breasts still covered with your bra, he looks up at you, smirking.

You were a trembling mess, your emotions swirled like a tempest, fear tightening your chest with every breath, embarrassment flooding your cheeks with a telltale blush. Yet amidst the chaos, a stirring of arousal sent shivers along your back, a well too familiar feeling between your thighs started to show up much to your dismay.

His hand, which was on your hips moved with a slow, deliberate, grace, gradually tracing a path upwards, each caress sending shivers down your spine until it reached the delicate lace of your bra.

His eyes were still staring into yours, drinking in your every reaction as his claws ripped the clasp of your bra, freeing your breasts for his hungry eyes to see.

You tried to cover them with your hand but He withdraws it “a-a”, he says sarcastically before his tongue trace a sensual path along your neck, gradually venturing lower and lower, your breath came in shallow gaps, each inhalation tinged with anticipation.

He finally reaches your chest, his tongue tracing precise circles around your nipples, you try to stifle your moans with your hand, but he suddenly bites your breast, making you cry out his name as he chuckles.

He continues for a while without ever ceasing to lick and bite, his hand still intertwined with yours, as you keep whimpering.

He was getting excited each sounds that came out of your mouth made him feral making his antlers grow and his eyes took on a predatory gleam, a never stopping hunger.

Without Warning, he forcefully lifted you from his lap, abruptly changing position as he pushed you down onto the bed, he slid your legs up onto his shoulders, giving him access to your thighs which he didn’t wait a minute before biting on it much more harder this time making you yelp in pain.

You watch his shark like teeth digging into the flesh of your skin, eliciting a crimson flow that trickled down you thigh, his tongue darted out to lap at the blood pooling around the wound, hungrily savoring again the metallic tang of the fluid.

“P-Please stop” you begged, tears rolling down your cheeks. He ignores your plead instead he keeps going, biting your other thigh, licking it and then taking another bite, while he slowly gets closer to your cunt.

His fingers played with the edge of your damp panties, teasing you. Your pussy was dripping wet. Your scent was intoxicating, everything about you was intoxicating, the way he was ruining you, both physically and mentally turned him on even more.

He abruptly ripped out your panties, your pussy was now exposed to him, it took him a lot of restraint for him not to eat you right fucking now, just like before.

His index finger teased a delicate trail along your belly, he descended lower his nail traced a deliberate scratch along your skin, igniting a surge of desire that pulsed through your vein.

You weren’t supposed to feel like this, but instead of hating it, you were desperate, one part you wanted him to touch your pussy, make you feel the same feeling of just pure bliss, and the other part, fear just pure fear.

“P-Please don’t go any lower” you plead again each word punctuated by a stifled sob, but it was too late, the demon before you was too intoxicated by your scent, by your wetness, your whole body really.

Again your pretty little mind had no idea about the struggle he was going through right now, struggling to restrain his cannibalistic impulses, and hearing your cries wasn’t helping at all, in the contrary, he derived such pleasure from your tears.

The way your puffy eyes would look at him, lips cutely pressed together, face flushed ahhh don’t blame him for acting out while you look this delicious.

“I want your soul” the demon says, before his finger applied gently pressure to your sensitive button, making you gasp in pleasure, he stroked circular motions over your clit heightened the pace, while watching your face which was trying not to moan but failed miserably.

“Let’s make a deal”, you were surprised by his sudden request “w-what” you stutters out, is he really suggesting it now ? Like right now in the middle of that ?

You couldn’t think straight you were too absorb by the pleasure he was providing you, you shake your head no, which made him stopped his movements making you whine, you look up at him, with that desperate look on your face.

Suddenly, he thrusts two fingers inside you, causing you to let out a moan of surprise at the sudden intrusion.

Alastor didn’t like the way you reacted to his request and it showed, as he pushes his fingers in and out with a forceful intensity.

He easily found your sweet spot, not letting you the time to process anything, you were a moaning mess at this point, clutching the sheets, fingers digging into the fabric while you begged him to slow down it was all too much for you.

“I will take you under my wig, and in exchange your soul would be mine forever” he declares.

Oh how ironic was it ? The problem himself proposing you this offer, it’s not like this morning you were literally trying to find a solution to get away from him.

You couldn’t reply back, only moans came out of that pretty mouth of yours making him chuckle, the intense heat that was building inside you, ready to be released at any moment was making you dizzy.

And then

He stops

Completely

Leaving you in a state of desperate longing, denied the released you craved.

“A-Alastor” you keep whining, moving your hips desperately.

“Accept my deal… just let it go” you couldn’t resist anymore you needed this so badly, you finally nod which made Alastor’s smile became more sinister as he starts to push his fingers in and out again, each stroke hitting your sweet spot harder, his other free hand comes towards yours to take, “it’s a deal then ?”.

The atmosphere changed drastically, Alastor form was becoming more demonic but you couldn’t care less at this point fear already consumed you, you were too absorb on reaching your climax now.

You hold his hand, nodding eagerly, moaning out a yes, and that’s all he needed to hear. Before you know it a collar appeared around your neck its chain dangling freely for Alastor to hold, which he does.

His fingers was buried deep inside your pussy while his other hand grasped the chain of your collar, you were his now forever there’s no going back.

Your body quivered with anticipation as you were reaching you peak, your tried to speak but your words were incoherent, but Alastor knew what you were about to say.

He suddenly buried his face between your legs, his fingers remaining inside you pumping in and out rapidly, while his tongue was devouring your pussy as if each taste was his last.

Your arched your back and with a shuddering gasp your body convulsed letting waves of pleasure washing over you, your moans getting louder as you finally came.

Your juices were all over his mouth and fingers. He eagerly took all in swallowing it without hesitation, while you were laying there panting and whimpering trying to regain some sense.

Alastor straighten himself, pulling out his fingers and bringing it to his mouth to lick it clean while fixing you with an intense gaze.

After regaining some sort of composure, a flicker of realization crossed over your features “n-n-n-noo what have I done !”, your voice rise in panic as you seat up, which made Alastor laugh with mockery each chuckle making you realize even more in what situation you were in now.

You tried to get off the bed but the grip that had Alastor on the chain held you firmly in place.

“Oh my dear, but I’m not done yet” he says before slamming you back into the bed.

Indeed he wasn’t done yet.

———————————————————————

It’s 3 am and I hope what I wrote made sense

[mulletpermsicantlookaway]

The Cupbearer, Part 2

This is my continuation from where @joshslater left off. The original is here:

https://joshslater.tumblr.com/post/186036408823/the-cupbearer and in my reblog here:

https://www.tumblr.com/mulletpermsicantlookaway/781050918304137216/the-cupbearer

Day 4, 9:28

As Tyler looked on, I put the sealed cup in my backpack. I was about to leave, but then I turned and really looked at him, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Honestly, Tyler, is there anything left of you in there? I mean, do you still care about me at all, or do you just care about me getting Steve with this…this thing?”

For a second, his cocky smirk vanished. He almost looked thoughtful. Maybe he was.

“Bro, it’s not as if I didn’t try to warn you. Why do you think I was avoiding you? You shouldn’t have pushed me so hard. I got angry and lost it, and believe me, bro, I can get super aggressive now, super fast. You weren’t on the list yet. You were safe. Probably.”

“But you were my best friend! I couldn’t just desert you, not after all we’d been for each other, not without finding out why!”

“Look, bro, now you know why, mostly. Even if I’d wanted, it’s not as if I could have just hung out with you like before. And after I – changed – you and I didn’t have anything in common anymore. Seriously, dude, you have no idea how fucking annoying you nerds are! Every time I see one of you – even, even you – I just want to stuff you in a locker. Do I remember being your friend? Is that what you want to know?  I do. I’m sorry. For all the fat lot of good it does us now. But cheer up! You and I’ll be friends again now, bro. Real soon.”

Damn. I felt sorry for him, but that hateful, cocky smirk was back, and I wanted to slap that stupid smile off his face. Maybe he was a victim, but he didn’t look like one. He and I will be friends again soon? I couldn’t help it; I started crying again as I realized what was going to happen to me.

“I hate you so fucking much, Tyler. And I’m going to end up just like you, aren’t I? A big brute with a cocky smile, ready to terrorize any nerd that comes along. ‘You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.’ Damn! Fuck! I should just end this now and jump off a bridge or run out in front of a bus or something. Then this nightmare would finally be fucking over!

Tyler suddenly grabbed me by my shoulders. Hard. His eyes bored into mine. He let go his right hand long enough to smack my face before grabbing me even tighter. Shit, he was strong now! There was no way I could move. My face stung.

“Dude, seriously, none of that! DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT IT! Stop it now! Trust me. Don’t try. It won’t work.”

He didn’t look so cocky now, but I wasn’t sure if he was worried about me or what. He still gripped me so hard I couldn’t move. Between sobs, I said: “How do you know it won’t work?”

The look in his eyes intensified. Was it anger? Pain? Fear? Was he afraid of what I might do, or was something else going on?  I said, “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. But can you at least tell me what it’s gonna be like? Can you tell me if I’ve got anything to fucking live for?”

“Bro, I wish I could. I do. But I can’t explain it the way you want. You’ll have to find out for yourself. I’m sorry. I truly am. Believe me, bro, I just don’t remember much about what happened.”

“But are you happy now, Tyler?” I said, still sobbing. “I mean, you look great and all that, as big dumb brutes go. You’re as strong as an ox, and you seem happy enough, going out with Brittney and hanging out with the guys and all that. Look, I just need to know that I’ll be okay. I just need to know that there’s some hope that I won’t be miserable for the rest of my life.”

Tyler relaxed his grip a tiny bit.

“Look, bro, if that’s what you really want to know – yes, you’ll be okay. You’ll be better than okay. You will. You’ll probably be happier than you’ve ever been. I am. But you’re not there yet. And the sooner you find Steve and do what you need to, the sooner you’ll be done. Because you’re right about one thing – resistance is futile.”

“Nerding out on me, eh, jock boy? Yeah, resistance is futile, all right. I know.”

I sighed and stopped sobbing. Tyler released his grip and pushed me away. I think he was trying to be gentle about it, but I still staggered a bit. The jock boy didn’t know his own strength yet. I rubbed my sore cheek gingerly. With that unreadable look still on his face, he said quietly:

“I’ll tell you another secret. Girls will never admit it, but they really like – how did you put it – big dumb brutes? And some boys do, too. Anyway, bro, it’s high time for both of us to be out of here before someone comes looking. Now go! Just don’t do anything stupid. You know what I mean – don’t think about doing any of those things you were talking about. Text me if you have to. Now fucking get out of here or I really will have to beat you up, while I still can, anyway.

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Tyler smirked at me. The unreadable look was gone, as if it had never been, and the cocky asshole was back. “Bro, you’re already starting to turn. Maybe you haven’t noticed. Now get lost! See you soon.”

Day 4, 10:42

That talk with Tyler gave me a lot to think about, and I’m not sure if I feel better or worse. It’s nice to have some hope that I’ll be happy again. And I think I got a glimpse of the old Tyler inside the hulking, arrogant jock that he’s become. Part of him seems to care about me still. But I was hoping to have this damn thing off today. With it vibrating all the time, all I can think of is getting off, which is the one thing I can’t do.  I’m hot, then I’m cold, but I’m sweaty even when I’m cold. I’m so horny I can’t even think. I might as well have skipped all my classes, because I don’t remember anything. I really want to hit someone right now. Fuck Tyler! And what did he mean about me starting to turn?

Day 4, 11:28

At first, I was hoping it was my deranged imagination, but I’m almost certain the cup is starting to feel tighter now. A lot tighter. I wish I could believe it’s because it’s shrinking, but I know better. I saw what it did to Tyler, up close and personal. I have got to find that fucking nerd Steve today, or I won’t be able to get it on him until Monday, and I’ll be stuck on edge all weekend. These chinos aren’t going to work much longer. They’re starting to get too tight. And even worse, they’re a little highwater. Fuck! Am I getting taller?

Day 4, 14:17

Suddenly I can’t stop eating. I gorged myself at lunch. Out of nowhere I had a huge appetite. I ate two lunches and I’m still hungry. Steve is nowhere to be found. He either wasn’t in school today or was sent home early. I’ll have to make it through the weekend with vibrating junk! Fuck! I need this off now before I change any more.

Day 4, 16:57

I’d had enough. After school, I didn’t go home. I went to where there’s a nice, high overpass over a busy road. I was going to jump and be done with it. I touched the railing, thinking I would just fling myself over, but as soon as my hands touched the railing, that thing – I don’t know whether it froze me or shocked me or what. When I came to, I was sitting on the curb on the other side of the overpass with some passer-by asking me if I was okay. No, I was not okay! I have no idea how long I was out. But I told her I was fine. I got up and tried to go home, but the cup started freezing me and buzzing like mad as soon as I got anywhere near that overpass. I had to go around and go home another way. It made me wonder: did Tyler try something like this? He did try to warn me, and he was so intense about it, too. At this point, I was so keyed up that I didn’t walk; I actually ran home. Between the cup and the too-tight chinos, I’m sure I looked as uncomfortable as I felt, but I needed to burn off some of my frustration. The weird thing is that the cup seemed to vibrate a lot less when I was running. I could almost think.

Day 4, 20:23

I ate everything in sight at dinner. If this continues, I might have to get a job after school just to pay for the extra food. I shut myself in my room afterward, got on the bed, and stared at the ceiling, bored out of my mind. I just couldn’t get into my comic books or video games with the constant vibration going on. I had to find another way to distract myself. I started doing sit-ups and push-ups and squats and any other exercise I could think of. It was odd, but the more active I was, the vibration in the cup either seemed to stop or was just easier to ignore. Once I’d finally worn myself out, I texted Tyler and asked him if he had a pair of sweatpants I could borrow. He didn’t get back to me right away. There was a football game, naturally. But he said he’d stop by in the morning and bring me something I could wear.

Day 5

It seems stupid to do a bunch of different reports for the same day, so I’ll just do one. After breakfast, Tyler the jock actually dropped by as promised! He probably needed to go watch a football game afterwards to purge himself of any nerdiness he might have picked up at our house, but he came. I really hadn’t expected him to show. And he brought me not one but two pairs of his old sweatpants, a pair of the kind of shorts that jocks tend to wear, and a pair of shoes. It’s good he thought of shoes, because mine were getting tight enough to be uncomfortable. This pair doesn’t fit him anymore, but they’re only a little bit big on me. For now. They smell like jock, of course, but I’ll have to live with that. I don’t see myself wearing the shorts. Maybe they’d be comfortable and practical, but they’re ugly, and I’m not a jock yet. I think the sweatpants will do a better job of covering up the stink from the cup. Unfortunately, I’ll probably have to wear sweatpants to school on Monday. Anyway, it was nice of Tyler to bring me the stuff, and he wasn’t being obnoxious. He seemed kind of chill, actually. Maybe I understand him a little better now. He didn’t stay long, but he probably can’t be seen hanging around me until I’m a jock, too. In any case, you rarely see a jock separate from the herd.

It was my mother’s first glimpse of the new, improved Tyler. She was obviously surprised, but she covered it well enough. After he left, she said something like, “Tyler’s been working out a lot lately, hasn’t he? He looks like a completely different person. I hardly recognized him.”

That gave me my opening. I finally asked her the question that had been on my mind since Day 2. I said something like: “So, if I started to get into working out and football stuff like Tyler, and I started getting big and built like him, and I started hanging out with his jock friends, would that freak you out?”

She looked at me thoughtfully for a bit. Then she said something like, “He’s your best friend. I can tell it’s been really hard on you that his interests have changed. But honey, I’m fine with whatever you want to do - as long as it’s what you want and it makes you happy.”  So there I have it. I guess I can put my biggest worry to rest. She’ll be okay with a jock son.

Anyway, after that it was so fucking boring in my room that I jogged as best I could to a park that has those pull-up bars and push-up bars and other stuff for doing a circuit workout or whatever they call it. Like yesterday, it seemed that the vibrating from the cup stopped the more I stayed active. And boy, did I stay active. I did every exercise as best I could until every muscle was so sore I could hardly move. Even I knew that wasn’t the right way to work out, but I needed the relief from the cup. I also hoped to make myself so exhausted that I could sleep better. It worked. My vibrating junk only woke me up a few times during the night. But now the cup is a lot tighter. A lot. I’m not sure if that makes the vibration better or worse, but the worst part is still the constant horniness without being able get off.

Speaking of getting off, I’d better be getting this thing off on Monday!

Day 6

Judging from the little I know about working out, I should have been really sore today. I wasn’t. My guess is the cup does something to speed development and recovery, because I am already seeing some muscle. Even I know that I shouldn’t be able to see a visible change in a day! This thing is really messing with me. I already knew I was starting to smell more like locker room, but now I’m getting hairier. I don’t know what’s going on under the cup, of course, but my legs are hairier, my pits are hairier, and my abs and forearms are hairier. My nipples are super sensitive, and they’re poking up under my T-shirts. Holy shit! I’m getting little hairs all around them, too, and in the middle of my chest! I’m turning into a fucking neanderthal.

As if all this weren’t enough, my throat started to feel scratchy, as if I were coming down with a cold, and I sounded hoarse. I told Mom I wasn’t feeling well. In any case, there was no way I was going to go to church wearing sweatpants with the smell of the cup rolling off me. In the afternoon, I felt a bit better, although my voice was still really rough and hoarse. I went to the park again. I’ve never seen anyone I know there; it’s not very close to my house or the school. I wore Tyler’s old shoes, which fit me perfectly today. By the basketball hoops, there are usually a few random guys playing a pick-up game. Now, I didn’t know much more about basketball than what a basketball looks like, but I played for a while. It could have been worse. I didn’t make a complete fool of myself, and the smell coming off me isn’t nearly as noticeable outside. I was wearing Tyler’s shorts, so I looked as right for the part as I could manage. When I got home, my voice was so hoarse that I could hardly whisper.

As I’d hoped, all the activity calmed down the vibrations from the cup. Speaking of which, I keep thinking the thing can’t possibly get any tighter, but it is.  And I thought I was horny before; now it’s so bad that I can hardly see straight.

When I was getting ready for bed, something about my face looked different in the mirror. I looked scruffy. I think maybe that shaving once a week isn’t going to cut it anymore. My eyebrows were looking a little thick, too. Even worse, it looks as if I’ve got the start of a unibrow. It might be my imagination, but my features seem different, I don’t know, bigger or heavier or something. A little lunkheaded. It’d better be my imagination, because I do not want to start looking like one of them. I’ve got to get rid of this thing!

Day 7

This is scary. I’m getting ready for school, and now even Tyler’s old sweatpants are starting to get a bit form fitting, if you know what I mean. And they’re a little high water, too. My T-shirt looks really tight, and I know it didn’t shrink. It’s uncomfortable, but I hardly notice it compared to the tightness of the you-know-what. It feels tight enough to pop itself off now. Maybe it will? I know I’m still growing, but the cup has got to be speeding things up. Anyway, the first order of business today is finding that nerd Steve and giving him his cup. I’m sorry for Steve, even if he is a fucking dweeb, but I have got to be done with this.

Once I got to school, the rest of the morning passed in a blur. Right before lunch, Tyler texted me that he needed to see me, so we agreed to meet as soon as we could in the most out-of-the-way men’s room in the school. When I went in, there was only one other guy there, some random nerd I didn’t know. Tyler came in a moment later, fixed the nerd with his best jock glare and said “Out, nerd. Now!”. The guy scuttled out with a look of terror on his face, but I had sympathy only for myself. Turning to me with his trademark cocky smirk, Tyler said:

“Congrats, bro! You did it! You’re second on the list now. So go down to the locker rooms tomorrow sometime between, say, 10 and 11 tomorrow and everything should be ready.”

“Dude, am I, like, missing something?” Something about me sounded way off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “What’d I do?”

“Well, I didn’t see it myself, but you know Derek? Blond buzz cut, linebacker and built like it? Anyway, Derek told me you got Steve O’Connor this morning between first and second period. You walked right up to Steve and popped it on him while Steve was still trying to figure out what you wanted. He just stood there, pale as a ghost, and said “What’d you just do to me?” You walked away, but then turned around and said, “Just a little present for you, nerd. Have fun trying to walk!”. And then Steve, he’s still standing there after you left, spluttering, “I don’t understand! What’s this smell?” and looking as though he’s going to throw up. According to Derek, he was still standing there in the hallway looking lost when the next bell rang.

Holy shit! I’m sure the look on my face must have been fascinating, but I couldn’t see it. The cup started vibrating like a mad thing. I should have been sick to my stomach. I should have fainted. But really, I was just relieved. Incredibly relieved. And more than a bit freaked out that I didn’t remember any of it. I said:

“Bro, seriously, I do not remember any of that shit. I don’t remember anything from this morning.” Something was still off; I sounded strange. “Wait, dude, is my voice, like, lower?”

“Yeah, actually. You sound different. But, bro, I told you were turning already. I can see it, and probably other people can now, too. You’re taller, and you’re bigger, too. I know you haven’t started to buff out a lot yet. That doesn’t really happen until the cup comes off, and it doesn’t happen right away, but you’re already starting. And that’s fast work, bro; some guys don’t start showing for weeks. You’re going to be fucking awesome!”

And then he grabbed me in a quick, hard, bro hug and patted me on the back with his meaty paw. I was stunned. My bro Tyler thought I was going to be awesome! I was so pleased, so stupidly pleased at attention from Tyler that I forgot for a minute that I had spent all morning at school and remembered none of it.  That should have frightened the living shit out of me. And let’s not forget that Ty-boy was the whole reason that I was in this mess to begin with. Tyler said:

“So, dude, you really don’t remember anything from this morning?”

“No, bro. Not a thing since I got to school. Why?”

Tyler grinned at me for a moment. His smirk was smirkier than ever – if that’s a word.

“Well, bro, before you caught up with Steve, you also apparently stuffed some random freshman geek into his locker. Derek had been keeping an eye on you, you know, making sure you got to Steve. I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but that was too good to pass up. Anyway, I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, after you’re – well, after. Trust me, you’re gonna feel great!” 

He turned to leave, but I said, “Dude, seriously, hold on a sec. I mean, stuffing some kid I don’t know into his locker, I’m not even gonna go there; I so can’t deal with that now, but is it normal for me to just – black out and forget an entire morning at school? I mean, that’s really freaking my shit.”

“Well, I don’t know how often it’s happened, but you’re not the only one it’s happened to. But you’ll be fine once the cup’s off. Later, bro!”

Yeah, I’ll be fine, Tyler. Right. The next time I terrorize some innocent kid, at least I’ll be able to remember it. Great.

Tyler swaggered out of the men’s room and vanished down the hallway. I started to follow and then stopped short: tomorrow? He said tomorrow? Really? I had to wait another day! Fuck! There’d be nothing left of me by tomorrow. Whatever happened in the locker room to complete the process, I was already starting to look and act like one of them. And if I understood Tyler, the changes started to accelerate once the cup came off. Tears sprang into my eyes, and I started to sob. I suddenly felt faint, so I went to the sink. I caught my reflection in the mirror. What I saw was bizarre, and completely outside my experience: a dumb jock was bawling his eyes out. I wanted to throw up, but nothing came, so I stood there and splashed some water on my face.

It didn’t matter at this point, I realized, looking at my reflection in the mirror. I was way too far gone already. Quick as lightning, I punched the hateful reflection with my fist. The glass shattered and fell splintering to the floor. My knuckles were a little red, but I hadn’t broken the skin. I walked out the door and never looked back.

Day 8, 6:25

Today’s the day. I’m resigned to my fate. My old life’s ending and my new one is starting. No, my old life ended a week ago. Come to think of it, my old life really ended when the bastards got Tyler. They took my best friend, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. The sooner this is over, the better. See you on the other side.

Day 68

Hey, bros, I know it’s been a LOOONG time, and you want to know the rest of the story. Sorry you had to wait, but I have had way better things to do than dweeb-ass shit like keeping a journal. A fucking captain’s log? Seriously! I can’t believe that I used to be that guy. But – I know he would have wanted to finish the story, and I owe my old self that much, I guess. So, bros, with that said, here is the rest of the story.

I know you all want to know WHAT HAPPENED, you know, down in the locker room. The problem is, just like my bro Tyler, I can’t really remember much of The Day Of, if you know what I mean. I know I went down to the lockers as soon after 10:00 as I could make it, because nothing was more important to me than getting that fucking thing off my junk. As for becoming a jock, by that point I was already more jock than nerd anyway. I wasn’t trying to fight it anymore.

Anyway, I got there, and they were ready for me this time. The old football coach was there (more on him later), and that Derek dude with the blond buzz cut was there, and maybe Tyler and a few other guys that I recognized. Maybe. After that, it’s pretty much another black hole, like the day before when I cupped Steve-o. All I remember is there were lights, and maybe some videos they had me watch, and the old football coach’s voice droning away. I think some of the other coaches were there, but his was the voice I remember. And then nothing. The next thing I remember, I was coming back after practice into the locker room and stripping for the showers. Yeah, after. I don’t remember my first football practice, but Tyler told me I really was there. I also don’t remember learning how to play football.

It wasn’t until I was soaping myself up in the shower that I realized I was free. About fucking time! I honestly don’t know when they took that thing off, but when I got the soap down there, I finally realized it was gone, and I could touch my stuff for the first time in a week. Of course, it wasn’t the same feeling. No way. I had heard that most of the guys who were jocked like me would stand there in a daze once they were free of it, touching themselves and muttering, not able to believe what they were feeling. But I already knew what to expect. I’m not going to bother describing mine in detail. I already described Tyler’s monster fuck stick and balls, so you know the drill. But you remember that Tyler had been – um – distinctly below average beforehand? I wanted to point out that that was not the case for me. You know what I mean. You can figure it out. I swear, it felt like the damn thing needed nearly a whole bar of soap just for itself, and the balls felt like lead weights in my sack. It took some getting used to, but I got used to it, and anything was better than the cup, believe me. It’s been easier since. Now that I’m stronger and my body’s bigger, everything’s more in proportion, and I don’t feel like a freak. But sorry, Becky, the manspreading will continue. It’s not as if I have a fucking choice. Between the size of my thighs and my junk, just trying to cross my legs makes my balls wince.

At least I could finally wash down there, and the funky reek was gone. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m a big guy, and I can get pretty rank by the end of the fourth quarter. Fuck, I can get pretty rank by half time. And my gym shoes and football cleats and jockstraps do make my bedroom smell a bit like a locker room. But I don’t stink up any room just by walking into it anymore, not unless I haven’t had a shower.

Speaking of showers, I’ll get back to the story. I finished my shower and lumbered my way back to my locker in that jock swagger that has become an old habit by now. I know it makes me look dumb, but that’s really the only way I can walk comfortably. Anyway, when I opened my locker (and I’m not sure how I even knew it was my locker), I found some clean clothes that I had never seen before. I sighed. Under Armour head to toe seemed to be the extent of my fashion options. So I pulled on a pair of compression shorts and then put regular shorts on over those. Then I went to look at myself in the mirror.

I was bigger than the last view I remembered from the school men’s room (you know, the men’s room where I broke the mirror). I wasn’t much bigger, but shit, it was only a day later. It felt like a year! My build was still more gangly than buff at that point, but I could easily see where the muscles were developing. As for my face, well, it wasn’t quite neanderthal, but you wouldn’t mistake me for the president of the chess club. (The unibrow didn’t help, dudes.) I could still see remnants of my old face in places, though, covered over with the bushier eyebrows, five o’clock shadow, and stronger features. I had nearly no hair. I didn’t remember getting a haircut, but someone had given my dark hair a buzz cut like Derek’s, only even shorter; on the sides and back it was almost completely shaved off. I had never had my hair that short, and I felt bald and drafty. It was a striking look, but more than a little intimidating. If I were a freshman geek trying to get my books out of my locker, I would probably give me a wide berth. I wasn’t bad looking actually, but, looking at this face, no one would ever believe that I’d been a nerd. Fuck, I couldn’t believe it myself, and I knew better. The guy looking out at me from the mirror was hot shit, and he knew it. Maybe that was the whole idea. I smiled. And there it was – my own version of Tyler’s smirk.

Yeah, I know. I said I’d end up being a big brute with a cocky smile. Well, at this point I wasn’t all that big yet, but there was the smile. My reflection looked happy. Tyler was right; I felt amazing, better than I’d ever felt in my life.

I finished getting dressed, which for now meant I put on a T-shirt, socks and shoes. My hair was so short that, when I pulled the T-shirt over my head, the collar stuck to my stubble like Velcro. By this point, almost the entire team had left the locker room, but Tyler came by, rubbed my buzzed head and said, “Looking good, bro! How’s it hanging?”

“Shut up, Ty-boy, you fucker,” I said, with that shit-eating grin on my face. “I think you of all people know how it’s hanging.” I still sounded “off” to myself. I’m not sure if it was because my voice was even lower or if it was just the sound of the bro-speak coming out of my mouth. Maybe it was a combo.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I know. But seriously, bro,”, he said, giving me a hug, “It’s good to have you back. How’re you feeling?”

Have me back, Tyler? I wasn’t the one who left, not that it mattered now. What I said was “It’s different; I’m not going to lie, but I feel pretty fucking amazing. Better than I ever have. You were right. But, dude, it’s been a long day. I didn’t sleep last night. I just want to go home, and, like, sleep for a week. Can we get out of here?”

Tyler AND Derek walked me home. I guess I’d better get used to moving with the herd. Derek’s not such a bad dude, really. I’m pretty sure he’s a native jock and not a former nerd, and he seems about as dumb as a box of rocks, but he’s decent enough to me now that I’m part of the team. He and Tyler came in for a few minutes. That helped blunt my mother’s shock at my new look. Tyler told her I’d gone out for football, that I was learning fast, and that the haircut was part of the initiation. I don’t know if she really liked it, but she rubbed my head affectionately and said I looked cute. Cute? Really? Maybe Mom likes big, dumb brutes, too. After that, I went to my room, collapsed on the bed, and slept for, like, sixteen hours.

I guess it was really more like twelve hours. The next morning, Day 9 in the captain’s nerd log, I woke up a bit early with a morning wood that was nearly as distracting as the cup. I had fallen asleep in my clothes. Clearly, I would have taken care of business had I not been unconscious, especially after waiting for so long, but my monster cock wasn’t going to be put off any longer. I’m not sure if I was jerking it or it was jerking me. I hope I didn’t wake Mom up; I was a bit out of control. And I had to change the sheets.

After I came, I felt different. This is hard to explain: I felt complete. Finished. It was as if that step somehow took all the changes I had been experiencing and clicked them into place, finalized them. I don’t know if that was just an idea in my head or if it was really part of the process, but that was when I truly felt I was a jock. Not only that, but I felt as if I’d always been a jock, and I had trouble remembering that I’d ever not been a jock.

In any case, I finally felt at peace with myself. My mind slowed down. Now, don’t get me wrong: I’m not trying to say I got dumber. I know everyone thinks jocks are dumb, and a lot of us are. I know I can look dumb, and all the bro-speak makes me sound dumb, but I don’t think I’m really any dumber than I was before. What I mean is that I was calmer. Focused. My mind wasn’t racing every which way.

I’m only speaking for myself, of course. Now Tyler? He might be a little dumber than he was before, but he wasn’t always the sharpest tool in the box to begin with, if you know what I mean. I will admit that some of my grades slipped a bit. Part of it is that I had missed a week’s worth of class when the cup wouldn’t let me think. The main reason was my attitude. I can still do the work; I just don’t care as much about grades as I used to. Practice and working out and hanging out with the guys are all higher on my priority list right now than school subjects I didn’t like much to begin with. I’m sticking with AP Biology, though. If I keep studying biology, someday I might be able to figure out how these cups worked. And Mom already had the talk with me about how my grades need to keep up, so I will stop slacking, I promise. I’m not going to bully some nerd into doing my work for me, as tempting as it is.

Okay, so where were we? Oh yeah, nerd log Day 9, star date whatever-the fuck. As great as I was feeling, I did feel a bit sorry for Steve O’Connor. Protocol be damned (and how did I know there was a protocol?), I decided I would talk to him when I got to school and let him know it was nothing personal. Well, tracking him down wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped, and I didn’t want any of the other bros involved. As it turned out, Steve-o was the one who tracked me down.

This is how it went. I needed to drain the dragon. I was wearing a pair of Tyler’s hand-me-down jock shorts, and they didn’t have a fly. Not being used to my new, um, anatomy yet, I was a bit shy of pulling that monster out in front of others, so I aimed for that out-of-the-way men’s room where I’d broken the mirror two days and a lifetime before. The broken glass had been cleaned up, but the mirror hadn’t been replaced yet. I hoped no one would figure out how it had broken. Anyway, I was just finishing at the urinal when the scene started, almost identical to my confrontation with Tyler over a week earlier.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around. Yeah, there Steve was, pale, sweaty, and looking on the edge of a nervous breakdown. I was pretty sure he’d seen my cock, because his mouth was agape, but I wasn’t going to be rushed. I took my time stuffing it back into my shorts.

“Fuck, James, is that even you? I hardly recognized you. What the hell happened? Since when are you a fucking jock? And what in fuck’s name did you do to me?”

I was trying to do the dweeb a favor, and now I saw what Tyler had tried to explain: nerds are so fucking annoying! I gave him my best smile, “Hey, Steve-o. ‘Sup, bro? Enjoying your new accessory?

At that, he actually tried to hit me, not that I blamed him, really. The reek of the cup rolled off him. It wasn’t quite as bad as I remembered, but it was bad enough.

I grabbed his arm then, and I pulled both his wrists behind his back and pinned him up against the wall so that he couldn’t lash out again. Holding him there while he struggled, I said, “Look, bro. We need to talk; but calm down or I’ll have to sit on you. I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. It wasn’t anything personal. I had no choice. You were next on the list, and the only way I was going to get mine off was to give one to you.”

Now he was starting to cry. “What? What’s going on?  You mean someone put one of those on you, too? Who was it?”

“Not that it’s really any of your business, soon-to-be-former-nerd, but, if you really want to know, it was Tyler. Not that my bro Tyler had much choice, either.”

“Wait, Tyler. Yeah, he used to be a nerd, come to think of it. And wasn’t he, like, your best friend? So that’s what happened to him. And you. Now it makes sense! I couldn’t figure out what was going on. But why me?” And then it hit him: “Oh fuck. Fuck! No! You mean?” He started to slump down the wall. I let him go, and he collapsed on the floor and looked up at me with stark terror in his eyes. It was pitiable to watch, but I didn’t flinch and kept my gaze on him. “Tyler was a nerd, and now he’s a jock. You were a nerd, too, and now you’re a jock. And you put one of those things on me. Is that how they do it? You don’t mean I’m gonna…” He swallowed hard. “Look at you. You hardly look like the same person. You don’t sound like the same person. Do you mean?”

“Uh yeah, bro, I mean. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I figured I owed you that much. Say good-bye to the chess team and hello to the football team. Look, I don’t know. I really was trying to do you a favor, but maybe it makes it worse, you knowing what’s going to happen. But I figured you’d want to know. I did.”

“Oh yeah, thank you so much, thanks a ton!” he said bitterly. “Don’t just stick the knife in. Sure, twist it around a few times, too. Fuck!”

“Look, it’s going to be rough for a bit, but you’ll get through it. You will. Now let me give you some advice: don’t try to remove it; it just makes it worse. Don’t try to do anything stupid, like hurting yourself; that really makes it worse. And the more you stay active, the less it bothers you. I think it also speeds up the changes, but believe me, you’ll be better off in the long run. I know what I’m talking about. You won’t believe this, either, but you will be happy – after. Really.”

“But I don’t want to be like you,” he sobbed.

“Shh, dude, shh,” I said, patting him on the shoulder as gently as I could manage. “I know you don’t. Believe me, I know.” I pulled him to his feet and held him upright. “But you have to believe me when I tell you: you will be okay.”

And then I gave him a hug and left.  Later that day, my bro Derek pulled me aside. I don’t know if he knew I had talked to Steve, but he had noticed that I was trying to keep an eye on him. Derek told me, “Hey, bro. Don’t worry about Steve. Jake and I and a couple of the guys are keeping an eye on him. Anyway, we think he’s starting to turn, so he should be okay.” I couldn’t really see it until the next day. By Friday, the changes were more obvious, and by the time Monday morning rolled around, most of the nerd was jocked out of him. Sometime Tuesday, a week after me, he went down to the locker room. As it turned out, I didn’t talk to him again until he had joined us for that afternoon’s football practice, but it all came out right in end, as you’ll hear.

You see, the whole cup thing seems to have stopped, as far as we can tell. I had something to do with that, though not directly. It went back to something Tyler had said. Remember that he said I was back on the list, in second place? Apparently, whoever was behind the experiment or conspiracy or whatever it was had made some tweaks to the things along the way. I was the second guy to get the very latest cup model: second place, see? The guy in first place was some guy I had never met before named Zach Davis. My bro Steve-o, Steve O’Connor, was number three, and then there were three more nerds in process before whoever was running this show found a huge flaw in their plan. At least, it was a flaw to them. You see, every one of us that got that model turned out to be gay. Now, I don’t know for sure, but in my opinion, it could have just been dumb luck. I am pretty sure I was gay before. After all, I did have more than a bit of a crush on Tyler. It was one of the reasons I was so hurt when he dropped me and why I was so determined to find out why. And Becky was always a friend; I didn’t have, you know, feelings for Becky that way. It could have been the same for the other guys; I mean, really, gay nerds aren’t that uncommon. But it seems that the last thing whoever was running this program wanted was an army of cocky, built, gay alpha jocks who couldn’t be bullied. Too funny. Law of unintended consequences, anyone? Anyway, soon the old football coach was gone, and we had a new coach who was not involved, apparently, and had no idea that some of his star players had been nerds a short time before. And none of us are going to say anything.

Now no one knows (or admits knowing) what the goal might have been. If it was to change all the guys at school into jocks, I’m not sure how some of the bros would be able to pass their classes without some nerds to help them with their homework. Doesn’t really matter now, I guess. The jocks, new and old, are all happy with our lives, so we don’t care.

The new football coach had no problem with us gay jocks, and neither did the other bros. We were bros, too, after all. They trusted us, and the team needed us. If we happened to like dudes rather than chicks, that just left more chicks for them. As Tyler had said, girls liked big dumb brutes, and so did some guys. Even the dumbest, ugliest players on the team could always find dates, believe me.

As for me, well, turns out my bro Steve-o had a bit of a crush on me, and let me tell you bros that he’s turned into one smoking hot gay jock. We started seeing each other, and pretty soon we were boyfriends and the first couple on the football team.

Tyler’s still one of my best bros, and it was great to be friends and hang out again. Of course, we don’t spend as much time one-on-one as we did before, cause jocks really do kind of form a herd, and we don’t do the same things we used to. Now we might catch a game; then it might have been D and D, but it’s all good. Tyler and Brittney are getting pretty serious now, so she takes a lot of his time, and I spend a lot of my free time with Steve-o, naturally.

As for my old friend Becky, she wouldn’t even look at me for weeks after I had changed. Pretended I didn’t exist. And she really didn’t like jocks much, or so she said. But the funny thing about Becky, which I should have guessed, is that gay guys were her thing. As soon as Steve and I became a couple, suddenly Becky was apologizing for dropping me and asking if we could be friends again. She loves Steve, naturally. But the poor girl has needs, you know, like any girl her age, and while Steve and I were good friends, there was one itch neither of us could scratch, so to speak. Well, you won’t believe what happened next. Enter our bro, Derek. You remember: blond, buzz cut, side-of-beef Derek? The terror of freshmen and underdeveloped geeks? Yeah, that Derek. He comes to Steve and me and asks us to put in a good word for him with Becky! Thinks she’s way out of his league. Well, Derek is a great guy even if he is dumber than dirt, so sure, we did our bro a solid and pleaded his case with Becky. And she went out with him! And then she went out with him again! Now they seem to be getting as serious as Tyler and Brittney, and Tyler turns out to be right about girls again. I will admit I just can’t believe it. Brittney’s one thing; she’s the cheerleader type, and they always go for the jocks. But Becky? I have no idea what she and Derek talk about, but it seems to work for them. At least he doesn’t need to bully nerds into helping him with his homework; Becky’s got to be one of the smartest girls in school.

So, all in all, everything is going great and showing every sign of getting better. Tyler’s getting big enough that he could probably play linebacker next season. I’m not far behind him, and Steve-o’s catching up nicely in the weight room himself. Now that football season will be ending soon, I’m thinking whether I should go out for basketball. I don’t know; I’m a little bulky for basketball, and I’m not that tall. Wrestling might be a better fit. And the sight of my package in a singlet might scare any opponents right out of a match.

My room’s different too now. My old clothes are long gone. Even if I still wanted to wear that shit, none of it would have fit me a couple of months ago, let alone now. But Mom’s budget wouldn’t allow me to just lay in a new wardrobe. It would have been a waste anyway. The first few weeks after the cup came off, I was making some sick gains, and I would have outgrown anything that wasn’t super roomy or made with a lot of stretch. As it was, my appetite was already a strain on Mom. Tyler’s been super helpful, lending me some stuff and giving me what he could spare or grew out of, but Steve-o’s been the best. His parents are loaded, and his dad was so happy to have a jock son, even a gay jock son, that Steve-o can get almost anything he wants, even a few extras for his boyfriend. I eat dinner at their place nearly every night, which takes a lot of burden off my poor mother. I don’t want to be a charity case, though. I do make myself useful. And now that my growth and my appetite are stabilizing, I should be able to get some of my own clothes that I don’t grow out of in a month. Even a jock (and especially a gay jock) needs some decent outfits for occasions that don’t involve a locker room, and I’m not covering up this bod with baggy basketball shorts all the time.

As for all the nerd shit like comic books and whatever that Tyler and I used to spend our hours on, I boxed it up and put it in my closet. I don’t really want any of it, but I can’t get rid of it, at least not yet. I find it super boring and stupid now, but that stuff is all I have of who I used to be. I know it’s weird. I can barely remember being that guy, and I’m happy with my new life and would never go back, but I feel like, as long as I still have his stuff, my old self isn’t totally gone. The guy who wrote the beginning of this story is a stranger to me now, but when I read what he wrote, I mean, for a nerd, dude sure had some balls! So, yeah, I want to honor my old self’s courage – and the pain he went through, too. Reading the story now, it’s clear to me that the best part of my old self was my friendship with Tyler. Well, bros, don’t feel too sorry for the old me.  After everything that happened, I’m still friends with Tyler, and it’s fucking awesome, because that friendship is what brought me everything good that I have in my life now.

So, that’s the end of my story, bros, except for one last thing. Sort of an epilogue, if you know what that means (I told you dudes I wasn’t as dumb as I sound; I can use big words when I want to). You see, Steve and I are thinking that the Law of Unintended Consequences is fucking with this story again. Let me explain. Steve-o and I are an exclusive couple. Except for once. Now, neither one of us was interested in anyone else, but there was this one skinny guy, Jeremy, that had a HUGE thing for jocks. Kind of cute, but maybe weighed a hundred pounds on a good day. Well, obviously none of the straight bros are going to help Jeremy out, but as soon as we were out as a gay jock couple, the boy would not leave us alone. Wanted to make out with one or both of us for a night, an hour, fifteen minutes; in other words, whatever we’d be willing to give him. Well, we felt like being charitable. We finally decided that a little extra wouldn’t hurt our relationship, and we’d be doing the dude a favor and giving him an experience he wouldn’t soon forget. So, with the understanding that it was a one-time thing or else we’d do him some serious damage, we invited him over to Steve’s room one night. (No way my place would have worked; Mom would have heard everything.) Well, the dude may or may not have been a virgin, but he knew what he wanted. Of course, he nearly pissed himself when he saw our cocks, but he was so horny that he managed to – um – handle way more of both of us than I would have believed for such a small guy. Where there’s a will, I guess. And at least one of our jockstraps went missing after that, so I assume he kept a souvenir. But that was the end of that. Jeremy got what he wanted, and he didn’t try to renege on our deal.

So, it’s not as if little Jeremy hangs out with the bros, right? We don’t see him again right away. But when we do, he seems a little off. For one, he’s walking a little funny, as if something’s going on down there. We guessed maybe he was wearing his souvenir to school, and it wouldn’t exactly fit him, now would it? But it did look as if he had a lot more of a package than Steve-o and I remembered seeing. A few days later, he’s starting to look a bit different. Taller, A little bigger. His cute little face is looking less cute. He starts to look a bit distracted, and he’s scratching himself a lot when he thinks no one’s looking. Okay, so maybe it’s a normal growth spurt. I mean, as far as we both know, all the cups are all gone, and we’d be able to smell that on him in any case. Steve and I sure aren’t going to say anything, but we’ve got to wonder: is he turning? If so, the dude’ll probably be pretty happy, since jocks are what he’s into. But if he is turning, then it seems obvious that it must be something about his make-out session with us that triggered it. And if we could do that, what about the other converted gay jocks? If we’re all – contagious – if you follow me, then whoever started this fucking experiment may have his army of gay jocks yet, whether he wants it or not. And after everything that’s happened, bros, Steve and I think that has got to be about the most twisted ending to this story that we could have imagined.

(For a sequel, click here: https://www.tumblr.com/mulletpermsicantlookaway/756304730910752768/the-jockification-of-jeremy)

[weirdsht]

(Un)Attainable - Alberu/Fem! Reader

notes: the og prompt for this was suppose to be super angsty, but I'm not so mean that I would make you guys cry the second I have the time to write. Also I notice a lot of people are using "Alver" now but I just can't, I'm so sorry huhu

tags: female reader, vague novel spoilers, forbidden love(?), lovesick Alberu if you squint

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

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Alberu’s first priority will always be the Roan Kingdom and its citizens. He will always put the welfare of his people before his own wants. Alberu is the type of crown prince who is willing to play as the villain just to see his citizens prosper. Even when no one will be able to appreciate his sacrifices. All for the sake of his selfish desire to see his people thrive.

That’s the simple fact the people around Alberu know.

They know that he has no time for love. No time to indulge in such things when he has a kingdom to run. Alberu Crossman has said so himself several times in the past.

But oh, what is this feeling blooming in the crown prince’s heart? Could they be feelings of romantic affection?

Could the prideful prince be eating his own words of not taking in a spouse in the future?

Maybe, or perhaps not.

He does know one thing though…

It’s the fact that he's charting into dangerous territory.

Not only was he dumb enough to fall in love. That wasn’t enough.

No no no

The quarter-dark elf was stupid enough to fall for the one person he couldn’t get.

Adin’s fiance, the soon-to-be crown princess of the Mogoru Empire. The empire of the Sun God Church. The one place where his chances of his dark elf bloodline being discovered is higher.

But can anyone blame him and his beating heart? How could he not fall when she’s so sweet, so ethereal?

So undeserving of that bastard Adin.

She was so good. So kind, so strong, so smart, so compassionate.

And Adin was… a scumbag, for a lack of a better word. Someone undeserving love.

Despite that, Adin was still her fiance. Adin and not Alberu.

“I’ve known him since we were kids. Our engagement had been decided from the moment the emperor found out I was a girl. They said I was the perfect wife for him. That I can strengthen the royal bloodline.”

She had confided one night. Her dignified yet soft voice had a tinge of longing in it. As if longing for the life she could’ve had outside of being Adin’s bethroed. 

“Your Highness [Name] has your time with Prince Adin made you grow some affection for him?”

Alberu hopes that the answer is no. That despite the headstart Adin had, [Name] hadn’t fallen for his charms.

That instead she’d fall for Alberu’s charms.

He’s the better choice. He could give her so much more than Adin could ever. Alberu will make sure that she will have the chance to showcase her talent to the world. He will make sure to treat her like the princess she is. This crown prince won’t treat her as if she’s a mere trophy whose sole job is to be bragged around.

[Name] was so much better than that.

She has wits that can help run a kingdom. She has the compassion for her citizens. The heart that screams and begs to aid her people. She has a strong persona that has so much more use than just being shown around to nobles.

Alberu Crossman can see that she’s worth more than Adin displayed her to be— no, in fact in Alberu’s eyes she’s worthless. No system of measurement can gauge her worth.

“No amount of time spent with Adin can make me grow affection for the man. Whether it’s platonic or romantic.”

The quarter-dark elf almost let his shoulders sag. He was so relieved that he nearly conveyed his true feelings. 

He has a chance– Alberu Crossman actually has a chance..!

Alberu was so happy that he nearly didn’t catch [Name]’s next words.

“That man is so awful, hence why no amount of time with him can make me tolerate him. But I’m sure you already know of such things. As a matter of fact, my trusted handmaiden is on her way to make negotiations with your dear commander.”

Roan Kingdom’s rising sun had to double-take, unsure if the words he was hearing were correct.

“I’m not as dumb as the world thinks of me.”

Alberu must have had a stupefied look on his face for the lovely lady in front of him to make such a comment.

“No, no my lady, that’s not what I meant. I am well aware of your wits and capabilities. It’s just that my commander and I had been ready to do everything in our power to turn you over to our side.”

To turn you over so that you’ll be in my arms instead– of course, Alberu said no such thing. Only letting such degenerative thoughts run through his mind.

“My lady is highly intelligent, highly perceptive. You are also close to Adin, you are a core player in taking such a man off his high horse.”

[Name] had an incredulous look on her face. Like Alberu was flattering her too much. However, he wasn’t. The poor prince had only been telling the truth.

“I didn’t think that the future king of the Roan Kingdom was one to… get brownie points.”

“You wound me, my fair lady. I was merely stating the truth. Nonetheless, since we’re on the topic… do you mind people who try to get brownie points?”

Alberu isn’t sure where he got the guts to be so coy. But he was glad he did because [Name]’s expression was better than he’d hoped for.

“Hmm well, I guess I don’t mind. If it’s from a silver-haired prince maybe I wouldn’t entertain it. Luckily, blonde seems to be my type… or was it brown?”

[Name] had a knowing look on her face and oh god can Alberu fall any deeper. He should be scared, should be nervous that another person seems to know his secret. But no, instead, he feels himself falling deeper in love.

“Don’t worry your highness your secret is safe with me. I wouldn’t do my potential lover dirty like that.”

Yeah… safe to say that Alberu’s in too deep now.

[roturo]

I DO - geto suguru x reader

summary: love makes us do stupid things. stupid things to never notice how you loved him. how he lost you.

warnings: angst, age-gap, nsfw(?), childhood friends, a lot of metaphors (?).

A/N: I never realized how much I loved writing angst and how tranced I could be while writing it. This was supposed to be smut but idk, felt depressed.

TUMBLR IS BASED ON A REGLOG SYSTEM. PLEASE LEAVE A COMENT AND REBLOG MY WORK ><

How you call it? … Lover? Delusional?

Ah, hopeless romantic.

They know you as the hopeless romantic in jujutsu tech.

But, being in love with one person for your whole life and feelings were never reciprocated would it still count as a hopeless romantic even if you keep that hope for it?

Geto Suguru. Your childhood crush, school crush, and what you like to call him, soulmate.

Everyone in your social circle knows you’re in love with Geto, and you’re pretty sure people outside the circle know it too. You saw him as someone to admire, to follow his path, to be as strong as him.

He was 12, you were 8. But, until this day, him being 25, and you being 21, those feelings and thoughts about him wouldn’t leave anytime soon.

An amazing guy like him, teached you fighting techniques, helps you with your studies, and even brings you out with his friends every once in a while. He was the prince of your dreams.

You never said out loud you had a crush on him. Not even accepting it. But everyone knew because of the way your eyes light up when you see him, the high pitch in your voice when you get nervous around him, feeling protected by him.

You suppose he’s dumb because how could everyone know but him?

He had you confused, wrapped around his finger, you’re sure he likes you too. The way his cheeks get pinkish when you compliment him, how he would grab your hand unconsciously while walking, how he would kiss your neck when you’re alone, but never your lips, how he knew every part of your body, just slight touches, nothing to call it something more, and knowing every single little fact about you.

But now you feel stupid, foolish.

Guess you played yourself, might even be your fault.

Or maybe you should have never played him so hard.

It hit you like a shot in the heart the first time you saw him with her. She was beautiful, funny, and smart. But oh no, you won’t let her love him like you do, no one could.

They all know nobody could love Suguru Geto as you. He even said it himself.

“She’s like the sun covering my body with love. The water in the shower touches my skin and sees everything about me without any bad thought. Nobody could compare with her, I don’t even love myself as much as she does.”

So why are you afraid of losing everything you thought you couldn’t?

And it’s like she knew how much this hurts you. It’s like she wanted this all along. She could be everything, but a good person? Oh no. At least not towards you.

She would often make back-handed comments about you, treat you like shit when Geto’s not around, humiliate you.

She is evil.

“Trust me Suguru, she’s not the one.”

“Why do you care so much? Everyone seems fine with her, but you? Why do you hate her so much? She’s been nice with you, with everyone! Just stop being annoying and leave me and my relationship alone.”

“… Suguru-”

“No. I don’t wanna hear anything else related to her and how you don’t like her. Stop it. Please.”

It felt like your whole world was falling apart. What happened to the silly little dates at midnight for some ice cream? The sudden hugs? Texting everyday? Listening to each other?

Maybe he was a problem right from the start. Never facing these feelings, never running away, guess that’s your fault.

It hit you like a poisonous dart. You said you wouldn’t let her love him like you do, hold him like you do, know him like you do.

So why are you stepping out? Leaving school? Starting a ‘normal life’?

You stopped being related to them, to him. And you wished he never fell in love with her.

And after some time, he wished that too.

He was stupid, foolish.

Guess he played with himself, it’s his fault.

It hit him like a shot in the heart. Knowing he fucked up this time. You were beautiful, funny, smart, and kind. But he never loved you like you loved him.

They all knew he was stupid for letting you go.

“She’s just really sentimental and sensible, she’s still very young to understand relationships, a childhood crush it’s something impossible to really happen, she just needs to learn that.”

So why is he afraid of losing everything he thought he could?

And it’s like he always knew he fucked this up the moment he treated you bad. That he would regret this, but love made everyone stupid.

Did he really feel love towards her? Love her like he loved you?

He was an idiot.

“I’m sorry I never appreciated you like I should’ve. I’m sorry for losing the chance to love you like you loved me. I’m sorry for leaving you.”

It hit him like a poisonous dart. He said you would come back, stop loving him.

So why is he crying here in a dusty vault? Where were you? Why you left?

You stopped being related. To them, to him.

And after some time, nothing happened.

[narrynukezankielover]

I love that in this scene (ep 9) Dean once again defends Cas to Ezekiel/Gadriel. Ezekiel/Gadriel asking Dean what he’s going to do about Cas being around them and Dean gets pissed off. He says that Cas is the one that the angels are after and yet he’s fighting. He wonders what Ezekiel/Gadriel is afraid of. Cas has been on earth for like 6 years and I’m happy to see him understanding human things. He could tell that every time Sam brought up Cas leaving the bunker Dean changed the subject and Cas waited until he was alone with Dean to ask him about that. He understands that Dean changing the subject meant there was something Dean didn’t want to talk about with Sam in the room. Back in season 4 Cas wouldn’t have understood that and probably would’ve said something at the wrong time. Then the fact that Cas knew that Dean is in a tough situation and even though he wants to be around Dean he knew he had to listen to Dean.

I’m pretty much just adding this part because Cas looks amazing. I don’t like that he’s being tortured and that he has blood on him but I love seeing him half naked. I will say there was soooo many missed opportunities with human Cas. I would’ve loved to seen Dean teaching Cas to cook or to shave or even something stupid like tieing his shoelaces. In my opinion they didn’t think this storyline completely out. There’s a few things that happened that don’t make sense. Like how did that angel (April I think her name was) find Cas since he had the tattoo?

In ep 9 Dean tells Cas they have to stay away from each other and at the end of that ep Cas says he should stay away from Dean and the very next ep (ep 10) Dean calls Cas for help and Cas comes right away. I would love to know what happened to Cas tie. He obviously magics up his suit and trench coat considering when he got out of purgatory he was still wearing the clothes he got from the mental hospital then when he came out of the bathroom he had his suit on so where is his tie now? I also love how Dean is looking at Cas here. He obviously loves looking at Cas in his suit (the ep where Cas gets out of purgatory proves that) and Cas is letting Dean look.

This scene is hilarious. There’s an angel, a human and the king of hell and the human takes over. It’s Cas car (I’d love to know how Cas learned to drive) yet Dean just goes directly to the drivers side and tells Crowley to get in the back which he listens to Dean (at that point Crowley is handcuffed so he doesn’t have powers) and tells Cas to get in the back with Crowley and Cas listens to him. Cas and Dean will literally do anything the other asks them to do. Another cute thing I noticed Crowley said to Cas riddle me this boy wonder. Riddle me this is what the Riddler says and he is a villain so obviously Crowley is calling himself a villain (he’s the king of hell obviously he’s a villain) but Dean is in the scene and Jensen has voiced Batman a few times. Boy wonder is Robin which is Batmans sidekick so Crowley is calling Cas Deans sidekick.

Dean finally apologizes to Cas for not telling him about Gadriel possessing Sam snd kicking Cas out of the bunker and I love that Cas completely understood what was going on and that Dean really thought Sams life was in danger. This scene also had my second favourite quote so far in the show Dean says we’re dumbasses and Cas says I prefer the word trusting less dumb less ass.

This scene is interesting. Pretty much since Cas and Dean have known each other Dean says whatever he wants to to Cas without any fear that Cas will hurt him because he knows he’s the one person Cas won’t hurt. Cas gets pissed off when he finds out the angel possessing Sam is Gadriel and that Gadriel is the reason for all the bad stuff that has happened to earth and Dean clearly knows that Cas is pissed off because he puts his hands up. To me he is showing Cas that he knows that Cas is an extremely strong angel even with his stolen grace (at this point at least) and can kill anyone if he wants to and right now Cas wants to kill Gadriel but Dean knows he has to calm Cas down so they can get Gadriel out of Sam.

To me (ep11) this shows how much Dean trusts Cas. Crowley is trying to look at the journal but Dean pulls it away from him. Back in season 8 Cas was picking through Deans stuff and looking through the journal and Dean didn’t care. Even in the scene when Naomi comes to Dean and Dean says he doesn’t trust angels which means I don’t trust you. Obviously that scene was about Dean not putting the signs on the boat so Cas would be able to come back to him but it does show Cas is the exception to that rule. Plus in the ep before this Dean was willing to let Cas possess Sam to get Gadriel out. He knows how much trouble letting Gadriel possess Sam made but Cas is the one angel he trusts would get Gadriel out and wouldn’t hurt Sam in the process.

I love that here Cas is trying to defend Dean to Sam. I don’t think Sam understands that Dean lied to Cas too but Cas got over it.

I love how honest Cas is. He’s always been truthful about how much he doesn’t like Sam. Cas has said that he doesn’t like the sound of Sams voice and other such things. I found it interesting that Cas said that before he became human he would’ve pushed the needle into Sams neck and killed him because the ends always justifies the means but now that he’s had human emotions he no longer feels that way. I find it interesting because even before Cas was human Cas would never do something like that to Dean. He didn’t need human emotions to feel like that for Dean. I personally don’t see Cas and Sam as friends I see them as putting up with each other for Dean. I do think that them spending that time together did help them not to become friends but to understand each other better and be able to be around each other if Deans not around.

[empressdede]

Me, U & Jealousy - Chapter 2

Previous chapter

This story is written in both past and present. Italics is the past and regular font is written in the present.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chapter Two

“Girl c’mon, just think about how fun it’ll be. You can’t seriously expect me to believe you don’t want to go to our first high school party!” Jada had been trying to convince Sorai for the whole day to accept Britney’s invitation to her party that was taking place the upcoming weekend.

It wasn’t that Sorai didn’t want to go, she just wasn’t dumb. If Sorai’s there then her four unwanted bodyguards would be as well. It wouldn’t be a good night if they went because she knew they would do everything in their power to keep her away from any action.

“Jada, if I go then the ‘big brothers’ gone try to go and I already know how that’s gonna end. Me in the corner sipping on juice, while they get to be the life of the party.” Sorai stressed rolling her eyes.

“Just tell your parents your sleeping over at my house. That way their parents won’t suspect anything. C’mon Rai, Cameron said he was going for you.” Jada continued, she was gonna pull all the stops to persuade her friend to come to this party.

Sorai rolled her eyes. “Fine. We’ll go. But you can’t tell nobody I’m going. I’m serious Jada, those boys are so irritating.”

“Who’s irritating?” Josh asked as he busted in her room. Sorai let out a sigh of feigned annoyance.

“You and yo crew. You won’t ever give me a break.”

Even though the boys were too over protective over her, she did love them as if they were her own brothers…. Well almost all of ‘em were like a brother to her anyways.

“We just looking out for you Rai, all these lil boys are the same. They only want one thing and they gone have to see me before they get try to get it.” Joshua stated with a shrug because he was serious. Nobody was going to take her innocence if he could help it.

“Aye man they gone have to see us Uce.” Jon echoed as he walked in with a couple boxes of pizza. His youngest brother following through.

“Did y’all really have to ‘watch’ Sorai while her parents are out for the night? She’s 16, you know?” Jada asked sarcastically but this was how it was every other week.

Sorai’s parents would go out for the night and have the Fatu brothers watch her to make sure she was safe. And at first, it was cool to have other people to hang out with seeing as Sorai was an only child. But as time progressed, Sorai wanted to be treated like a grown up.

“Sefa’s the same age as me and they still want him to play babysitter for me.” Sorai explained with an eye roll to her best friend.

“Awe, don’t be too upset Sorai. Everyone knows I’m way more mature than you. That’s why I have to watch over you.” Joseph replied back in a teasing manner

“Aye man, we ain’t come here to hear allat. Let’s just enjoy movie night and when your parents come back we’ll be on our way.” Jonathan cut our banter short.

That was the plan, it was always the plan. Movie night in my room, and all of us passing out due to the itis. But after Jada passed out the older brothers hopped up.

“Aye man, Joe just sent us an invite. I guess Kiara got a couple friends at her crib and her parents ain’t home.”

“What you just gone leave me here by myself?” Sorai asked with a raised eyebrow and Jon shrugged.

“Sefa can watch you till we get back.” Jon suggested

Sorai rolled her eyes as she watched the older brothers leave. Boys are so stupid. She thought you herself.

The room fell quiet, the only sound heard in the room were Jada’s soft snores and the TV playing the movie Friday the 13th. Jada had fell asleep on Sorai’s bed and Sorai and Joseph were still sitting on the air mattress on the floor while they watched the movie in silence.

“You know I heard of the scheme you and Jada were trying to come up with." Joseph had spoke into the quiet room.

Sorai felt herself freeze at the revelation. Damn, she really couldn’t do nothing with these boys around.

"What scheme?"

"The one where you lie to your parents about sleeping over at Jada’s house so that you can go make out with Cameron at Aaliyah’s house party."

Sorai let out a defeated sigh. She wasn’t going to continue to play dumb with him if he obviously knew what she planned to do.

“So what… you gonna snitch on me now?”

Joseph let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t say all that. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to go to the party.”

Sorai rolled her eyes. “You’re just saying that because of Cameron. He actually likes me ya know?”

“Sure. And Lemme guess, your smitten with him too huh?” He asked teasingly.

“I’m still going. You guys can’t keep everyone away from me. How can I ever expect to gain any kind of experience if you guys shun everyone interested in me away?”

“Experience? And just what kind of experience-“

“Not like that!” She had hissed at him. She didn’t understand why he was giving her such a hard time. It wasn’t like he didn’t have any experience. His on and off girlfriend made sure the whole world knew that.

“You’re the one going on about experience.” Joseph replied, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“So Monica can tell the whole world you blowing her back out, but I can’t even experience what could be my first kiss with the guy that I really like? How is that fair Sefa?” Sorai asked, a small pout forming on her lips.

He rolled his eyes. “Okay Rai, I’ll let you go to this party on a couple conditions.”

“A couple conditions?” She repeated with confusion.

Joseph nodded his head at her. “1. I gotta talk to Cameron before the party. This is non negotiable and 2. I’ll come with you to the party. I’ll make sure my older brothers don’t come so that you can have fun with your friend. Deal?”

Sorai flashed a smile at him and nodded her head in agreement.

As annoying as Joseph and his older brothers were, Sorai really did appreciate them always looking out for her. And even though she never said it out loud, Sefa was her guy best friend. He’d look out for her on behalf of his brothers but sometimes he would help her indulge in whatever she wanted to do…. Sometimes.

“Can you at least promise to try to like him Sefa?”

“Sure.” He agreed with a a monotone.

“How come I gotta like Monica but you won’t even try with Cameron? I don’t even like the bitch.” Sorai stressed.

Joseph let out a sigh of annoyance. “I’m not even seeing her anymore. And plus, you don’t like Monica because she didn’t want us to be so close.”

“That’s not the point Sefa.”

“Alright, Alright. I’ll try to give him a chance.” He finally agreed but they both knew he only agreed for the sake of the conversation.

She just hoped Cameron didn’t scare easy. She also hoped that Sefa would take it easy on him because she really liked him and she just wanted to know what it was like to have a boyfriend.

The two friends let a comfortable silence fill the room as they paid attention to the movie playing on the screen.

When the twins had returned, they found everyone sleeping. Jada on Sorai’s bed softly snoring away and on the floor Sorai and Joseph on his designated air mattress fast asleep.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“So,” Kayla started as soon as we were out of earshot. “Wanna tell me the history behind that?” She asked teasingly.

Sorai let out a small sigh. “Our parents are best friends. So even though I am an only child, those boys are the brothers I never wanted to have.” She briefly explains.

“Oh I didn’t know they played big brother to a sister.” Kayla replied fully intrigued, the amusement still apparent on her face.

Sorai shrugged and didn’t elaborate any further. She didn’t really want to talk about the people she haven’t seen in five years. Five fuckin years, and while it did hurt her feelings in the past, she’s completely over it now.

“Hey Kayla, what’s up?” A voice called out from down the hallway.

Both girls turned around to find one of the wrestlers, Cody Rhodes, walking towards their direction.

Sorai’s interest peaked. Finally, something to look forward too. She thought to herself as she let her eyes trail over the male figure that stood over six feet.

“Hey Cody. Nothing, just showing my new colleague around. It’s her first day.” Kayla stated with a smile.

She watched as Cody smiled back at her, Sorai’s eyebrow raised, oh?

“Whenever your free, come by my locker room. I got a couple of things I wanna go over with you.” He then turned to Sorai and flashed her a welcoming smile. “Welcome, I hope Kayla’s not giving you too much trouble.”

“No, not at all. She’s been an absolute treasure to be around.” Sorai complimented.

Cody let out a small chuckle, turning his gaze back to the women beside her. “That she is.” He agreed.

Interesting. Sorai thought to herself. “Yes, Well… it was a pleasure to meet you Cody. Hopefully we’ll be able to work with each other soon.”

“You too…uh?” He trailed off once he realized he never got her name.

“Sorai.” She answered

“Right. Well, welcome to the company Sorai. See you later Kayla.” Cody bid his goodbyes before walking down the hall.

Sorai smiled as she turned to face Kayla who was watching the man leave, nibbling on her bottom lip as she did.

“So,” she started, teasingly; Kayla turning to her, slightly red in the face. “Wanna tell me the history behind that?” Sorai asked, flipping the question back on Kayla.

Kayla rolled her eyes, shrugging her shoulders. “There’s no history. I think he’s cute but I think he’s only playing with me.”

“Playing?” Sorai repeated almost mockingly. The two girls continued their journey down the hall.

“Kayla, he stared at you the entire time, it was almost like I didn’t exist.”

Kayla shrugged again. It was clear she didn’t really want to talk about whatever was going on between them.

Sorai guessed it had to do with lack of confidence so she decided she would advise her on one thing.

“Well I’ll tell you what. If you want to know how he feels about you, mention something you like. An event or something and be sad that your going alone, If he tells you ‘that’s tough, you’ll find someone’ then he’s not interested. But if he suggests that he goes with you, then he definitely likes you.”

“He could be suggesting that just to be nice ya know?”

“No man, is that nice unless they like you. Trust me.”

Kayla raised her eyebrow at her in question, “And this has worked on you before?”

“Every single time.” Sorai assured

Kayla flashed her a thankful smile, nodding her head as she took the advice. Maybe working here won’t be so bad if I can already play matchmaker. Sorai though to herself.

The silence between the two was a comfortable one as Kayla led Sorai wherever they had to go next. Both girls lost in their thoughts for two completely different reasons.

It wasn’t until they stopped in front of a door who’s name read Roman Reigns, that Sorai realized where Kayla was taking her. She rolled her eyes.

“Can’t you take me to my new office instead?” Sorai asked, but it was too late. Kayla had already knocked on the door.

“I would love to, but 1. I have a feeling if I didn’t bring you, they would’ve hounded me down for it and 2. I have a new theory that I would love to test out.”

Jonathan opened the door and shouted a greeting towards Sorai.

“Bring her to my office when you guys are done. I got something I gotta do real quick, so I’m trusting you guy can keep her occupied until I’m done?”

Jon threw his arm around Sorai’s shoulder, bringing her into a side hug. “We haven’t seen our lil sis in a cool five years Kayla, if she not back in yo office by the time you get there, you can come find her here.”

Kayla nodded her head and shared a look with Sorai before walking down the hallway to look for a certain superstar.

And if Sorai was a hatin’ ass bitch she would’ve hated Kayla for leaving her with these boys like this. But, she wasn’t. She knew what it felt like to want someone so bad that they yearned to be close almost every single second. But damn did she owe her one.

Sorai let Jon pull her into the locker room to face the men who broke her heart from leaving, five years ago.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

𝚂𝚘, 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚛? 𝙸 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝 🙂🫶🏾

Tagging the lovelies: @southerngirl41 @reci1996 @skyesthebomb @christinabae @leighla3 @whatdoeseverybodywant @harmshake

[atefingersdagger]

Not one of the prompts you reblogged but I love your writing and wanna see your take on this with Cato and Clove

"No you can't leave me, what about our happy ending?"

If you're cool with that!♡

"No, You Can't Leave Me, What About Our Happy Ending?"

I'm always open to any Cato and Clove prompts! Ask me anytime! I love getting prompts, and thank you for the ask! <3

---------

“No, you can’t leave me.” Cato says. “What about our happy ending?”

It’s a beg, and a pathetic one at that. But she isn’t walking out the door, or arguing with him, or even giving her usual glare. She is dying.

On the ground, undignified. His district partner. His girl.

Clove.

Now, if she could respond, she’d cuss him out for his stupidity. After all, she drew a knife on him when he said something about a happy ending. Clove was always more prepared for things to go sour, for shit to hit the fan, than him. To watch every castle crumble, a brick from a tower hitting her forehead with harsh impact.

______________________________________________

Fuck, no, she is not a princess, but he calls her that anyways. Her long hair she lets down and her skin pale like winter, they all give him more reason to think of her that way. He thinks she looks good in her orange frills and pink blush.

Cato wants to twirl her for whatever stupid reason. Maybe she put a spell on him, or he’s losing his mind under the pressure of the Games being the next morning. Either way, later on, he pampers her in bed, kissing her on silk pillows and satin sheets.

______________________________________________

“That’s fucking dumb.”

Clove spits this at him like fire from a dragon. She crosses her arms and raises her nose, pissy and prissy. And she didn’t find his joke funny.

“You don’t want a happy ending?”

Rolling her eyes, she twirls her knife with her fingers. “Life doesn’t work out that way.”

“Sure, sometimes, but we have a chance at victory and I think that’s the closest we can get to one.”

Her face says she’s going to kill him. Perhaps duel winners isn’t appealing to her. Despite her kissing him at the announcement that it’s a possibility if the tributes originate from the same district. His bad for thinking she cares.

“You want that with me or are you just fucking around like you always do?”

“I wouldn’t leave the girl I win with.”

She widens her eyes a slight and her cheeks go red in the way they would when she finishes during sex. Then she squints as though she is skeptical. Clove’s shoulders lower, but she draws a knife on his chest.

“You just think you’re my knight in shining armor, don’t you?” The tip of the blade presses enough to create a small hole in his shirt. “Well, get it through your think fucking skull that I don’t need your fucking help!”

______________________________________________

Except, she does need his help. While she isn’t a damsel in distress by the traditional means, she’s fucking dying in his arms. Which tells him that he failed to be her knight in shining armor. Or that she was right about him never being one at all.

“We are supposed to win.” Cato cries. “Supposed to have our happy ending.”

______________________________________________

Home isn’t a fantasy anymore. The house he’d receive as a victor won’t be a castle. It will be empty, lonely, and cold. As he is here, in the rain, with his knuckles split open and raw.

He sits on a log and contemplates his choices; kill and win, or die and lose. But would death be so bad? The pain will be gone forever, and he’d be closer to Clove.

Killing her killer didn’t ease anything as he thought it would. Why did no one tell him vengeance would be so vacant? Isn’t that what District 2 is built upon? An eye for an eye.

Cato shivers, bundled in his waterproof jacket that is likely what keeps him from catching pneumonia or freezing any further. It takes a few hours before the downpour stops, and when it actually does, he passes out to sleep with his hand touching the hole Clove left in his shirt from her blade. Only awoken by a canon booming, echoing throughout the large arena. He hopes it’s one of the 12s, but it’s just the girl from 5, likely having starved.

His own stomach is empty and complaining, yet he lacks any appetite as he takes a knife he took from Clove to remember her by, beginning to carve something in a nearby tree. The drying bark gives easily to the metal, chipping away dark to unearth light brown. Simple words like a child with a crush writing names with a plus sign and a heart around them.

‘Bury me next to Clove if I die here.’

______________________________________________

She’s smaller than he is, and he thinks she’ll be an easy opponent. Some little prey he can eat whole, scarf down his gullet like a big wolf. Only he ends up devouring her in other ways.

Truly, she is all he can think of during the third day of training, when he’s lying in bed, when they hear the scores, or when he’s sleeping. It pisses him off. Cato needs Clove gone as soon as he can possibly get away with breaking their alliance.

______________________________________________

There is more growling, and he thinks it’s his stomach, but it’s something else. A dog, a canine, or at least something that is half of one. The rest of it looks as though… it’s wearing human skin. Unmistakable. He can’t even cry wolf at this.

“That’s not you.” Cato says, eyes going between the dark fur and the sky. “That’s not you, Clove.”

It has her eyes and her hair, even the dent in her forehead from the rock. A mutt with her resemblance. Something that is here to do nothing but torture him. Is this what people find entertaining these days?

His victims chase him too, with paws and teeth. The boys and girls who lost at his hand, his sword, his spear. Including Clove’s killer who has his nose beaten in as Cato had done in his rage. That vacant revenge and anger returning in this stupid Game that lured him in with bread and sweets only to burn him crisp.

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“I want a happy ending with you.”

Clove admits in the dark, scowling, and holding her hands over their meager fire. The flames cause light and shadow to dance over her pretty face covered in dirt and pale areas that she rubbed blood splatter from. She seems pissed that she said anything.

“Yeah?” He throws the bone of a frog leg onto the smoldering embers.

“Don’t make me repeat it.” She answers, a princess in his eyes. “But we’d both look pretty good dressed in crowns, don’t you think?”

Cato smiles and nods. “We’ll have our happy ending. I’ll make sure of it.”