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celestie0 · 2 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch5. child's play

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 5/x

ᰔ words. 4.8k

a/n. helloo my ihm friends! long time no see. hope you're all doing well and thank you so much to everyone who sent me kind messages about the whole ihm gojo ex wife thing haha. i really appreciate it :) i feel more confident about my writing decisions now, and that's all thanks to you guys! anyways, i will be posting shorter chapters for ihm going forward, so sorry if some chapters have slightly abrupt endings or stuff like that. i guess my goal is to post shorter chapters but more frequently! we'll see how it works out. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter and see you at the bottom!!

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Ever since admitting your mother into hospice, things have been calmer inside your mind. After passing the initial wave of agony that came with no longer hearing her voice down the hall or seeing her silhouette in her bedroom as you walked past it, you realized that…a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. No longer setting alarms at the height of every other hour to remind your mother to take her medication, no longer viewing every interaction you had with her as some form of study you needed to jot down in a binder for her neurologist’s records, and no longer driving her to all of her chemotherapy appointments, only to leave them feeling like you purposefully just took your mother to a place where they sucked all the life out of her in exchange for the slim promise of giving it all back to her someday.

Maybe it was evident in the way your shoulders felt less tense as you rolled them back, tilting your neck to the side and no longer feeling the painful strain that tugs a wince onto your face. The other day, you caught yourself humming a song as you drove to work. Your skin, usually feeling cracked and dry from stress and exhaustion, now has a slight plumpness to it like before. A more youthful glow, like the version of yourself you were before your mother became sick. The version of you that so quickly deteriorated, and one you didn’t even know still existed somewhere within you.

There has also been time for hobbies. Rarest of occasions, you find yourself sauteing some yellow and white peaches in a saucepan over medium heat in Gojo’s kitchen, humming that song once again that’s been stuck in your head. The sundress you’re wearing matches the pink of the syrup that pools at the bottom of the pan, and you feel like you’re living your cottage core dreams in this brief moment of reprieve you’ve allowed yourself to fall into.

The sound of slippers tapping down onto the hardwood floor startles you out of your gleeful trance, and you turn your neck to the right to see a pajama-clad messy-haired Gojo shuffling his feet across the open area into the kitchen with a dark black mug in his hand.

“Why aren’t you dressed??” you ask him in a panic.

“I’ll get dressed later,” he tells you dismissively as he grabs the glass pitcher of coffee from where the coffee machine was nestled up against one of the counter corners.

“You’re stressing me out. Your mom told us to be there in two hours,” you say, putting your hands on your hips in disapproval as you hear the sizzle of the peaches in the saucepan.

He entirely ignores you, choosing to instead drag his gaze down the form of your body. “Woooow, twice this month I get to see you in a cute dress,” he comments, pouring coffee into his mug but his eyes are still on you, “lucky me.”

“Oh Shut. Up,” you sneer at him with a harsh roll of your eyes, “your fake flattery might work on the lonely middle-aged women you seduce to make a living, but it won’t work on me.”

His shoulders push back before he slumps them slightly, his brow lifting with confusion. “It’s not fake though? I mean it. You look really nice right now.”

You point an accusatory sugar-syrup coated wooden spatula at him. “You’ve just been conditioned by the patriarchy to get a boner at the sight of a woman in a kitchen.”

“What–...no–...why do you always have to say stuff like that whenever I compliment you? Can’t you just accept it?”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I refuse to be flattered by an insolent man like you.”

He sighs, setting his coffee mug down on the counter, and you watch the way the fringe of his hair hangs over his forehead as he gazes into the contents, swirling it around with a loose grip on the handle. “Is this how it’s going to be everyday? I try to be nice, and you–...well, you know, are you.”

“Well who else should I be?”

His eyes lift up to meet yours, the slightest of a cheeky grin on his face as his eyes wander down the form of you again. “I don’t know. Someone a little…softer? Like, you’ve got this really pretty dress on, and then you’re telling me off about patriarchy-induced boners. It’s a little, uh, contradictory?”

You gasp. “You’re trying to control me. I knew it. You are poisoned by the patriarchy.”

“What?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “You have this image of a perfect and cute little wife, who’s gonna wear pretty dresses all the time, and bake stuff in the kitchen, and get all blushy when you tell her she looks beautiful, and you expect her to have this soft little personality that never argues with you or disagrees with you…ALL BECAUSE OF THE PATRIARCHY!!!”

“...I–...Okay, you’ve lost me.”

You let out a hmph! noise. “Can’t even discern his own brainwashing. Sad.”

“All of this just because I tried to tell you that you look nice?”

“I know what your ulterior motives are, you creep.”

His eyes spark a little at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a cheeky grin as he sets the coffee mug down onto the marble counter and he straightens his spine. You blink, watching with confusion as he crosses the distance between the two of you, to where you’re taking a small few steps backwards until your lower back presses against the edge of the island countertop. He cages you into the surface with his frame, followed by the palms of his hands sliding over the marble on both sides of you, and you feel his forearms press against the curve of your waist as he traps you in with no way out.

“S-Satoru,” you stutter, looking up at him with wide eyes, “what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he says, his voice deeper with a nonchalance that has you shiver, his gaze dropping to your lips when you part them slightly.

“T-The patriar–” you squeak out, but he suddenly dips his head down to kiss you.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes immediately closing when he moves his lips against yours, one of his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him and your hesitation is something that only lasts a brief second before you find yourself kissing him back. Some noise leaves his throat, deep and raw and sounding pleasantly surprised as he captures your lips more fervidly now, his hands smoothing down to hold your hips and his teeth slightly nip at your bottom lip.

You grab a fistful of his shirt, unsure of whether you want to pull him closer to you or push him away, but the moan that you mumble against his lips only makes his grip on your hips even stronger, fingers digging into the softness through the thin fabric of your dress.

The oven suddenly starts beeping, startling you and you pull away from the kiss with a gasp, eyes rounded as you look up at him, but his are lidded and dilated as his gaze remains glued to your lips.

With a heaving chest, you try to push him away by a weak fist to his sternum but he’s unrelenting.

“You taste sweet,” he says, like some comment he noted in his head but accidentally voiced out loud.

“I–...” you inhale sharply, “I just ate three macerated peaches.”

“Uh-huh,” he barely acknowledges before leaning in to get another taste, but you push him away harsher this time.

His hands let go of your hips entirely, finally breaking out of that kiss-induced trance he was in, but he still remains close to you in proximity, so much so to where you can feel the heat from his body. It’s comforting almost, radiating through the soft cotton of his long sleeve shirt, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning towards him before you snap out of it too, and rock your weight back against the island countertop.

You cross your arms over your chest, hoping the flush to your cheeks isn’t showing. “Oh okay so we just casually kiss now?”

He shoves his hands into his plaid pajama pant pockets, leaning away from you slightly. “For as long as I can get away with it, yeah.”

“You are breaking the rules.”

“You never said no kissing.”

“I said no touching.”

“Ehhh kissing isn’t really touching, though, is it?”

“You sound stupid.”

“I always sound stupid to you.”

The oven starts beeping again, and you realize it’s long been preheated to the setting you had placed earlier. You slip away from him with haste, feeling his gaze on you as you press a button on the oven to turn the alarm off, and you stare at the handle for a moment or two to calm the beating of your heart down.

Your eyes catch sight of something on the side of the fridge. A little magnet made of rubber that has the word London on it as well as the design of the Westminster Cathedral with golden accents. You recall that Gojo went on a trip to London recently, and that he didn’t bring you back any souvenirs from there like he did for your other neighbors. And you want to pretend, you want to shove it down, that incessantly childish feeling that wonders why he didn’t bring you anything back. You want to continue to pretend like it doesn’t hurt your feelings. Something so miniscule and small. But you–...well, you can’t.

You spin around to face him. “Do you hate me?” you bluntly ask.

He blinks at you. “Huh?”

“Do you, what, I don’t know, think I’m annoying or something?”

He shrugs with his hands still in his pockets. “I mean, yeah, I do think you’re annoying sometimes. But in a silly way. Like we’re just pals horsin’ around, y’know?”

You snarl at him, putting your hands on your hips and narrowing your gaze until he’s hardly even visible anymore. “No. I actually find you annoying. Like, wanna-run-you-over-with-a-bus annoying. You just have horrendous social awareness and think that everyone loves you.”

“You actually don’t like me?” he asks, like he can’t even believe that someone wouldn’t.

“Yes,” you say, “now get out of my way.” You make an attempt to push past him, purposefully knocking your shoulder into him to assert dominance but he is unfortunately much bigger than you and so all it does is make you stumble ungracefully from the recoil.

He quickly grabs your arm to steady you, and you glare up at him before yanking yourself away and then step backwards until your back hits the fridge.

He studies your demeanor for a second before taking a deep inhale, and then lets it all go in a heaving sigh. “What do I have to do to get you to lighten up a bit?” he asks.

“You really want to know?” you sneer at him.

“Yes,” he says with a slight hint of frustration in his tone.

You cross your arms. “Pay for the fucking fence.”

He blinks at you, confusion replacing whatever frustration was previously decorating his tone. “What?”

“The fence,” you reiterate with a step forwards towards him, “the one I built six months ago. The one where you laughed in my face when I told you to help pay for it.”

He leans forward. “Yeah. Because I never wanted that fence built. Like I said, it fucked up the roots on my avocado tree. You should’ve asked me before building it. In fact, it’s illegal to build a fence without joint consent of both neighboring property owne–”

“Oh my god, okay, see? This is why I can’t stand you,” you snarl at him and make another move to get past him but he easily steps in front of you to keep you from going anywhere.

With a sigh, he relents. “Fine, I’ll pay for the fence.”

You try to keep the twitching muscles of your face still as you resolutely stare up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. Through a strained tone, you say, “No. I don’t want you to pay for it anymore.”

He lifts a brow, utterly bewildered at this point. “Huh?”

“Now it just feels like pity. And I don’t want your pity money.”

“Two seconds ago, you did.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. That was two seconds ago.”

“So…let me get this straight, you don’t want me to pitch in?”

“No. I want you to have wanted to pitch in SIX MONTHS AGO.”

“Okay but what the fuck am I supposed to do about that now?”

“NOTHING!!!” you finally snap at him, the shrill to your voice startling him slightly to where you see his shoulders jump, and his eyes are now rounded blue as he looks at you. “There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s nothing you can do to get me to ‘lighten up’ or ‘act softer’ or whatever the fuck kind of damage control you aim to achieve with me due to your pestering incessant need to be liked by every fucking person you come across. So just deal with the fact that I hate you and let me do it in peace.”

He’s silent for what feels like a long time as he blinks at you, his bottom lip pushing up slightly in a way that suggests he’s almost impressed by your little outburst, then he takes a step forward, and in that one large stride, he’s closed any distance between the two of you. Your back is up against the frigid steel of the fridge, your heels tucked under the warm rubber at the foot of it, and you’re looking up at Gojo as he towers over you, his hands still annoyingly and relaxedly shoved into his pockets.

“Do you think it’s gonna be a problem that I think you’re kinda hot when you’re mad?” he asks you.

A small puff of air leaves your lips, like you just can’t believe the audacity, but also having him this close to you suddenly made it a little harder to breathe. “C–...Can you just be fucking serious for one second?”

His head dips down, the fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, tip of his nose slightly brushing against yours, but his gaze never falls to your lips. “You think I’m not being stupid fuckin’ serious when I say that you’re hot?”

“S–” your breath hitches in your throat, and his gaze finally falls to the lick you pass over your lips, “Satoru–”

Like God himself answered to your (cognitively dissonant) prayers, the bell rings, and Gojo leans himself away from you, straightening his spine so he can glance over his shoulder towards the door, a slight look of irritation on his face through the furrow of his brow.

You blink up at him. “A–...Are you expecting someone?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “No. Don’t think so.” He sighs before shuffling around the kitchen island and across the dining hall towards the entryway of the house, and you peer at the sight from across the hall.

When he opens the door, you see Sana standing outside, dressed in mom jeans and a t-shirt with her black Coach purse slung around her shoulder, arms crossed, and you barely register the fact that she looks pissed.

“Sana?” Gojo says, “what’s up.”

She entirely ignores him when she catches sight of you, pushing right past him and into the family room that you were currently finding solace in.

“You,” she points at you, storming right up to your personal space, “what the hell did you say to Juno when you were babysitting her?!”

“H-Huh??” you squeak out, taking a step backwards. “What are you talking about?”

“You told her to fight kids at school?!” she snarls at you, and your eyes widen.

“What?” you say, your face twisting with confusion, “I–...I never said that. I just said that she should stand up for herself if she needs to.”

Sana inhales deeply with rage, leaning back and jutting her hip out as she crosses her arms again. “Yeah, well, I had to pick her up early from school today because the principal called and told me she shoved a little girl on the playground during recess, and now she’s facing suspension.”

Gojo approaches suddenly from your periphery, standing in front of you as he faces Sana. You stand on your tiptoes to peer at her over his shoulder. “What? Why would Juno do something like that?

You hear Sana start to tap her foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, and then she turns her head away from Gojo as a slight hmph! noise leaves her throat. “The why is irrelevant.”

You poke your head out from behind Gojo and glare at her, but then Gojo turns around suddenly to look at you.

“y/n,” he says, “what’s going on?”

“I–” you start, glancing at Sana again who now has a solemn look on her face with pursed lips. You glance back at Gojo, who’s looking at you with confusion and anticipation. A heat spreads down your neck from the attention of the both of them on you, and you’re not sure what the smart thing to say is, so you figure you’ll just tell the truth as it is. “...I just didn’t want her getting bullied and thinking she can’t stick up for herself.”

At that, you see Gojo’s shoulders stiffen. “Bullied?” he repeats after you, then quickly turns towards Sana, “what does she mean, bullied? Juno’s getting bullied at school?”

Sana faces him full-on, raising a stern pointed finger between the two of them “No. Satoru. Stop. You always do this. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t even start. It’s not a big deal, let’s not make it one.”

“The fuck do you mean it’s not a big deal? She’s getting bullied at school, and you want her to just suck it up?” he asks, venom dripping from his tone.

“It’s for her benefit!” Sana exclaims. “Jun and I have spent months trying to get her into this school! We don’t want her getting kicked out.”

“Y’know, I’m–” you stutter, “I’m gonna–...I’m just gonna go upstairs,” you say, “this seems like a family matter. I think you guys should probably just settle this on your ow–”

“No,” Gojo says, pointing to the couch that you were standing in front of, “sit down.”

You sit.

Gojo turns to face Sana again, and although you can’t see his face, you imagine he’s pissed off from the way Sana’s shoulders drop slightly and her sharp expression is cut into a more sheepish one.

“Who cares if Juno is suspended for sticking up for herself? It’s the teachers’ fault for not making sure she’s safe,” he says.

“Shoving other kids is not the solution.”

“Well if you fuck around, then you find out. Kids are too soft these days.”

“This is not the 90s, Satoru.”

You watch the back and forth between the two of them for the better part of an entire minute, feeling uneasy in the hostile environment of the room, but there’s a sense of underlying familiarity between the two, one that is recognizable amongst family. And you feel rather foreign, but then remember that, technically speaking, now that you’re married to Gojo, this is your family too.

Amongst the arguing of the adults, none of you noticed that Juno had gotten out of the car in the driveway and was now standing in the doorframe of the front entrance. She looks scared and guilty, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her, and you notice her scrapes and bruises that you tended to last week were now mostly healed.

Gojo catches sight of her, and you see his shoulders relax. “Juno, c’mere.”

With the permission, she instantly runs towards him and into his arms from where he was crouched down to the floor in order to welcome her, and then she starts sobbing.

“I’m–hic,” she cries, “I’m so–hic–I’m so sowwyyy Uncle Toru…I’m–hic–I’m sorry mommyyyy.”

You see Sana sigh and she makes a move to brush Juno’s tear-dampened hair out of her face when Gojo pulls her away from his shoulder by a delicate hold of her bony little shoulders.

“Juno. Listen. If people are being mean to you, then you do exactly as your auntie y/n said. You stand up for yourself. And if that doesn’t work, then you cuss at them and threaten to shove their faces into the dirt until they run away with their tails between their legs. Do you understand me?” Gojo tells her.

Sana gives you a pointed look.

“Oh, I–” you put your hands up in front of you, “I didn’t say any of that last part.”

“Do you understand me?” Gojo repeats again, and Juno nods her head slowly before she falls back into him and soaks his shirt with tears. “I’m soowwwwwyyyyyy.”

Gojo pats her back a few times to comfort her, and your heart breaks for the little girl. It’s bad enough to be bullied at school, but then to be reprimanded by your mother the one time you stand up for yourself…you can imagine how emotionally exhausting that would be for a five-year-old.

Juno sniffles, rubbing her snot all over the cotton of Gojo’s shirt, and then pulls her face away to rub at her eye with a weakly closed fist. “I–hic–I just…I just wanted him to feel–hic–the same hurt.”

“Huh? Who?” Gojo asks.

“The boy,” Juno says, “the one that shoved me today.”

“It was a boy?!?!?!” Gojo yells. “Alright. That’s it. I’m grabbing my bat.”

“Satoru.” Sana deadpans.

Sana and Gojo continue to bicker about the ethics of threatening five-year-old boys with baseball bats, going back and forth about how Gojo wasn’t actually going to do anything but just wanted to instill fear (he’s lying), while Sana isn’t exactly sold on a single pacifist thing that he says, and you sigh, because you realize you’ve become invested in one of, what you feel like will become many, of their family quarrels.

Juno sneaks around Gojo’s legs and comes up to you while the arguing is taking place in the background, and she gently taps your knee as you’re seated on the couch. “Auntie y/n,” she whispers.

You rub an eye crustie from her face and then hold her hand in yours. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Mm? For what?”

She smiles at you, her cheeks pink and flush from crying but rounded now in glee. “My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”

Why wouldn’t Sana and Jun be on normal talking terms? What does Juno mean that it’s been a long time? What exactly was going on at home?

“Juno,” Sana’s voice interrupts your thoughts, her arms crossed across her chest, “c’mon. Let’s go.” She points a stern finger at Gojo. “Seriously. I mean it. No baseball bats or rodent traps involved. I’ll talk to the teachers and sort something out.” She glances at you, that strict look on her face now dissolving into one of pure exhaustion. One you can imagine only a mother can face. “See you later at dinner, you two.”

Juno runs up to her mom and grabs onto her outreached hand, and you see Gojo ruffle her hair as she walks past him, her giggles ringing in the air, and then he sees them out the door.

The air is awkward, at least to you, the second he closes the door, and when he turns around to face you, your body stiffens up.

He leans back onto the front door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks,” he says, “for telling Juno to stick up for herself.”

You blink at him. “Well. I don’t feel too great about it at the moment, to be honest.”

He sighs. “I just think that Jun and Sana are raising her to be…kinda meek. I wish they’d teach her to be more confident and take up space.”

“Mhm,” you nod. Because you agree. Little girls need to learn how to be that way at a young age, because the world is seldom very kind to them.

“Well, what you said to her is what I would’ve said to her anyways,” he says.

You roll your eyes, standing up from the couch and heading back into the kitchen to presume your work on your peach cobbler. “I never told her to shove kids’ faces into the dirt. But, uh, sure, I guess so.”

You see Gojo enter the kitchen too in your periphery, but you don’t give him any glance or look or attention. From what you can see as you stir around your macerated peaches in a Pyrex bowl, he’s leaning against the island counter about three feet away from you, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s watching you. A slight warmth radiates in your cheeks, but you attempt to ignore the nerves by being hypnotized by the pink syrup that pools at the bottom of the bowl.

My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.

An unsettling feeling takes over your senses. It could be the past few years you’ve spent walking on eggshells around your mother, or the way you’ve become so keen to her energy as a way of staying on top of any shift in her symptoms, any single sign of disease progression, any clue that she wasn’t getting better. Any clue that she wasn’t doing okay. And you feel a sense of dread, because that skill, you realize, has now made you aware of similar circumstances in the people around you.

Not to mention, you are a child of divorce. You know what that fear feels like.

You just want to know if Juno feels safe at home.

“Hey, um…” you start, turning slightly to finally face Gojo, your eyes hesitantly flickering up to meet his gaze, “when was the last time you saw your brother-in-law? And with Sana?”

He raises a brow at you. “I just saw them last weekend for one of Juno’s dance recitals.”

“Ah…I see,” you say. You purse your lips together.

Right. Kids say things all the time. They believe in Santa Claus and think that blueberry pancakes are called blubbery pancakes. And they sometimes read too into things, and they sometimes read too little. Surely, things must be okay. Maybe Sana and Jun had had a little argument with some stubbornly thawing cold shoulders, a demeanor that was noticed by their child, and now things have resumed to normal. That was normal. Part of every family. “That’s good to know…”

You turn away from Gojo to stare back down into the bowl of macerated peaches again. With a furrowed brow, you close your eyes tightly to try to shake the chilly feeling in your bones, and you feel better when you open them again. The slightly numb sensation in your hand dissipates and you have enough dexterity to mix the peaches around in the bowl.

“I wonder what news they want to share with us over dinner,” you say, to quell the awkward silence.

“Hm?” Gojo hums, and you see him turn around face the counter now, hovering over the bowl of raw crumble topping you had mixed together, prodding at it with the wooden spoon. “Oh, they’re moving.”

Your head snaps to look at him. “W-What?”

“Yeah,” he nonchalantly affirms, scooping up a spoonful of the crumble. “They wanted to up-size, and move a little closer to the school that Juno’s at. I found them a nice place about an hour from here on the outskirts of the city. They just signed the papers a couple weeks ago.” And then he shoves the spoon into his mouth.

“Oh…wow,” you say. “Okay…”

“Damn,” Gojo says with surprise laced in his tone, "this is really good.” He’s staring into the bowl in awe and then scoops up some more crumble with a spoon.

You blink at him, irritated that he’s eating all your ingredients without even asking, and before you’ve even finished your dessert. It’s like he was born to piss you off.

You walk up to him and yank the bowl away, “Gimme that.” Then you pull it into the divot of your waist possessively and glare at him.

He sighs, and then says something out loud that you’re sure he meant to keep in his head:

“I’ll get used to it.”

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. it feels so strange to post such a short chapter bahaha hopefully the ending isn't too abrupt. but hope you enjoyed! i'm so sorry ab the slow burn in this series aaa but i can try to assure you that it'll all be worth it hopefully lol i'm really excited for what i have planned for this series!! alsooo sorry if there are errors or anything, i'm trying to spend less time editing since it really stalls me n leads to writer's block lol. hope to see you in the next one :) much love! - ellie

➸ take me to chapter six!

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monzabee · 28 days ago

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run for the hills – lh44 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where fate decides to bring you back into Lewis’ life, making him question his belief in fate.

Pairing: lewis hamilton x rosberg!reader

Word Count: 9.3k

Warnings: cursing, crying, drinking and mentions of alcohol, mentions of brocedes (rip), kissing, unprotected sex (you shouldn’t be surprised at this point), oral (m receiving), hand kink, praise kink, minors dni!!

Request: “hey, Merry Christmas 🫶🏽 I was hoping I could request a Lewis smut fic where the reader is Nico Rosberg's sister (with a age gap of around 6-8 years with him and Lewis) and before 2016 they were just really close friends who just kissed once but chose to pretend it didn't happen. after years, they run into each other at a club or a party and they're pretty snappy at each other but there's a lot of tension too and they end up having sex where Lewis is really cocky and also the reader has a hand kink and praise kink? I'm so sorry if I made it too long, i love your writing <33” + “oooo please could i request something w lewis?! something gut wrenchingly angsty? sorry i don’t really have a plot in mind hhhh thank you heheh”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! HAPPY NEW YEAR, i started this fic last week and i honestly didn't think I'd finish it this quickly but here we are. don't let my words fool you, i got the request last christmas but if you know me then you know that i am not quick when it comes to working on requests (i'm working on this i promise), not that this fic is even remotely christmassy, but let’s just appreciate that it is supposed to be set during the holiday period lol. this was supposed to be a shorter one but here we are, lol, i'm not even surprised at my inability to keep things short at this point. i posted this fic and realised i forgot to copy and paste a big chunk of it so oh well. as always, feedback is appreciated, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

Lewis decided he doesn’t like cold a long time ago. That’s why, being the ever-decisive person he is, he chooses to spend his winter vacationing in places like the Maldives or Bali. His decisiveness is an important part of him, given what he does for a living. When he is on the track, in his car, there is no room for hesitation – he needs to be able to make split-second decisions under intense pressure, what’s not to love about that? So, once he decided he’d rather spend his time off basking in the sun rather than freezing to death somewhere else, he never looked back. He enjoys spending his time off in someplace tropical with his family, or without his family; most of the times away from the prying eyes and camera lenses of the media.

But this time, it’s different – he's alone.

Or rather, he thought he would be alone. The villa he rented out for the duration of the month is isolated, just how he likes it. He wakes up to the sound of waves crashing against the shore right outside his windows, and the distant chirping of tropical birds to accompany him as he lounges on the large deck, overlooking the infinite expanse of blue. There are no spectators around to gauge his reaction, try to get him to speak out about his plans for the next year when he moves to Ferrari, or what he’s going to do when he eventually retires one day. He hasn’t seen anyone from the racing world for weeks, and it’s been a much-needed break. He’d usually love to spend Christmas with his family, the only time he would ever tolerate the cold being when he is with his family, but this year he just wanted to get away on his own.

There is no one around that expect anything from him. Just peace.

He’s not a hermit, of course, but he enjoys spending his time by himself mostly isolated from all the other guests of the touristic area he’s staying in. The chef that works at the villa is on call for when Lewis decides that he wants to stay in for the night, the housekeeping staff come every morning to clean up around the house, then promptly leave, providing Lewis with the privacy he so desperately needs. But other than that, and a few nights spent outside in a restaurant or a club? He is all alone, and he is not complaining about it. Another thing about Lewis Hamilton is that he doesn’t believe in fate. He believes in setting and achieving goals; after all, that’s what he’s done all his life. His success isn’t some cosmic coincidence. It’s years of sacrifice by his parents, relentless effort, and unwavering determination. So, when things happen that feel serendipitous, like running into someone from his past, he doesn’t chalk it up to destiny. He chalks it up to the sheer unpredictability of life.

And yet, as he steps out of the villa to head to a nearby beach club after dinner, he doesn’t expect to run into you, especially not after how the things ended last time, but there you are. His eyes find you at the bar with some guy next to you – he has to do a double take. Just to make sure, he tells himself. But no matter how many times his attention reverts to you, he knows it’s you. Of course, it’s you. Though he’s not a believer in fate or destiny, or whatever you might want to call it, there you are – dressed in a flowy linen dress. His first instinct is to ask the server to seat him somewhere else so that he wouldn’t have stare at you and your ‘date’ for the night. His grip on the glass in his hand tightens momentarily, and he exhales slowly, forcing himself to look away. This is not the moment, he tells himself. It’s not his business, not anymore. But still, his gaze drifts back to you. You’re laughing at something the guy says, your head tilted slightly as you sip from your drink. He can’t hear your laughter, no – but what a sound that would be to hear, he thinks for a moment.

He knows he shouldn’t care who you’re with or what you’re doing; it’s been years since the two of you shared anything beyond... well anything, really. But something about seeing you here, in this place he thought was his private retreat from the world, feels like a twist of fate – or the kind of cosmic joke he claims not to believe in. But his eyes watch you as you throw you head back in a laugh and he can practically hear the sound in his head, his mind taking him to years ago when he used to be one of the people who got to hear it first hand; when he joined your family on karting days, or when you celebrated with him when he won a race, or even back to that one time when him and Nico were trying to drive those unicycles and you kept doubling over in laughter when they fell down – something your brother did not appreciate, but Lewis couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face as he watched you from the ground.

Somethings never change, he thinks, as he notices the smallest of smiles that has crept its way onto his face, quickly disappearing the moment he catches himself. He knows it shouldn’t matter to him – let alone bother him. But old habits die hard, and the sight of your smile, that easy laugh, stirs something in him that feels like both longing and a pang of annoyance. You’ve always had a way of getting under his skin. Back then, it was teasing remarks that somehow felt more genuine than any praise he received elsewhere. He catches himself glancing your way again, his jaw tightening when the guy beside you leans in a little too close. It’s irrational, this surge of jealousy that claws at his chest. He knows he has no right to feel this way, but that doesn’t stop it from burning through him. He looks down at his drink, willing himself to focus on anything but you. But memories have a way of sneaking up on him, unbidden. The days spent at karting tracks, the shared dinners with your family, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, talking about everything and nothing at all. Back then, it was easy. Natural. Like you were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly, until you didn’t.

Just then, you glance over, your eyes scanning the room before they land on him. For a moment, everything stills. The laughter fades from your face, replaced by something unreadable. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. His breath catches in his throat, and he curses himself for the way his chest tightens under your gaze. He watches as you excuse yourself, heading towards the restrooms, and he swears he has never gotten up so fast and walked so fast in his life. He doesn’t think, he just moves until he spots you in the hallway, queued behind some people waiting for the bathroom line. What kind of a club only has one bathroom? He thinks, but that’s not the point.

He clears his throat.

You turn, eyes widening in that familiar, guarded way. “Lewis.” Your lips open in shock as you glance behind him and then focus on him again, “Did- did you follow me here?”

“Were you on a date with that guy?” The words come out of his mouth before he can stop himself, his voice colder than he expects.

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Excuse me?”

He stands there, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but that doesn’t stop the irritation from creeping up his spine. His gaze flickers to the bar behind him, where the guy you were with is still talking to the bartender, oblivious to what’s going on. “I asked if you were on a date,” he repeats, a little sharper this time as he emphasises the last word.

You raise an eyebrow, the surprise on your face melting into something more guarded, a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “What if I was?” You cross your arms, your eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m just out enjoying my night. Ever think of that?”

He feels a rush of heat in his chest. “It’s not like I care,” he mutters, though it’s clear from the edge in his voice that he does. “Just curious.”

You scoff, your lips curling into a sarcastic smile. “Sure, Lewis.”

“So?” He inquires, “Are you? On a date with that guy, I mean.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly not amused. “Are you serious right now?” you snap, your arms tightening across your chest. “You’re standing here, in the middle of a hallway, asking me about my love life? What is this, high school?”

Lewis feels the heat rise in his neck, irritation mixing with a sense of frustration he doesn’t quite understand. “I’m not asking for your life story, just... just an answer. Is it that hard?” His voice is tight, but he doesn’t back down.

You scoff again, your lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. “You really think you can just waltz back in and start demanding answers like we’re still... You know what? Yes, Lewis, I’m on a date.” You throw a glance over your shoulder at the guy still sitting at the bar. “We met on the beach at the hotel I’m staying at, and I thought I’d let him treat me to a dinner and a couple of drinks before I’d let him fuck me six ways to Sunday.” You roll your eyes at someone on the queue gasping at your choice of words. “Not that it’s any of your business. Are you happy now?”

Lewis’s hand grips your wrist, a little too tight, and without warning, he’s tugging you away from the bar, his jaw clenched. “Come on,” he mutters, his tone low and urgent, as he steers you towards the back exit. You’re caught off guard, stumbling to keep up with his forceful pace, your heart hammering in your chest.

“What the hell, Lewis? Let go of me!” you snap, yanking your arm free once you're outside in the chill night air. The chill hits you like a slap, the heat of the club’s atmosphere fading behind you as the door slams shut.

“Seriously?” he spits, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. “You’re gonna play it like that?”

You take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t know what game you're playing at, but I’m not interested. What the hell was that back there? Dragging me out like I’m some kind of... of property?”

He glares at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re unbelievable.” His voice rises, sharp and cutting. “I ask you a simple question, and you throw that crap at me? What the hell did you think I was supposed to do? Just stand there and pretend like I didn’t care?”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Pretend like you don’t care? That’s rich coming from you. You don’t get to just waltz in, after all this time, and act like you can demand answers, Lewis. Like you have any right to know what’s going on in my life.”

“Your brother would be so disappointed in you right now.” His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the air between you two freezes. The breeze picks up, but the sudden silence makes the world feel too loud.

“You don’t get to talk about my brother,” you seethe, as Lewis's face hardens, his jaw tensing, but it’s the look in his eyes that hits hardest — it’s a mixture of hurt and fury, both so raw, you almost feel sorry for what you’ve just unleashed.

“What did you just say?” His voice is low, almost dangerously so, the words slipping through clenched teeth.

You swallow, but it doesn’t help the sharp edge in your voice. “You heard me. You don’t get to talk about him, you don’t get to fuck up my life and you don’t get to come back here acting like you still have any claim on me or my life.” You’re breathing heavily now, the anger and hurt mixing into a bitter cocktail that you can’t quite swallow – funnily enough, Lewis can smell the cocktail you had earlier. “You left. You made your choice, Lewis. And now you don’t get to barge back in and pretend like I owe you anything.”

Lewis stands in front of you, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight as he processes your words. He doesn’t know when the two of you got closer together, he can practically feel the anger radiating off you, “You think I don’t know that?” he spits, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You think I don’t know what I did?” His voice cracks slightly, the vulnerability slipping out before he can stop it. “I fucked up, alright? I fucked up more than you’ll ever understand. We all did – me, Nico, you.”

“You don’t get to make me feel guilty about this, Lewis. You don’t get to act like I’m the one who fucked everything up.” Your voice shakes, but you keep going, the words coming faster, more bitter. “You kissed me and called it an ‘accident’, a fluke. You fought with Nico every chance you got. I had to pick up the pieces on my own.”

Lewis flinches at your words, but his anger doesn’t dissipate—if anything, it only sharpens. His hands remain balled into fists at his sides, but there’s something else behind his eyes now, something raw, something almost desperate. “We wouldn’t have worked out,” he mutters, it’s something that he said to himself time and time again to convince himself of it, “I am– was your brother’s friend, you–”

“You were my friend, too!” You exclaim, your hands swatting at his arms, chest – anywhere you can reach. “You left me, as if I meant nothing to you! You stole my first kiss and shattered my life to pieces on the same day!” You manage to get in some good hits despite Lewis’ attempts to calm you down, and the lump in your throat makes it harder for you to continue talking, “Do you know how many times I wondered if you kissed me just to piss Nico off? Do you know how that feels?”

“What?” He asks, his voice low. Each hit, each accusation, it stings. But nothing hits harder than the raw emotion in your eyes – hurt, betrayal, and the weight of everything he left behind. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. “You think I kissed you to get at Nico?” he says finally, his voice quieter now but no less intense. There’s an edge of disbelief, of hurt, as if the idea itself cuts deeper than your accusations. “Do you really think so little of me?”

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, holding yourself together in the face of his raw honesty. “I don’t know what to think, Lewis. What was I supposed to think back then? You shut me out. You made me feel like it never happened – like I never happened.”

“You were twenty-three years old,” he points out, “our age difference–”

“Oh please,” you scoff, pushing at his chest one last time, “you’ve fucked girls younger than that.”

Lewis flinches at your words, as if they’ve struck a nerve he didn’t even know was exposed. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. “You don’t get to throw that in my face,” he finally says, his voice low and clipped, tinged with a kind of frustration that feels different from before.

“Why?” You ask, head cocked to the side. “I can’t comment on you fucking other people, but you can question my actions because I want to fuck–”

“Say ‘fuck’ one more time and I swear I’ll–”

“—what, Lewis?” you snap, cutting him off before he can finish his threat. “You’ll what? Walk away again? Pretend this conversation never happened, just like you did last time?”

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face tightening as he tries to rein in his emotions. “Don’t push me,” he warns, his voice low and taut, but there’s no real menace in it—only desperation.

“Oh, I’m pushing?” You laugh bitterly, throwing your hands up. “I’m the one pushing? You’re the one who showed up here, dredging up every memory I’ve spent years trying to bury. Don’t you dare put this on me, Lewis.”

“You think this is easy for me?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “You think I don’t hate myself for what I did? For what I didn’t do? I’ve lived with this every single day, and you—”

“Fuck you!” you shout, stepping closer, your finger jabbing into his chest. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck–”

His hands shoot up, grabbing your wrists – not harshly, but firmly enough to stop your movements. You don’t even fully register how quickly he pushes you against the wall, “You think I ran off and lived some perfect life?” he hisses, his face inches from yours as he inhales deeply. “You think I didn’t miss you every goddamn day? You think I didn’t lie awake at night, wishing I’d had the guts to ask you to stay?”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the rawness in his voice leaving you momentarily speechless. For a moment, the anger in his eyes softens, replaced by something else – something that feels far too close to the hope you’ve been trying to suppress. “Well... yeah.” You inwardly cringe how your voice sounds so weak, but Lewis tilts your chin back to make you look at him.

“Is that so?” He mumbles, thumb caressing your chin as his eyes hungrily take in how your chest moves with each deep breath your inhale and exhale.

Your breath hitches as his thumb lingers, his gaze dropping to your lips like he’s fighting every instinct to close the distance between you. “Lewis...” you start, but his name comes out softer than you intend, more of a plea than the warning you meant it to be.

“What?” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a softness to it, an undercurrent of vulnerability that sends your heart racing. “What do you want me to do, huh? Walk away again? Because I can’t. Not this time.”

You shake your head slightly, but his grip on your chin keeps you from fully looking away. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I don’t even know how to feel about you anymore.”

His eyes darken, and his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in, his forehead almost brushing yours. “Then let me remind you,” he says, his voice a low rasp.

Your pulse quickens, every nerve in your body screaming at you to push him away – or pull him closer and he tension between you is suffocating. “Don’t,” you whisper, but your voice wavers, betraying the battle waging inside you.

“Don’t what?” he asks, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. “Don’t do this?” You don’t answer, your throat too tight, your mind too clouded with memories, anger, and something else you’re not ready to name. He waits, his breath mingling with yours, his patience stretching thin. “Say the word,” he whispers, his voice rough with restraint. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I will let you go back and take him back to your room and do whatever you want.”

But you don’t say it. You can’t. Because as much as you hate him, as much as you want to scream at him, cry, and push him away... you also want this. Want him.

And Lewis knows it.

His hand releases your wrist, sliding down to your waist as his other hand stays on your chin, tilting your face toward him. The kiss that follows isn’t soft, isn’t sweet – it’s desperate, raw, and filled with years of unspoken words. It’s anger and longing, heartbreak, and desire, all crashing together in a way that steals your breath and sends your heart into overdrive. A softer kiss might have been what you wanted, but Lewis knows this is what you need. His body presses against yours, and your hands instinctively find his shoulders, clinging to him as if letting go would leave you falling apart. His lips are warm and insistent, the taste of him intoxicating. Every move, every touch, feels like he’s trying to make up for everything he never said, everything he left behind.

The kiss deepens, each second unravelling more of the carefully constructed armour you’ve built around your heart. His fingers grip your waist tighter, grounding you even as everything else feels like it’s spinning. You can feel the heat radiating off him with every press of his body against yours. Your mind screams at you to stop, to think, to pull away before you lose yourself completely – but your body betrays you. The years of hurt, anger, and confusion dissolve into the fire burning between you, ignited by a kiss that’s as much a battle as it is a surrender.

Lewis pulls back just enough to let you breathe, his lips still hovering close, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is hot against your skin, his voice low and rough when he finally speaks. “You still want to go back and fuck your little lover boy?”

“Who?” You mumble, breathless as a result of the kiss as your eyes become heavy with something you can’t quite describe.

Lewis smirks, a glint of triumph flashing in his dark eyes. "Exactly," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your waist in slow, deliberate circles. His confidence is maddening, but the heat between you makes it impossible to summon the indignation you’d usually feel.

You try to muster a response, something sharp and cutting to put him back in his place, but the way his gaze drops to your lips again makes the words dissolve before they even form. “Don’t do that,” you manage, though your voice lacks the conviction you intended.

“Do what?” he asks innocently, though the rasp in his tone betrays his intent.

“Act like this changes everything.”

His smirk falters, replaced by a seriousness that roots you in place. “It doesn’t change everything,” he admits, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “But it changes something. Doesn’t it?”

Your heart pounds against your ribs as his words sink in. You hate how easily he disarms you, how effortlessly he pulls you back into his orbit no matter how much you’ve tried to escape it. But deep down, you know he’s right. “I hate you,” you whisper, though even you can hear the weakness in your words.

“I know,” he replies, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “And I hate myself for making you feel that way.”

The sincerity in his voice cuts through the haze, making your chest tighten. But before you can think about it, you find yourself tugging on the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, pulling him closer to yourself as you mumble, “Kiss me again.”

Your hands, which moments ago were pushing him away, now find their way into his hair, pulling him closer, as if to anchor yourself in the storm he’s unleashed within you. Lewis doesn’t hold back. His grip tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, the wall at your back the only thing keeping you steady. The kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that borders on desperation, as though he’s afraid this moment might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. When the need for air becomes undeniable, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. Both of you are breathing heavily, the space between you charged with everything unsaid. “Tell me you didn’t feel that,” he says, his voice hoarse, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

You can’t answer right away, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest it drowns out any coherent thought. But eventually, you manage to find your voice. “I hate you,” you whisper, but there’s no conviction behind the words. They sound hollow, even to your own ears.

He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, but the edge in your voice falters.

“I’m not,” he murmurs, his gaze unwavering. “I’m telling you what I see. And I see you... still here. Still looking at me like that.” His hand trails down to your hip, his touch light but grounding. “If you hated me, you would’ve walked away by now.”

You close your eyes, willing yourself to regain some semblance of control, but it’s impossible with him standing this close, his presence overwhelming. “This doesn’t change anything,” you say, though it feels more like you’re trying to convince yourself than him.

“Maybe not,” he concedes, his voice softer now. “But it’s a start.” You don’t say anything to agree or refute his statement, and after a brief pause, he straightens, fixies your dress and tries to fix your hair as well. “Come on,” he says, “I’ll take you back.”

“But, my bag,” you mutter, pushing out your lower lip in a pout when you realise your bag is on the floor. Lewis has to restrain himself when he sees your lips all puffed up because of him. Your voice is whiny, and he realises you’re slurring your words a little bit when you tug on his shirt, “I don’t wanna leave my bag here.”

Lewis looks at you for a moment, his expression softening as he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your skin with the same tenderness he’s shown all night despite all your fighting. With a soft exhale, Lewis bends down to pick up your bag, holding it out to you with the same quiet care. “Don’t make that face,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but laced with something tender. “You really wanna go back to that room, after everything that just happened?”

You look at him, a mix of confusion and desire swirling inside you. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the honesty slipping out before you can stop it. The words feel raw, vulnerable, but there’s something about his presence, the way he’s here, still so close, that makes you feel safe enough to say it.

Lewis doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, his eyes soften, his thumb grazing the strap of your bag as he watches you closely, as though he’s searching for something in your expression. Finally, he steps closer again, the space between you narrowing once more. “I get it,” he says quietly. “But I’m not letting you go home alone tonight.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. You want to protest, to push him away, but there’s something in his gaze, the way he’s looking at you now, that makes you second-guess everything you thought you wanted. You hesitate for a moment longer, the weight of your thoughts heavy in the air, but the pull between you is undeniable. It’s the kind of pull that’s magnetic, that doesn’t let you escape even when you try to resist.

Finally, you nod, the decision feeling both like a surrender and a choice you can’t take back. “Okay,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “Take me back, then.”

You don’t even remember getting into his car, but you do remember the smug look he shot at your date – Carl, you think – when he helped you through the club with a firm hand on your back. The villa Lewis rented for his little getaway is entirely what you expect it to be – modern, grand, and secluded enough so no one uninvited would know he is there and bother him. The couch in the living room looks way too inviting and you make a mental note to avoid it for now. Sitting on it might make this whole situation feel too real, too comfortable, and you’re not ready for that. You glance around the space instead, taking in the clean lines of the modern furniture, the polished wood floors, and the sprawling windows that offer an unobstructed view of the moonlit ocean. You walk towards the windows, eyes taking in the view from inside the villa. The ocean stretches out endlessly before you, its surface shimmering under the moonlight. The soft sound of the waves crashing against the shore is faintly audible even through the glass, a gentle hum that seems to echo the turmoil in your chest.

You wrap your arms around yourself, partly to steady your nerves and partly to shield yourself from the vulnerability creeping up on you. The view is breathtaking, but it does little to quiet the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You faintly hear Lewis calling out your name, but as if you are in a trance, you can’t take your eyes off the view in front of you. His voice calls out to you again, softer this time, closer. “Hey,” he says, and you feel the warmth of his presence before you even see him. Lewis’s reflection appears in the glass, his dark eyes fixed on you as he stands just behind you.

You finally tear your gaze away from the ocean and turn to face him, your arms still wrapped protectively around yourself. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment.

Lewis nods, his expression unreadable as he follows your gaze back to the window. “It is,” he agrees, but there’s a weight to his tone, as if he’s not just talking about the view. His eyes flicker back to you, searching your face. “But it doesn’t seem like it’s helping much.”

You let out a shaky laugh, more to fill the silence than anything else. “It’s not that simple, Lewis.”

“Nothing ever is,” he replies, stepping closer until there’s only a breath of space between you. “But I’m here. You don’t have to deal with whatever this is alone.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into it. “I don’t know what to do with you,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “With... us.”

He exhales deeply, his hand lifting as though he wants to touch you but hesitates. “You don’t have to figure that out right now,” he says, his voice steady. “I just want to make sure you’re okay tonight. That’s all that matters to me.”

Something about his words, his presence, eases the knot in your chest, if only slightly. “I don’t even know where to start,” you murmur, more to yourself than him.

“Then don’t,” he says simply, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance. “Just be here. With me.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of pretense or ulterior motives, but all you see is the same man who’s managed to undo you with a single glance. “Show me your room.”

“We don’t have to do that.” His eyebrows furrow as he reaches for your cheek, “That not why I brought you here.”

“Isn’t it?” You try to joke, but his deep sigh is a sign of his disapproval. “I know that’s not why you brought me here, but it can be one of the reasons you brought me here.”

“Can it?” He drawls, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“For God’s sake, Lewis.” You sigh, turning your body towards the man standing next to you. “Do I need to beg you for you to fuck me?”

Lewis’s smirk falters, his expression shifting into something deeper, darker, but undeniably tender. “Don’t,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with restraint as he steps closer. His hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You don’t need to beg me for anything. Not now, not ever.”

The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric. “Then fuck me,” you whisper, your voice trembling with equal parts frustration and desire. “If you want me, show me.”

He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s steadying himself, and when he opens them again, the resolve in his expression takes your breath away. “You think I don’t want you?” he asks, his tone low but firm. “You don’t know how hard it is to hold back, to stop myself from–” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as if even admitting it is too much. He reaches for one of your hands, freeing from your hold and places it on his crotch. “See what you do to me?”

The crude act manages to steal a gasp from you, your eyes widening at how hard he already is. “Lewis,” you mutter, he responds with an affirmative hum, “show me your bedroom.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm but careful, and leads you down a sleek hallway. The sound of your heels clicking against the polished wood floor echoes softly, a counterpoint to the pounding of your heart. When he pushes open the door to his bedroom, you’re momentarily distracted by how much the space reflects him. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft, ethereal light. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft light.

You walk towards the centre of the room, the corner of your lip trapped between your teeth as you glance at Lewis over your shoulder before you run towards the bed and throw yourself onto the soft bedding. Lewis watches you with an amused smirk as you sprawl across the bed, your carefree motion starkly contrasting the simmering tension in the air. “Comfortable, baby?” he asks, his tone teasing, but the heat in his eyes betrays his calm façade.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, giving him a challenging look. “Very.” Then you narrow your eyes at him, “But don’t call me baby, I am not your baby.”

He chuckles, low and throaty, as he steps closer, loosening the top button of his shirt with a deliberate slowness that sends a shiver down your spine. “No?” he muses, stopping at the edge of the bed. His eyes roam over you, drinking in every detail as if committing you to memory.

Your breath hitches when he leans over, placing a hand on either side of your body, effectively caging you in. His face is so close to yours now that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “I like seeing you like this,” he admits, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Relaxed, it suits you.”

A flush creeps up your neck at his words, but you refuse to let him have the upper hand completely. Your fingers trail up his chest, over the defined planes of his torso, and then slide beneath the open collar of his shirt. “I could say the same about you,” you reply, your voice soft but loaded with meaning.

His response is immediate. His lips crash against yours with a fervour that steals your breath, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you flush against him. The kiss is raw and consuming, years of tension and unspoken words pouring into the connection. When he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

You smile, your hands slipping down to the waistband of his pants. “Why don’t you show me?”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, he lifts you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries you to the centre of the bed. He chuckles at the sound of your giggling, as he carefully lays you back down on the soft bed. His fingers work diligently to get you out of your dress, pulling the linen garment over your head as Lewis lets his eyes hungrily take you in. When your dress finally falls away, leaving you in nothing but lace and skin, Lewis takes a slow breath, his eyes scanning over your body with a mixture of awe and hunger. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. His fingers trace the curve of your waist, his touch sending shivers of desire through your body.

You arch slightly into his touch, your breath coming faster, and you meet his gaze with a challenge in your eyes. “Are you going to just gawk at me, or are you going to actually do something?”

He smirks, a flash of cockiness in his eyes. “Patience,” he teases, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in his voice as he lowers himself over you. With one hand bracing himself above you, his other hand slides down between your bodies, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His touch is slow, almost teasing, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as his fingers inch closer to where you need him most. “You like this?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, his lips just inches from yours. His fingers find the lace of your underwear, his touch deliberate as he pulls it aside and slips a finger inside you, making you gasp. “You’re fucking perfect,” he groans, his lips crashing against yours as he deepens the kiss, his finger working inside you with a slow, steady rhythm. You can feel the heat building between you, the tension in the room thickening with every passing second.

“Don- don’t say ‘fuck’, Lewis,” you tease him with a small smirk as your breathing becomes deeper, “it’s unbecoming.”

“You’ll see who will be coming in a few minutes, baby.” He chuckles at the way your expression changes at the mention of the word, his fingers moving in deeper as your let out a disapproving moan, “What? You don’t like it when I call you that?”

With another dissenting hum and a raise of your hips to meet his hand, you let out a long exhale. “I’m not your baby Lewis, stop calling me that.” With the patience that only he can tolerate, he continues the leisurely movements of his fingers. “I want more, please.”

Lewis tuts at your words softly, chuckling as he takes in your reactions. “I think you have a very important decision to make here,” he murmurs, his eyes suddenly painted with something more serious, “because once I fuck you, I’m not letting you go.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” The words come out choppy as your breathing gets more erratic, his fingers stubbornly keeping to the slow rhythm he’s set.

Lewis's gaze sharpens, the challenge in your tone sparking a flame in his dark eyes. “Oh, you’ll see it, alright,” he murmurs, his voice a velvety promise as his hand withdraws briefly, leaving you breathless and aching. Before you can protest, he moves with deliberate precision, tugging his shirt over his head and revealing the expanse of his chest – sculpted, strong, and utterly captivating. “Get on your hands and knees.”

The command leaves no room for debate, his voice firm but laden with heat. Your heart skips a beat as you meet his gaze, a mixture of defiance and curiosity flickering in your expression. “Bold of you to assume I'll listen,” you quip, though the slight tremor in your voice betrays your anticipation.

Lewis smirks, leaning down until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Oh, you'll listen,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Because you know exactly how patient I can be, but the same can’t be said for you.”

A shiver runs through you at his words, and before you realize it, you’ve complied, shifting onto your hands and knees in the centre of the bed. You can practically feel his gaze on you, then all of a sudden, you can actually feel him behind you, the bed dipping slightly under his weight as he moves closer. “Good girl,” he says softly, his voice rich with approval, and the way your body reacts to the praise is almost embarrassing. “Oh, my beautiful darling.” His hands skim over your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your hips. The grip is firm, possessive, sending a thrill through you.

The sounds of him taking himself out of his trousers and pumping cock in his hand is pure debauchery, yet you find yourself pushing your hips back against his thighs. Lewis's low chuckle reverberates through you, a sound full of confidence and desire. His hand tightens on your hips, steadying you as he leans in, his chest brushing against your back. The heat of his skin against yours makes you arch into him instinctively, earning another throaty laugh from him. “You're eager,” he teases, his voice dark and dripping with amusement. “I like you like this.”

You bite your lip to suppress the needy sound threatening to escape, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Maybe you're just slow,” you retort breathlessly, glancing back at him over your shoulder, a challenging look in your eyes.

Lewis growls low in his throat, his hands sliding across your back. “Careful,” he warns, though there's a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Push me too far, and I won't be nice.” Your breath catches at his words, but before you can form a response, you feel him guiding himself to your entrance, teasingly dragging against you. The deliberate slowness makes your frustration peak, and you push your hips back, a wordless plea for him to stop teasing.

“Patience, darling,” he murmurs, his voice a husky promise. But even as he says it, he shifts forward, entering you with a deliberate motion that steals the breath from your lungs.

The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve in your body alight as he holds still for a moment, letting you adjust. “Lewis,” you breathe, your voice shaky with need.

His hands gently caress over the skin of your back and hips, soothing over the sharp feeling of Lewis easing himself into you in small movements of his hips. “You’re doing so well,” he shushes your whiny moans, his hands tracing your sides, grounding you. “You feel perfect, we’re almost there, darling.”

“A-almost?” Your voice cuts his words off, voice shaky with need, “It’s not going to fit, Lewis, I can’t-”

He leans over you, his lips pressing tender kisses along your spine, each one sending a ripple of warmth through you. His voice is a soothing murmur in your ear. “Relax for me, darling. Let me take care of you.” Your breathing steadies under his touch, the initial sting giving way to a fullness that leaves you breathless as he pushes himself fully into you. You arch your back slightly, pressing into him as his hands continue their gentle exploration of your body. The tenderness in his actions contrasts with the raw desire in his voice, creating a heady mix that leaves you yearning for more. “That's it,” he praises, his tone soft but laced with heat. “You’re incredible. See? We made it fit.”

“I feel so full.” You manage to let out, voice whiny as the moan is ripped from the back of your throat. “It feels so good, Lewis.”

He begins to move, a slow, steady rhythm that builds gradually, allowing you to feel every inch of him. The friction ignites a fire within you, and you can’t help the soft moans that escape your lips, each sound spurring him on. His grip on your hips tightens, his pace increasing as he finds the perfect rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “You feel so good,” he groans, his voice low and thick with desire. His hand slides up your spine, tangling in your hair as he pulls you back slightly, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine, you know that? Only mine.”

The moan that comes from you is dissenting, causing Lewis to slide his hand down your throat to use the leverage to pull you up on your knees, pressed against his chest. “No,” you say, hands extending backwards to keep holding onto him in an attempt to keep up with the rhythm in which he is fucking you now.

His words send a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his tone igniting something primal within you. “Say it,” he commands, his voice rough as his movements grow more urgent. “Say you're mine.”

Your breaths are shallow, punctuated by soft whimpers as you cling to him, trying to keep pace with his movements. The way he pulls you against him, his hand firm on your throat, sends a jolt of heat through your core. His hand is firm around your throat, but not uncomfortable to the point that you can’t breathe.

“I’m not yours,” you gasp defiantly, your voice trembling with every move he makes.

Lewis growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back as his hand tightens slightly around your neck—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you in place. “We’ll see about that,” he says darkly.

His hips snap against you harder now, his rhythm relentless as if determined to prove you wrong. The overwhelming sensation leaves you gasping, your fingers clutching at his forearm for balance. His free hand slides down your body, gripping your waist to hold you steady as he drives deeper, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“Still not mine?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. His tone is equal parts teasing and commanding, daring you to resist him. “Still think someone else can fuck you better than I can?” You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans spilling from you, but the way he moves, the way he claims you, has you crumbling. “Say it,” he repeats, his voice a low growl that echoes through your very core.

Torn between defiance and surrender, you meet his challenge with a shaky breath. “I’m-” you begin, but he cuts you off with a particularly deep thrust that has you crying out his name instead.

“Hmm?” Lewis chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying your struggle. His grip on your neck softens slightly as his fingers trace the column of your throat in a soothing gesture. “Come on, baby, just say it.”

“I’m-” The word catches in your throat as he shifts slightly, the angle of his hips hitting a spot that sends a jolt of pleasure through you. A broken moan escapes your lips instead, and Lewis smirks against your ear, clearly revelling in your unravelling.

“Say it,” he demands again, his voice low and demanding. His hand slides from your throat to your jaw, turning your face just enough that his lips can brush against the corner of your mouth. The gentleness of the gesture is at odds with the raw intensity of his movements, leaving you breathless.

“I’m yours,” you finally gasp, the words tumbling out in a mix of desperation and surrender.

Lewis freezes for a heartbeat, his chest heaving against your back as the admission settles between you. Then, with a triumphant growl, he resumes his pace, his grip on you tightening as if he intends to imprint himself into every fibber of your being.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. His lips trail along your shoulder, leaving a path of heat in their wake. “Say it again.”

“Yours,” you whisper, the word coming easier this time, though the weight of it still sends a shiver through you.

His rhythm grows more urgent, his body moving with a single-minded purpose as he pushes you both toward the edge. “Never forget it,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, “now come for me.” You blame the singular cocktail you had three or so hours ago for your compliance to his words, as you feel the wave of pleasure crash over you, obliterating any coherent thought. Your body trembles uncontrollably in his arms, your cries of release echoing in the room as he whispers sweet words of praise in your ear.

There are a million other things Lewis expects you to say, but you surprise him with a, “I wanna taste you.”

Lewis's movements still, his breath catching at your unexpected words. He pulls back slightly, his dark eyes locking with yours, filled with surprise and a flicker of intrigue. A slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Oh, is that so?” he murmurs, his voice tinged with amusement and undeniable heat.

You nod, your cheeks flushing under his intense gaze, but there’s a spark of confidence in your eyes. “I really do,” you say softly, the tremble in your voice betraying both your boldness and your eagerness.

He studies you for a moment longer, his expression shifting to one of reverence laced with desire. "Well," he says, his voice low and gravelly, "who am I to deny you, darling?" With a gentleness that contrasts the fervour of moments ago, Lewis guides you to sit up, his hands warm and steady as they support you. He shifts to the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly, giving you room and letting you take control. His gaze never leaves you, his dark eyes glinting with anticipation. You settle between his thighs, your hands skimming over his skin, marvelling at the way his muscles tense under your touch. There's a sense of power in the way his body responds to you, in the way his breathing hitches when your lips brush against him. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with a small smile before leaning in. The moment your mouth closes around him, Lewis groans low in his throat, his head falling back as his control begins to slip. His hands find their way to your hair, his touch gentle but firm as he guides you, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Just like that,” he praises, his voice rough with pleasure. “You’re perfect, baby.”

The sound of his voice, the way he says your name like it’s the only thing that matters, spurs you on, and you lose yourself in the moment, intent on unravelling him the way he did you. Your lips move with deliberate intent, your tongue tracing teasing paths that have him groaning your name like a prayer. His fingers tighten in your hair, a gentle tug that makes you glance up at him through your lashes. The sight of him – head tilted back, his lips parted as he struggles for breath, sends a thrill through you.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice ragged and filled with awe. His eyes find yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Encouraged by his reaction, you take him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs to steady yourself. The sound he makes is primal, his control slipping further as his hips jerk involuntarily. He tries to hold himself back, but you can tell he’s close to losing himself completely. “Baby,” Lewis rasps, his voice thick with need, “you keep that up, and I won’t last.” You hum around him in response, the vibration pulling another groan from his lips. His hand slips from your hair to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a tender contrast to the raw passion between you. “Look at me,” he whispers, his tone almost pleading.

You meet his gaze, and the connection between you feels electric. His chest heaves as his breaths come in quick, shallow bursts, his control hanging by a thread. “I’m so close,” he warns, his voice a low growl. “Do you want me to stop?” The shake of your head is all the answer he needs. With a curse under his breath, he lets go, his body shuddering as he gives himself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through him. He holds your gaze the entire time, his grip on you tightening as if anchoring himself to the moment.

When he calms down, he collapses back against the bed, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. You sit back after swallowing, a triumphant smile playing on your lips as you take in the sight of him, utterly undone. “That was fun,” you rasp as you take in the sight in front of you.

Lewis chuckles softly, the sound low and breathless, as he drapes an arm over his face, trying to regain his composure. “Fun?” he repeats, his voice laced with amusement and lingering satisfaction. He peeks at you from under his arm, his dark eyes glinting with a mixture of adoration and disbelief. “You’ve got no idea what you just did to me.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence as you crawl up the bed to lie beside him. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” you tease, your voice light but with a hint of pride.

He turns toward you, propping himself up on one elbow, his free hand reaching out to trace lazy circles along your arm. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet filled with a reverence that makes your cheeks flush. “And I’m completely at your mercy.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, as you nuzzle into his touch. “I think you like it that way,” you reply, your fingers grazing over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch.

“More than you know,” he admits, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your temple. The tender gesture contrasts with the raw intensity you’d just shared, and it sends a warm flutter through your chest.

For a moment, silence falls between you, the only sound the soft rustling of the sheets and the slowing rhythm of his breathing. Then Lewis shifts, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

The weight of his words settles over you, and you glance up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his gaze. “Good,” you whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He smiles back, a look of pure contentment spreading across his face as he tightens his hold on you. “That’s all I get?”

“We’ll see how you feel after we get home,” you mumble as you run a finger along the curve of his jaw, “you might be bored of me by then.”

“Home,” Lewis muses quietly, breaking the silence and ignoring your words. His voice is softer now, contemplative. “I like the sound of that.”

You glance up at him, his face so close that you can see the faintest hint of vulnerability in his expression. It stirs something deep within you – a mix of tenderness and longing that takes you by surprise.

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “Me too.”

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forzalando · 7 months ago

Text

take my hand

another 3k celebration blurb! this time, best friends to lovers with lando for my dear friend lee @scuderiahoney 💛 i hope you all love this one, it's an apology for unrequited love!lando lol no heartbreak this time, folks!!! i'm being nice!!!! set at the 2024 spanish gp but definitely some inaccuracies with the post race timeline and also please pretend max fewtrell was there pairing: lando norris x fem best friend!reader word count: 3.2k (this was supposed to be a blurb wtf is wrong with me) summary: it can be so easy to fall in love with your best friend, and it can also be incredibly hard to imagine a world where they love you back. in this world, you're one of the lucky ones. tw: short but steamy makeout scene, mild cursing

Loving Lando Norris was so astonishingly easy. It came as naturally as breathing for you and has for over half of your life.

You met so many years ago but it still feels like yesterday that he reached out to you and said, “take my hand”, pulling you gently off the ground while the other children laughed at your clumsiness. He told you that they laughed at him too – he was short, shorter than you even at that age, and he struggled to read and write. You vowed that day to always pick each other up when you fell or faltered, always stand by each other’s side even when everyone else was laughing, and although it was a promise made between two children, neither of you had ever broken it.

Smiling at the memory, you were off in your own little world – thinking about the days when he would pick you “flowers” at recess (you didn’t have the heart to tell him they were weeds) and you would always share half of your cookie at lunch.

A voice pulled you from your trance, making you jump slightly at the sudden interruption.

“What are you thinking about? Or should I say who are you thinking about with that dopey smile on your face?”

You turned to face Max Fewtrell, a staple in both yours and Lando’s lives for just as long as you’d known each other.

“I was just thinking about where we’ll go for a celebratory dinner after the race. I’ve been craving gourmet pasta and a fruity cocktail.”

“Right, and my name is Willy Wonka. You don’t have to tell me the truth, it’s fine! Just thought I’d let you know he’s looking for you, he wants you in the garage for the race.”

Your heart swelled – even though Lando asked you to be there for every race you could attend, it never failed to make you giddy. You nodded your head at Max, he smirked back at you, and you walked as quickly as possible to the McLaren garage without calling attention to yourself.

As soon as you stepped into the garage, you ran straight into Oscar and the force almost knocked you to the floor.

“Oh thank god you’re here,” he groaned. “Lando’s insufferable, asking where you are every five minutes.”

“Where is he? In his driver’s room?”

“Yeah, that’s where I last saw him headed,” Oscar yelled over his shoulder, walking towards his car. “Go work your magic on him!”

You rolled your eyes as you walked the familiar route to Lando’s driver’s room, your heart rate picking up a bit the closer you got to it. As soon as you were in front of the door, you knocked once and paused, then twice in quick succession, and once more after another brief pause – the secret knock you’d been using for years to let each other know you were there.

The door swung open almost immediately after your last knock and a frantic Lando yanked you inside. He flopped down on the couch behind him and covered his face with his hands – even though you couldn’t see his face, you knew he had a frown and furrowed brow.

“Thank god you’re here now, I’ve been going insane. I need you to tell me that I’m going to win this race – now that I’ve won once, it’s fucking brutal being so close yet so far. Canada was a nightmare and today I’m starting on pole. They’ll eat me alive if I don’t convert it into a win and I don’t know if I can handle that.”

You sat next to him and gently peeled his hands from his face, glassy green eyes, flushed cheeks, and, just as you predicted, a frown and furrowed brow.

“I can’t tell you that you’re going to win, Lando,” you started to say until he interrupted you with a groan, pushing your hands away.

“Hey,” you whispered. “I can’t tell you that you’re going to win, but what I can tell you is that no matter what, I’m proud of you. Max is proud of you. Your family is proud of you. Your fans are proud of you. So many people love you and see what you’re capable of – winning a race, not winning a race, it doesn’t define you. You’re the hardest worker I know, you’re kind, you are the most wonderful friend. I’ll celebrate you even if you come plum last pushing a burning, front wing-less car across the line and so will everyone else who knows and loves you.”

By the time you’d finished rambling, Lando’s shoulders had visibly relaxed and he was smiling. Not the goofy smile with his teeth on full display but a smile was a smile, you would take what you could get.

“Thank you for always being there for me. I can’t promise I won’t be pissed if I lose today but at least I feel better now, thanks to you.”

You punched his arm lightly, jokingly, and rolled your eyes. “We made a promise, didn’t we? I’ll always be there for you, always there to pick you up, even if your inability to see how wonderful you are makes me want to scream.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m perfect, you love me, I’m the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you, your days are miserable without me, tell me something I don’t know,” he jested, nudging your shoulder before standing and holding out his hand to help you up.

“In your dreams, Norris,” you scoffed. “Make sure that big head of yours still fits in your helmet before you get in the car.”

He laughed loudly as he led you out of his driver’s room, finally smiling the goofy smile you loved so dearly. The moment was short-lived – someone from his team called his name and he hugged you briefly before jogging towards them, yelling over his shoulder that he wanted you waiting for him in Parc Ferme after the race.

You shouted your agreement, hoping and praying he hadn’t noticed the rapid beating of your heart or how warm your cheeks were when he pulled you into that brief embrace. Although he had said it all to rile you up, you truly did think the world of him. He was the greatest thing that had ever happened to you. In your eyes, he was as perfect as a person could be, and oh, did you love him. You loved him far more than a friend should and it was getting increasingly more difficult to keep that to yourself.

As Lando pulled his car in front of the P2 sign, you felt the familiar burning of guilt running through your veins.

Maybe you should have told him he would win. Insisted on it, actually. You should have been adamant that he would rise to the occasion and to the top step of the podium once again.

He wouldn’t want to see you, you were quite sure of that, and despite your promise to be waiting for him with his team, you tried to sneak away unnoticed. You’d slowly made it far back enough to be swallowed by the sea of people until an arm blocked you from getting any further.

You looked up to see Lando’s race engineer with a disapproving look on his face and instantly felt like your father had just caught you trying to sneak out after curfew.

“He wants you here and he’s going to need you here,” Will shouted over the noise of the crowd.

“I think I’m the last person he wants to see right now, I wouldn’t promise him that he would win. I basically jinxed his whole race trying to keep him from being so hard on himself. What if he thinks I don’t believe in him?”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” Will snorted. “Now please get back up there quickly so you’re the first person he sees when he gets out of that car.”

With the help of Will, you were pushed gently back to the front just in time to see Lando haul himself out of his McLaren. His body language was obvious – disappointment, sorrow, embarrassment, and your heart ached as you listened to the roaring cheers from the Red Bull team as Max launched himself into their arms.

You knew Lando would be running every possible scenario through his mind – what if he had gotten a better start, what if he’d managed tires just a bit better, what if George hadn’t been able to sail through at the start and he hadn’t had to back off of fighting Max. All of those thoughts a natural, valid response, but if he voiced any of them out loud he’d get torn to pieces by both journalists and fans of other drivers.

When he peeled his balaclava from his face your stomach twisted and you silently begged him to look your way – for him to find a face in the crowd that was so unwaveringly proud of him through everything, but he kept his eyes trained anywhere but you or his team.

Finally, you saw his eyes flicker to you, and he walked briskly toward where you and the few members of his team were waiting. Wordlessly, he pulled you into his arms and exhaled so deeply it felt as if he’d been holding his breath since the end of the race.

“You drove beautifully,” you whispered, combing your fingers through the sweat-dampened curls on his head. “I love you, you know that, right?”

Lando’s arms immediately loosened around you and his head was turned away from you, he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, look you in the eye.

“We’ll talk later, I have to go do my interview,” he mumbled. “Wait for me in my driver’s room, okay?”

You nodded your head even though he was already walking away from you, shoulders slumped and jaw clenched. Honestly, you weren’t sure what hurt worse – the fact that you could physically see his disappointment or that he didn’t say he loved you back.

It felt like hours before you heard an all too familiar knock on the door to Lando’s room – the door gently swinging open to reveal the tired face and frame of your best friend. He must have showered in Oscar’s room before coming to find you – the smell of champagne nowhere to be found yet his curls stuck slightly to his forehead. The sight was endearing, and it took everything in you to not pull him into you and bury yourself against his chest.

“You didn’t have to knock, it’s your room,” you spoke softly, adjusting your position on the couch.

“Force of habit, I guess.” The corner of his lip turned up when he answered you – a good sign, a sign that maybe he wasn’t angry with you at all about your earlier conversation.

Although it was Lando who asked to talk, you couldn’t help yourself from blurting out an apology as soon as he took a seat next to you.

“I’m so sorry about earlier,” you pleaded. “I should’ve said something different, I should’ve just said what you wanted me to say. I meant all of it, every word, but you asked me to reassure you in a specific way and I didn’t.”

Lando blinked a few times as he stared at you, his mouth falling open in shock? Amusement? You couldn’t tell, but at least he didn’t appear to be mad.

“Do you think I’m angry with you?”

“Well, yes,” you mumbled. “I probably jinxed your race.”

“Jinxed it? If anything, you’re the reason I finished second. I kept thinking about what you told me instead of focusing on how I screwed up – it kept my head in the race.”

“But, but,” you stammered, “you didn’t say you loved me back. In Parc Ferme, when you were hugging me. You always say it back, I thought you were furious with me.”

“Would I have walked over only to hug you if I was furious with you?”

You felt a little embarrassed at your panic – “I suppose not, you probably would’ve stayed as far away from me as possible.”

“Exactly, you silly muppet,” he teased, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. “I didn’t say it back because I realized that it means something different for both of us and I, believe it or not, got scared.”

Your eyes widened and you felt like you were going to be sick. He knew. You shouldn’t have been surprised, everyone had figured it out – his pit crew, Will, Zak, Oscar, Oscar’s girlfriend the literal first time you met her, all of your friends and family, even drivers on different teams had made comments to you in passing over the years.

“Lando, I,” you tried to get ahead of it, ahead of the rejection and the awkwardness, but he cut you off with a raised hand and a pleading look.

“Please, just let me get this out or I never will,” he begged. “I think I’ve always known, or at least everyone around me has just always told me that it’s painfully obvious, but I didn’t fully realize it until earlier today. You care about me so much, more than anyone, and I’m almost positive I could be the lousiest driver, lawyer, engineer, teacher, architect, whatever, and you’d still always be proud of me. You’d be there for me regardless with a giant smile on your face, an “I love you”, and a hug that would heal any self-doubt or negative thoughts. You mean everything to me and I don’t know what I would do without you but – ”

You waited with bated breath, your leg bouncing uncontrollably and heart hammering in your chest. Waiting for the “but I don’t feel the same”, “but I see you as a friend”, for the inevitable heartbreak.

“But I can’t keep my feelings a secret anymore, even if it might ruin everything, but I have to believe it won’t because we can get through anything together. I love you, Y/N, more than anyone in this world, more than a friend, more than I ever thought it would be possible to love someone. I’m saying it back now, hoping that you feel the same because it’ll be incredibly awkward if you don’t, but that’s what I had to tell you first. I love you. I think I always have.”

It felt like the earth had stopped moving, time frozen and only you and Lando existed in this moment, only you existed in the entire universe. Your thoughts raced with what to say back – something romantic? Should you just jump into his arms and kiss him senseless like you’d dreamed about for years? Unfortunately, you landed on something far less eloquent.

“You what?” Your shout echoed in his driver’s room, if anyone was within a ten-foot radius they surely would have heard you.

“Well, I guess that’s not the worst reaction,” Lando pondered, looking away from you bashfully. “Nora Powell stomped on my foot when I told her I liked her. Do you remember that? I think it was Year 10?”

You did remember – it was quite a horrendous memory for you, actually, as that’s the year you realized you had a crush on your best friend.

“Oh, I was so jealous of her,” you blurted. “I cornered her at lunch the next day and told her she was the luckiest girl in the world and a certified idiot for turning you down.”

His head snapped back to look at you, a hopeful glint in his eye.

You smiled at Lando, tentatively cupping his cheek. “I suppose I’m the luckiest girl in the world now, to love and be loved by the most incredible man I’ve ever known.”

“Oh no,” he insisted, “I promise you, I’m the lucky one.”

He kissed you once gently, tentatively, his lips barely brushing yours before he pulled you into his lap and slid his hands to rest on your neck, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. In an instant, he was kissing you breathless, licking into your mouth as you whined and pressed yourself against him.

One roll of your hips had him panting, a hand leaving your face to slide under your shirt, leaving a trail of fire until he stopped and squeezed just under your breast. You were dizzy with desire and full of so much love for the man underneath you – he was intoxicating, you never wanted to stop kissing him, you never wanted to know the feeling of his hands not wandering your body.

You tugged his hair lightly, just enough to disconnect his lips from yours even though it pained you to do so.

“I love you so much,” you muttered, a tear escaping from your eye. “I never thought – ”, you couldn’t even get the words out, choosing to bury your head into Lando’s neck as he gently rubbed your back.

“I know,” he whispered, lifting your head to kiss you senseless once again.

The two of you were so wrapped up in one another that neither of you heard a knock at the door or the turning of the knob. You did, however, hear the blood-curdling scream.

“Oh my god, my eyes,” Max groaned, slapping a hand over his face while he dramatically dry-heaved. “Get a room, you deviants!”

“Mate, we are literally in a room!” Lando shouted back, lifting you gently off his lap before he leapt to his feet and pushed Max backward. “We will see you back at the hotel.”

“Great, I’ll be bleaching my eyes out when you get there. For the record, I’ve always wanted this to happen, but I never wanted to see it.”

“Well, that’s your own fault,” you scolded. “Next time wait for a response before barging in somewhere.”

“Oh, believe me,” he stressed, “I’ll never be walking into any room you two are in ever again. Not even if there’s another fire and I’m the only one who can warn you to get out.”

“The dramatics are unnecessary but you do need to leave,” Lando insisted, pointing out the door.

“Yes, absolutely, but before I go, who confessed first?”

“Lando did,” you said proudly. “I’m just irresistible, I guess.” Lando winked back at you, which you took to be an agreement.

“Damn it, I owe Piastri, Sainz, and Verstappen $100 each,” Max groaned. “Like they need my money. See you two lovebirds later!”

He shut the door so quickly that neither you nor Lando had time to react to the fact that your friends had been betting on you. It took a few rounds of looking back and forth at each other and then the closed door before you burst into giggles and fell back into the couch, clinging onto each other. You laughed a bit too hard, your hands leaving Lando to clutch at your ribs. Almost instantly, you felt yourself sliding off your seat, your bum hitting the floor with a thud.

You looked up to see Lando with his arm outstretched, a cheesy smile on his face as he repeated the same words he said to you so many years ago.

“Take my hand.”

And just like you did that fateful day, you grabbed on, let him pull you up, and fell in love all over again.

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

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cherimoyatea · 3 months ago

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The LaDs Men healing your inner child...

...they accidentally evoke your insecurities and comfort you.

❧ Part III - Zayne - Healing Hearts

Pairing: Zayne x You Synopsis: You pretend to be fine when Zayne is called back to work on his day off. Word count: 901 Tags: workaholic zayne, disappointment, neglect, romance, fluff, comfort Side notes: Wow, are we already at Part III? Zayne's story is actually the reason why I created a mini-series instead of posting all four stories at once. It simply got too long, and I had to rewrite the other stories to match their length. In this part, we address the theme of rejection and neglect, but luckily, we have Zayne to help us realize that our feelings matter. Part I - Xavier ❧ Part II - Rafayel ❧ Part IV Sylus

Beep-Beeeep.

A sharp sound cuts through the peaceful moment as you lie on the couch with Zayne. Still exhausted from yesterday's mission, your head rests on his lap, and you're about to fall asleep halfway through the movie while his fingers softly stroke your hair.

He carefully leans forward to reach for his pager on the coffee table while you rub your sleepy eyes. Noticing Zayne's serious expression you slowly sit up next to him. ''What's wrong? An emergency at the hospital?''

Zayne nods as he stares at the pager, reading the message from Akso Hospital. Today was his day off, and he promised to spend it with you. He takes a deep breath and sighs, sliding the pager into his pocket while he shifts his worried gaze to you. He hates himself for asking you this. ''MC, do you mind if we reschedule our movie date?''

You swallow as your heart drops at his words. You saw that coming.

More people are falling ill since the days grow shorter and the nights become colder. Even doctors and nurses aren't spared, which leads to a shortage at the hospital. Zayne had already told you that he was on call, but you had hoped he wouldn't be needed.

''No, it's fine. I think I'm too tired for a movie marathon anyway.'' You reply with a forced smile, even though you feel like crying. You haven't had time for each other in weeks, but you know how important his patients are to him. Putting your needs aside is something you're used to, and you don't want to be a burden by asking him to stay. Instead, you nod heavily as you stand up from the couch, pretending to be alright. ''Let's go, Zayne.''

The young doctor watches you intently for a moment before responding, his eyes following your movements as you walk over to the coat rack to grab your jacket. He knows you too well and can clearly see the disappointment behind your feigned bright expression.

He wishes he could silence the pager and dismiss it, but the oath he's sworn holds him to his duty. So he clears his throat and keeps a straight face, even though it’s breaking him inside to walk away from you.

''Alright. I’ll drop you off on the way.''

Zayne's attentive eyes are focused on your profile while the motor of his vehicle purrs softly. It's been the only sound since you left his apartment and your silence couldn't be louder to him.

When the signal turns green again, he reluctantly takes his gaze back to the road, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel as he tries to figure out how to get to you.

Beep-Beeeep.

The sigh that escapes your lips as his Pager goes off for the second time today is not missed by him.

''I apologize that we have to postpone our date. I didn't expect it to end like this.'' You hear Zayne's calm voice as he tries to reach you, hoping for a response. You shift in the passenger seat, staring out the window, not really focusing on anything. Another faint smile appears on your face as you turn to him, wondering whether you should tell him the truth: That you feel rejected and disappointed. That you miss him and want to be with him.

But there is this numbing feeling that you might come off as too needy, as someone who clings and is just too much to handle. ''It's okay; don't worry too much about it, Doctor Zayne. We can always meet again on your next free day.'' You say as you stop in front of your apartment building.

Without waiting for his response, you get out of Zayne's car and close the door a bit harder than you intended. You know it's not his fault and that he didn't intentionally let you down. Yet a crippling feeling of neglect washes over you as you retreat from his sight. Completely unaware of his longing gaze upon you as the engine starts again.

Later that day, you have already resigned yourself to spending the evening alone when you suddenly hear your phone vibrate on your desk. Your heart skips a beat as you see Zayne's name on the display:

''I'm taking the day off tomorrow to compensate for today and bought two tickets for a movie tonight. Would you like to accompany me? I'm waiting downstairs.''

You rush out of your apartment as fast as you can, still in disbelief that he is actually here. Zayne is leaning against his car, and a smile spreads across his handsome face as he sees you running towards him, jumping straight into the arms of your beloved. He chuckles softly as you bury your face in his chest before looking up at him.

''Zayne, about earlier... I'm so sorry for how I acted I-'' Your words are interrupted as gentle, green eyes stare back at you while he slowly shakes his head. ''No. You don't have to act strong all the time.''

You feel his arms loosen around you, and just as you start to panic, his warm hands gently wrap around your trembling fingers. ''It's alright to feel disappointed when things don't go your way. All you have to do is tell me how you feel and promise to be honest. I will accept you, no matter which side you show.''

Thank you for reading! Cherry 🍒 Updated Nov. 20th: Added links to the other parts + fixed formatting.

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zerocoded · 6 days ago

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summary: arguments rise between the two of you, but what you don't know is that caleb would let you punch him how many times you wished.

authors note: banner credits to the one and only cutie who draw this and i found it on pinterest! i decided to split this in two because the word count was already pass 16k, so yeah. posting the smut in the next chapter! this sucks bc i don't know how to write happy characters, i'm so sorry. i wish you a happy reading! this series was supposed to be three chapters but now it's four, i hope you don't mind hehe, enjoy!

warnings: HEAVY ANGST • bad talk about ourselves again (booh) • doubts and feeling of betrayal and guilt • we get introspective all the time im sorry • MINOR INJURY • mentions of psychological and physical torture (in the past) • obsessive!caleb • UNCANNON bc i finished this before caleb release so this is the lore i created ok • hurt/comfort • THIS IS NOT A LIGHT READING, but i promise it'll get better next chapter

word count: 9.9k

the first time you see caleb after the incident┃caleb uses you as a hostage at the farspace fleet┃you're here┃caleb teaches you his love language

colonel caleb wore real gold on his uniform and carried a fire in his gaze. his steps were precise, almost mechanical, and his towering height commanded respect wherever he went. his voice never wavered, firm and unyielding, and any flaws he might have were buried beneath the weight of his presence. the insignias on his chest gleamed like silent declarations of victory, each one a testament to battles fought and won.

the metal where there should have been flesh and bone was a source of both mystery and awe to his subordinates. what might have seemed a reminder of pain to him—his bionic arm, a testament to his devotion—was, to others, a symbol of unyielding strength. even the faint hum of its servos as he moved carried an air of authority, a silent declaration that he had sacrificed and endured more than most could fathom.

but in the quiet of his own room, colonel caleb felt less like the commander everyone revered and more like the boy you had grown up with.

his height, which once seemed awe-inspiring, became almost comical in the simplicity of his surroundings. even though the entire space was designed to accommodate him—a luxury that often left you struggling with the proportions—he still seemed impossibly large as he moved around in a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants. if you closed your eyes, you could almost see a younger version of him—slightly shorter, a little less broad—fumbling around granny’s kitchen, trying to fix something for the two of you to eat before bed.

after you both got out of that conference room, caleb seemed recharged in a way that was impossible to ignore. despite the distance still lingering between you and the stark confusion of where you both now stood, caleb seemed brighter, lighter, as if the mere fact that you were sleeping in the room next to his was enough to bring him back to life.

that observation made you see him in a different light, made your resolve crack just enough for the resentment you’d been holding onto to soften by the end of the day. it was impossible to ignore how palpable his love for you was, woven into the very air of his chambers, clinging to every word he spoke and every glance he stole.

it left you feeling recklessly cherished. dangerously so.

the notion was both thrilling and unsettling—how much power you held over him, how much of himself he seemed willing to give just to keep you near. and with that realization, the suffocating weight that had pressed on your chest since the moment he appeared at your front door in linkon city five days ago began to ease, just a little. it was still there, still sharp and heavy, but the edges had softened with the knowledge that, in some inexplicable way, you had always been his anchor.

since the false interrogation he’d orchestrated, caleb had taken to sleeping on the sofa, giving you the bed without question. you often woke to find him there, sprawled in uncomfortable positions that looked at odds with his commanding presence during the day. his sacrifice was unspoken, like so many of his gestures—a quiet, steady offering of himself to make you feel safe.

his voice carried a tender, teasing lilt every time he spoke to you, as if he couldn’t help but let his affection seep into his words, smoothing the sharp edges of the bluntness that a few days ago defined him.

in a way, you couldn’t decide if you were grateful—or terrified—to be the center of this man’s world.

you had experienced something you hadn’t in years: the giddiness you were often reproved for as a child. it crept up on you in the quiet moments—the teasing glint in caleb’s eye, his sharp wit, the way he quirked an eyebrow when he was trying to get a rise out of you. his funny remarks and old quirks, things you thought you’d forgotten entirely, came rushing back, leaving you disarmed.

you found yourself laughing at things you hadn’t noticed were funny, smiling in ways you hadn’t realized you still could. the sense of euphoria was intoxicating, almost overwhelming. it burned through the shadows of doubt that had lingered since you arrived, leaving you to wonder if caleb’s presence—his persistence, his warmth—was the very thing you needed to feel whole again.

but that wasn’t all. caleb had made it his mission to spend every waking second with you now, as if making amends for the two days he left you alone when you first arrived at skyhaven. he cooked for you—something he didn’t have time for before. his presence became tangible in ways it hadn’t been in years. he started tagging you along for his tasks outside the dorms, immersing you in the controlled chaos of his world.

every time you asked a question, his answers were immediate, clear, and unguarded. every time you wished for something, he set his mind to making it happen. just that morning, when you wondered aloud how daa pilots coordinated emergency landings so precisely, he’d whisked you away to the base, brimming with enthusiasm, to show you the mechanics of their operations. he even placed you inside a trainer aircraft, insisting you try it out—his face lighting up like a proud instructor—only relenting when your panicked pleas got you safely back on the ground.

he almost sounded like a nerd when he explained things, which you found oddly endearing. familiar.

even in moments of uncertainty and vulnerability, caleb remained steadfast. his decision to confine you to his chambers during the first two days—something that had frustrated and angered you—still lingered in your mind as an unfair choice. yet, he never hovered. instead, he occupied himself with tasks in the background, always ready to comfort you if needed but careful not to suffocate you. as if he understood that no amount of effort could undo the hurtful choices that had brought you both to this point.

the storm of emotions from your first 72 hours here in skyhaven still stole the air from your lungs during the nights, leaving you gasping in a silence that felt too loud. you cried yourself to sleep with an ache that defied words, an emptiness that gnawed at your chest and refused to let go. it wasn’t just the weight of what you had learned—it was the crushing realization that so much of your life had been shaped by truths you never knew, by choices made for you without your consent.

caleb noticed everything. he noticed how your showers stretched on endlessly, the way the sound of running water masked the quiet sobs you thought you could hide. he saw how your eyes darted away from his when the weight of his gaze felt too much to bear. the way your hand would unconsciously clutch at your chest, as if holding yourself together, as if your heart might betray you if you let it go.

he never mentioned it. not once. his silence wasn’t dismissive; it was deliberate, as though he understood that words could only do so much. instead, he stayed close—close enough that you could feel the steady presence of him, grounding you when you felt like you might unravel. but he never pushed. he let you have your space, retreating to the far corners of the room or busying himself with tasks that gave you room to breathe.

one night, when the weight of it all became too much, you broke. the tears came suddenly, unstoppable, as if they’d been waiting for this exact moment to escape. you didn’t even try to hide them this time, your body trembling as you sat on the edge of the bed, clutching your knees to your chest.

caleb was there before you could even process his movement, his warmth engulfing you as he pulled you into his arms. his grip was firm but gentle, like he was holding something fragile. he didn’t say anything at first, just rocked you slightly, his breath steady and grounding against the chaos in your mind.

when the murmurs started, they were soft, barely audible over the sound of your sobs. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough and full of something that made your chest ache even more. “i’m so, so sorry, princess. i know. i know.”

his lips brushed against your forehead, lingering there for a moment before moving to your hair, your temple, your ear—soft, fleeting touches that carried an apology too big for words. you felt his chest shudder beneath your cheek, and it took you a moment to realize that his breaths were uneven.

caleb was crying too.

his words, his presence, the steady beat of his heart against your ear—it all worked together to chip away at the walls you’d built around yourself. you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, the two of you wrapped in each other, but eventually, exhaustion won. your sobs quieted, your breathing evened out, and before you knew it, sleep took you.

the next morning, he didn’t bring it up. instead, his apologies came in other ways.

he made you breakfast without a word, setting the plate down in front of you before retreating to clean up the kitchen. when you needed a moment alone, he gave it without question, hovering just close enough to remind you that you weren’t truly alone.

it didn’t fix everything, not by a long shot. but it was a start. and for now, that was enough.

caleb’s quiet determination to make things right showed in ways he didn’t even realize. but for all his efforts to rebuild the fragile connection between you, there were moments when his own vulnerability slipped through the cracks.

the first time you truly saw his bionic arm—not just his hand but as an undeniable reality—was one of those moments. it wasn’t something he wanted you to see.

you caught glimpses when he wasn’t looking, stealing moments to trace his body with your eyes, searching for the details you still weren’t used to. it was as though he wore it like a symbol of his own ruin when in front of you, a quiet badge of loss. he always hid it beneath long sleeves as if punishing himself for its existence.

the only time he didn’t—when necessity gave way to something more human—was on the first morning after the investigation episode. unable to bear staying in the bed that smelled so much like him, you’d wandered into the kitchen, drawn by the soft clatter of pans and the faint smell of food. and there he was, standing by the stove in a sleeveless white shirt, his bionic arm fully exposed for the first time.

at first, you hadn’t noticed it, your groggy mind too focused on the surreal sight of him cooking breakfast. but when his eyes met yours, everything shifted. his posture stiffened, and his entire demeanor changed, as if you had caught him in a moment of weakness. the confidence he usually carried so effortlessly vanished, replaced by a flash of vulnerability so stark it made your chest tighten. it was as if your gaze alone had stripped him bare, as if you weren’t supposed to see him this way.

as if he didn’t want you to see him this way.

he turned his body slightly, instinctively shielding the metal limb from view. the movement was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you noticed. it was in the way he avoided your eyes after that, focusing too intently on flipping the eggs in the pan, his silence louder than any words could be. it was in the way his shoulders tensed, betraying the emotions he wouldn’t let surface.

you let it go for now, though the image stayed with you, lingering like an unanswered question.

it was your sixth day in skyhaven. yesterday evening had been spent making phone calls to friends and colleagues, reassuring them after your sudden disappearance. you’d explained the situation to everyone who mattered, carefully crafting the details to sound less alarming than they truly were. but one call had remained undone—zayne. the reasons for not dialing his number sat heavy on your chest, unspoken and hard to name. but you left it at that.

the sight of caleb cooking should’ve felt mundane by now, honestly. you’d seen him shirtless more times than you could count, growing up together had ensured that. you both had been at the mercy of puberty and hormones, awkwardness softened by familiarity. but something about the way he stood now, his presence so certain yet so quietly domestic, struck you differently.

it was a stark contrast to the lean boy who used to tease and prod at your attention; now, caleb stood tall and broad in front of the stove, his muscles shifting with precision as he moved, every action pulling a reaction from you—a warmth that crept into your cheeks as a flashback of your first kiss in your apartment left you momentarily off balance.

all the thinking and pondering you’d done over the past three days hadn’t wavered the anger simmering inside you—not yet. caleb might have also been a victim, but he wasn’t innocent in the slightest. his choices, no matter how well-intentioned, had left scars on you that you couldn’t ignore. and you’d finally decided how to deal with it.

you were going to punch him.

in the face, preferably.

it wasn’t the most rational plan, but it was the only way you could see to start letting go of the frustration and rage that had been building inside you. you could start your healing journey from there. but first, you needed this. he had faked his death, left you to mourn him alone. if that didn’t earn him a solid right hook, what would?

so you stood in the doorway of his bathroom, your fists clenching and unclenching at your sides, watching caleb move around the kitchen like he belonged there. his back was to you, broad and steady, muscles shifting under his skin with every precise movement. his bionic arm rested at his side, but you refused to let your gaze linger on it—it wasn’t the time.

he glanced over his shoulder, offering you a small, warm smile. “morning,” he said casually, as if the weight of the last few days hadn’t fractured something between you.

and then you saw it—that small, almost imperceptible movement. the way he shifted slightly to hide the metal limb from your line of sight, as if shielding himself from judgment he thought he might find in your eyes. the gesture was subtle, but it struck you like a spark to dry tinder, igniting a fire that had been smoldering in your chest.

why did he keep doing that? why did he act like he had to hide from you? as if you were the one who couldn’t accept what he’d become, when he was the one who had shattered your world?

the tick of irritation swelled into something sharper, something more visceral. you stepped into the room, your movements slow but deliberate, the sound of your footsteps catching his attention.

“why do you do that?” you asked, your voice low but edged with something brittle.

his brow furrowed, his eyes flicking to you as he turned, uncertain. “do what?”

“this,” you said, gesturing toward his arm. “you keep hiding it. like you think i care about that more than everything else you’ve done.”

his expression shifted, a flicker of something—shame, maybe—crossing his face before he looked away, focusing on the pan in front of him. “it’s not that simple, pipsqueak” he said, his voice quieter now, guarded.

“no, it’s not,” you shot back, stepping closer. “nothing about this is simple. but you don’t get to act like you’re the only one carrying this weight.”

his grip on the spatula tightened, his jaw clenching, but he didn’t respond. that silence, that calm restraint, only made your anger boil over.

“you don’t get to hide, caleb,” you said, your voice rising. “not from me. not after everything you’ve put me through.”

he turned then, fully facing you, his expression hard but not unkind. “what is it with the lashing out just now? i’m not hiding,” he said evenly. “i just—”

“you just what?” you interrupted, stepping closer still. “you just thought it’d be easier to let me think you were dead? to leave me to grieve while you played hero for people who didn’t even care about you?”

his eyes widened, the calm facade he usually wore cracking just enough to show the vulnerability underneath. “i—i told you i’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet but edged with something raw. “i explained my reasons at the time, it was not like that”

you almost felt pity for him—almost. but the ache in your chest, the anger clawing at your throat, wouldn’t let you soften. not yet.

“then what was it like, caleb?” you demanded, your voice trembling with the weight of your frustration. “because from where i’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like betrayal.”

the words hung heavy in the air, the silence between you thick with tension. you could feel your chest tightening, the storm of emotions swirling inside you threatening to spill over.

and then, without thinking, you took a step forward and swung your fist. your knuckles connected with his jaw, the force of the punch sending a sharp jolt up your arm, but it wasn’t like you weren’t used to fight wanderers by yourself. he stumbled back a step, his hand flying to his face as his eyes widened in shock.

caleb had expected it—not like this, not right now—but the moment your fist collided with his jaw, a strange sense of inevitability settled over him. he let out a sharp breath, his fingers brushing against the tender spot where your punch had landed. the sting was immediate, but it was nothing compared to the ache that had been simmering inside him for days.

he stayed still for a moment, the weight of your anger washing over him like a tide he’d been bracing for but never truly prepared to face. you were trembling, chest heaving, your knuckles still clenched as if you were debating whether to hit him again.

caleb straightened slowly, his jaw throbbing as he met your gaze.

the room was silent, save for your ragged breathing and the faint sound of the pan sizzling on the stove.

for a moment, you thought he might lash out, might yell or demand an explanation. but instead, he let out a soft, incredulous laugh, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

“you’ve got a hell of a punch, pipsqueak” he said, his voice tinged with amusement, though his eyes still carried that familiar weight.

“don’t,” you said sharply, your fists still clenched at your sides. “don’t laugh this off. don’t pretend like you didn’t deserve it.”

his smirk faded, replaced by something softer, more serious. “you’re right,” he said quietly. “i did.”

those words took the wind out of you, leaving you standing there, unsure of what to do next. the anger that had driven you moments ago was still there, but it felt different now—muted, as if the act of hitting him had let some of it go.

“feel better?” he asked, his tone light but not mocking, hand still holding his jaw.

but his calmness, his ability to shrug off what you’d done as if it were nothing, only made something inside you snap. “no,” you said sharply, your voice trembling. “no, i don’t feel better. because none of this changes anything, caleb. none of this fixes what you did.”

he watched you quietly, his expression steady, patient. that calmness—the same calmness you’d once found reassuring—now felt like a wall you couldn’t break through. it only fueled the storm building inside you.

“you left me,” you said, your voice rising as your emotions spilled out, unchecked. “you lied to me throughout all my life, you should’ve told me something, should’ve… i don’t know!”

his lips parted as if to respond, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“and then you show up again—alive, bigger than life, barking me orders as if i was a stranger to you. you think you can just apologize and everything will go back to how it was? do you have any idea how much you broke me?”

your voice cracked on the last words, and the tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill. you stepped closer to him, your fists pounding weakly against his chest, frustration and grief bubbling over. “i should hate you forever, caleb.”

he didn’t move, didn’t stop you, his hands hovering at his sides as if he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to touch you. not when your words sounded so heavy.

"god," you felt your voice crack and tears started forming on your eyes.

caleb wasn’t allowed to say anything but, “i’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice breaking under the weight of his words. “i’m so sorry.”

“stop saying that!” you cried, your voice rising in a mixture of anger and desperation. “sorry doesn’t fix this. it doesn’t fix us, you asshole!”

your fists hit his chest again, harder this time, and he caught your wrists, gently but firmly. “i know,” he said, his voice steady now. “but it’s all i have. it’s all i can give you right now, princess.”

his grip loosened, and before you could pull away, he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you close. “i’m so sorry,” he murmured again, his voice low and heavy with emotion. “i know i hurt you. i know i can’t fix it overnight. but i swear, i’ll spend the rest of my life trying if you let me.”

his words broke something inside you, and the tears finally spilled over. you buried your face against his chest, sobbing openly as his arms tightened around you. his hand rested on the back of your head, cradling you gently as if he were afraid you might shatter completely.

“don’t give up on me,” he whispered, his voice raw. “i’ll be okay if you hate me forever, as long as you’re happy. that’s all that matters.”

“don’t say things like that,” you choked out, your voice muffled against him. “don’t be so dependent on me. you’re a dick.”

his arms around you tensed for a moment before loosening, his breath brushing the top of your head. “i’m trying not to be,” he murmured, his tone so soft it felt like a confession. “but you’re the only thing that kept me steady until now, Y/N. the only thing that makes me feel like… like i’m still human.”

his words struck you, sharp and raw, cutting through the haze of your emotions. you pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes meeting his. “caleb…” you started, but you didn’t know what to say, how to piece together the whirlwind in your chest into anything coherent.

he gave you a small, almost broken smile, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “i don’t mean to put that on you. i know it’s not fair, and i don’t want you to feel like you have to carry me too. but… i just need you to know that you matter. more than anything.”

“you can’t do that,” you said, your voice trembling. “you can’t put me on this pedestal. it’s not right. it’s not fair to either of us.”

“i know,” he said again, his voice cracking slightly. “but you’re not on a pedestal. you’re… you’re home. and that’s not something i can turn off, pipsqueak.”

fuck. why did he sound so broke too?

you pulled back slightly, wiping at your face as you looked up at him. his eyes were red-rimmed, tears threatening to fall but never quite spilling over. it was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him.

he glanced down at his bionic arm, flexing the fingers absently before letting it rest at his side. “i hate this thing,” he said suddenly, his voice low and quiet. “it’s a constant reminder of when i hurt you the most.”

you frowned, confused. “caleb…”

“ever wanted me to lose more than this arm,” he continued, his tone growing darker. “they wanted me… broken. half of my body was supposed to be destroyed in their ‘plan.’ they thought they could control me better that way. make me more… dependent.”

your stomach churned at his words. “why didn’t you tell me? why do you keep hiding it from me?”

he shook his head, looking away. “i’ve already put you through enough. i didn’t want to burden you with this.”

it was strange how the weight of forgiveness didn’t feel like a single, decisive moment. it wasn’t a clean break or a sudden realization; it was more like erosion—a gradual softening of the jagged edges of anger, resentment, and grief. it was in the quiet moments, like now, when his voice was stripped of its usual command, when he stumbled over his words, when his walls came down just enough for you to see the pain he carried. it made you question your own anger, not because it wasn’t valid, but because holding onto it felt heavier than letting it go.

"but i want to know," you pressed, your voice trembling. "i need to understand, caleb. i need to know what they did to you. i need to understand why."

forgiving him didn’t mean forgetting what he’d done. it didn’t erase the nights you’d cried yourself to sleep, the hollow ache of mourning someone who wasn’t really gone. but it meant acknowledging that he’d suffered too, that his choices—terrible as they were—had been born from a place of love and desperation. of obsession.

as much as you wanted to cling to your anger, you couldn’t ignore the cracks forming in its foundation. his actions, his words—they chipped away at your defenses, forcing you to see the pain he carried. and in those moments, you realized that forgiveness wasn’t about absolving him of what he’d done. it was about freeing yourself from the weight of it. it was about choosing to let go, not for him, but for you. because holding onto that anger wasn’t just hurting him—it was hurting you too.

his jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together as he finally looked at you. his eyes were dark, stormy, filled with something that looked too much like shame. "it’s too much," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "it’s graphic, and cruel, and i can’t… i fucking can’t make you see me like that, Y/N."

"i already see you, caleb," you countered, stepping closer still, voice cracking over something close to desperation. "i see the way you try to protect yourself by being harsh towards everyone, the way you tense up when you think no one’s looking. i see how much pain you’re in, and i see how hard you’re trying to hide it. you don’t have to protect me from this. don’t keep lying to me, i beg you."

he let out a sharp, bitter laugh, his hand running through his hair in frustration. "you don’t have to beg for anything when it comes to me, princess," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "it’s not about protecting you. it’s about not giving you more reasons to hate me, do you understand? ever was shit to both of us, they still are."

"i don’t hate you," you said quickly, your voice firm. "i’m angry, yes. i’m hurt. but i don’t hate you, caleb. sometimes i wish i could."

his eyes softened, but the anguish in them didn’t fade. "i don’t want to fucking trigger you, princess, just let it go," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, flesh hand running through his brown locks in a dismissive act. he took a step back and turned to the stove, turning the fire off while avoiding your gaze.

“i can’t forgive you if you keep hiding these things.” you crossed your arms, looking at his posture, “if i thought i couldn’t handle, i wouldn’t be asking you this right now. why did you let them do it?”.

he shook his head, his hands coming up to cover his face. "you have no idea," he said, his voice breaking again. "the limits i’d go to for you. the things i’d endure. i’d let them do it all over again if it meant you’d be safe. i’d let them tear me apart piece by piece, because i—" he stopped, his hands dropping to his sides as he looked at you with an intensity that made your chest tighten, as if just imagining his devotion was already physically exhausting. "because i love you. so much it terrifies me."

he looked away again, his jaw clenching as his fingers flexed at his sides. you wondered for a second if he expected to hear those words in return one day.

"princess, i just don’t want to drag you into something you can’t unhear. something that’ll stick in your head and haunt you the way it does me.” breakfast long gone, he turned to the counter and leaned his weight on it, crossing his arms over his chest.

"but that’s not fair," you pressed, stepping closer, your voice softer now but no less determined. "you keep everything locked up inside, like you should be this invincible man. i want to know. you don’t have to protect me from this, for fuck's sake."

his shoulders sagged, a bitter laugh escaping his lips as he rubbed his hand over his face. "you think i’m protecting you?" he asked, his voice low and pained. "i’m protecting me, princess. because if i see that look in your eyes—the one that says you pity me, or worse, that you’re scared of me—i don’t think i can handle that. not from you."

you reached out to touch his arm. "i’m not scared of you. and i’m not going to pity you. just fucking tell me already."

his gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, the silence between you thick and heavy.

he shook his head, his bionic fingers twitching as his hands curled into fists. "they broke me, okay?" he said, his voice raw and trembling as if his patience were running thin from your persistence. "they strapped me down, cut me open while i was still awake just to see how much i could take. and i took it, all of it, because i thought if i didn’t, they’d turn to you instead. and the fucked-up part? i was willing to let them do it again if it meant you were safe."

your breath hitched, the vividness of his confession slicing through you like a blade.

“this arm,” he points and looks at it, “it has to go through repair oftenly, it hurts like a bitch, the electric current, everything… they keep increasing the power every time i go there.”

"do you know what it’s like to hear them talk about you like you’re a bargaining chip?" he continued, his voice rising slightly, anger and despair mingling in his tone. "to know they saw you as leverage, something they will certain have on the future? i couldn’t let that happen. so i let them do whatever they wanted to me, make me stronger. and yeah, it hurt. but it was nothing compared to the thought of fucking losing you, Y/N."

you swallowed hard, tears prickling at your eyes as his words sank in. "you shouldn’t have had to make that choice," you said, your voice shaking. "it wasn’t your responsibility to protect me like that. gran should’ve… she shouldn’t have put that on a child."

"but it was," he insisted, his voice firm despite the emotion cracking through it. "it’s always been my responsibility. ever since we were kids, i promised myself i’d keep you safe. and i failed you once—i’m not failing you again."

was granny josephine truly blameless, or had she knowingly set these events in motion? had she purposefully placed caleb in harm’s way, using the innocent, budding love he had for you as a tool to safeguard her fears and protect her secrets? had she manipulated his loyalty as a child, planting seeds that would root so deeply they’d shape his entire existence?

the silence that followed was thick, heavy with unspoken emotions. you stepped closer, your hand finding his and squeezing gently. "you didn’t fail me," you said softly, your voice breaking. "you’d died for me more than once, that’s already too fucking much, caleb."

his patience made you wonder: how many times had caleb carried this same burden? how many nights had he endured this same hollow ache you have been feeling these past few days, but without someone by his side to share it with?

did he ever feel alone? did he feel the crushing isolation when cruel people, hidden behind the guise of scientists, broke and prodded at his skin? when they searched for cracks in his mind, trying to shatter him into pieces so irreparable that the boy he once was could never return? had he felt the same suffocating weight you carried now—the weight of being someone else’s creation? of knowing that your very existence was shaped by murderous intent and corruptive minds, calling your body their experiment?

ever hadn’t succeeded in making him a servant—he told you that—, but hadn’t they almost gotten there? hadn’t they stripped away enough of his humanity to leave him standing like this, a shadow of the boy you once knew?

he looked at you then, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "i don’t deserve your forgiveness," he said, his voice barely audible.

"you may not deserve it," you began, your voice trembling slightly, "but i think i want to give it to you anyway." the words felt fragile, like they might shatter under their own weight. you looked at his bionic arm, its polished surface catching the light, and noticed the way his jaw tensed, just barely. he didn’t say anything, but the tension in the air told you he was bracing himself, waiting for whatever came next.

you also expected him to say something, to break the tension that hung in the air, but the silence stretched so long it began to feel awkward. just as you were about to open your mouth and fill the void with some kind of sentence—or at least an acknowledgment of what had just happened—you saw him grimace slightly, his hand coming up to palm his left cheek.

oh. right. you had hit him. you’d almost forgotten.

"oh shit, i’m sorry," you blurted, guilt suddenly surging up as you watched him rub his cheek.

but he waved it off, not even glancing your way. "don’t worry, princess," he said, his voice casual, though there was a faint edge to it. "i’ll finish breakfast and put some ice on it."

"are you sure?" you asked hesitantly, your guilt gnawing at you.

he nodded, finally meeting your eyes. "yeah, I’m sure. it’s not the first time i’ve been hit, and it won’t be the last."

there was an odd kind of amusement in his tone, but it didn’t do much to ease your discomfort.

"do you want something else to eat? the eggs are probably cold by now," he added, gesturing vaguely toward the pan on the counter, his tone shifting back to the calm, measured one you were used to.

you didn’t know what to say, the words catching in your throat. everything about the moment felt strange, like you were navigating a space you didn’t fully understand. "no, i’m fine," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended. "i’ll… i’ll eat later. i think i want to take a shower first."

his gaze lingered on you for a moment, unreadable, before he gave a small nod. "take your time, princess," he said, turning his attention back to the stove.

you nodded awkwardly, already stepping back toward the door. the guilt and confusion swirling in your chest made your movements feel clumsy, uncoordinated. you needed a moment to yourself, away from his steady presence and the weight of everything unsaid between you. a shower sounded like the perfect escape.

that morning, you skipped breakfast. instead, you locked yourself in his room—ironic, wasn’t it?—and spent the hours replaying the moment over and over again in your head. the sound of your fist connecting with his jaw, the way he stumbled back, the stunned look in his eyes.

his words, your words—they lingered, looping in your mind like a broken record. every syllable from that morning carried a weight you hadn’t anticipated, carving deeper into your already-frayed emotions. you could still hear the way his voice had trembled, how it softened in places you didn’t expect. and the way yours had cracked, betraying the storm you were trying so hard to contain.

you hated that you couldn’t let it go. that you kept picking apart every second of the exchange, trying to find something you missed, some meaning hidden between the lines.

the shower ended up lasting an embarrassing thirty-five minutes, and by the time you got out, your skin felt like it was starting to peel. turns out, skyhaven’s technology was far more advanced and exclusive than linkon’s. their residents had access to countless showers and sinks with customizable settings and precise temperature controls.

despite everything, you couldn’t help but enjoy every second of these little luxuries. you found yourself wondering if caleb might let you take some of his fancy dermatology products back to linkon with you.

by the time you got out, you remembered that caleb had mentioned during yesterday’s lunch that skyhaven would soon begin its monthly isolation week—a period where all soldiers and officers were confined to their bedchambers. it was a precautionary measure, meant to ensure that the magnetic fields and protocores keeping the island afloat remained stable and resistant to any potential failures.

the thought of spending the upcoming period together in isolation left you with an unexpected wave of embarrassment gnawing at your mind.

your fingers curled into the sheets as you sat on the edge of his bed, your mind a whirlwind of guilt and uncertainty. after your prolonged shower, the scene of the punch replayed endlessly in your head. you’d gone over every detail, from the sharp crack of your knuckles against his jaw to the stunned look in his eyes. had you taken it too far?

if you were going to spend the next seven days confined in this dorm with him, wouldn’t it be better to try to make amends? the tension already felt unbearable, and avoiding him would only stretch it further. you needed to face him, didn’t you?

your gaze flicked toward the door, hesitation pulling at you. you’d skipped breakfast to dodge the awkwardness, telling yourself you needed time to sort through your own emotions. but now, the thought of him sitting alone in the kitchen, nursing a bruised jaw and left to wonder about your silence, made your stomach twist. he deserved some sort of explanation—or, at the very least, acknowledgment of what you’d done.

“he’s fine,” you told yourself, standing abruptly and pacing the room. “he’s a soldier. he’s been through worse.”

but the image of his expression—the way his eyes softened, almost tender, when he said, “i did”—refused to leave your mind.

you felt like you were going crazy. for six days, emotions like confusion, guilt, regret, anger, and love had taken turns coursing through your body, leaving you utterly whiplashed. every time you thought you had a handle on one, another would rear its head, demanding to be felt. it was exhausting.

in the last three days, caleb hadn’t been anything but kind to you. he’d gone out of his way to make you feel comfortable, to give you space when you needed it, and to be there when you didn’t. his words, his actions—everything he’d done had been soaked in care.

“pipsqueak?” caleb’s voice came through the door, soft but clear, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. “can i come in? you didn’t eat breakfast, so i brought some fruit.”

your heart leapt into your throat, and for a moment, you froze, unsure of what to do.

was he reading your mind?

“o-oh, it’s okay,” you stammered, grimacing at how shaky you sounded. “i’m not hungry.”

there was a pause, followed by the low rumble of his laugh. it wasn’t mocking, but it carried that familiar teasing edge that made your stomach twist. “please,” he said, his tone amused. “you’re always hungry. that hasn’t changed, has it?”

you swallowed hard, your eyes darting to the door as if it might give you an answer. what was he doing? why was he being so normal? like nothing had happened? you both basically confessed your undeniable pull towards each other a few hours ago, and now he was out here laughing about your appetite.

“i’m really fine,” you said, forcing your voice to steady. “you don’t have to—”

“too late,” he interrupted, the doorknob jiggling slightly. “i’m coming in.”

panic surged through you. “wait!” you blurted, stepping toward the door instinctively. “i’m—uh—I’m not decent!”

there was a pause, and then his voice, lower but undeniably amused, came through the door again. “you’ve said that before. pretty sure it was a lie then too.”

your face heated at the memory, and you clenched your fists, both at him and at yourself for reacting this way. why couldn’t he just leave you alone for five minutes to figure out what the hell you were feeling?

“caleb,” you said, your tone sharp but shaky, “just—give me a minute, okay?”

another pause. “fine,” he said, his voice softer now. “but i’m not leaving until you eat something. deal?”

you huffed, running towards the door and fixing your hair. “deal.”

before you could change your mind, the door clicked open. caleb stepped inside, balancing a plate of sliced fruit in one hand and a small ice pack pressed against his cheek in the other. he was shirtless, his bionic arm fully exposed, the metal catching the light as he moved. it was the first time he hadn’t tried to hide it from you, and the sight made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

you barely registered the plate of fruit before your eyes caught on the bruise forming along his jaw. your fist had left a mark—faint, but undeniably there. guilt flooded your chest, your earlier resolve crumbling.

“hi,” he said, his voice laced with a teasing lilt as his gaze shifted to you. his lips curved into a smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement. “nice shirt, by the way.”

you glanced down, realizing with a jolt that you opted to put one of his shirts after the shower, the fabric oversized and hanging loose on your frame. your cheeks heated instantly.

“i—it was just comfortable,” you stammered, tugging at the hem as if that would somehow make it less obvious. “don’t read into it.”

he chuckled, stepping further into the room and setting the plate down on the nearest surface. “oh, i’m not,” he said lightly, though the smirk never left his face. “but if you want to borrow more, just let me know.”

your embarrassment shifted into a mix of irritation and concern as your eyes darted back to the ice pack on his cheek. “what happened to not leaving until i ate?” you said, trying to deflect as you stepped closer.

“still holding you to that,” he replied, his tone playful but soft.

but you weren’t paying attention to his words anymore. your gaze was fixed on the faint purpling of his jaw, the guilt clawing its way back to the surface. without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his face as you gently turned it to get a better look.

“does it hurt?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the concern threading through your words catching even you off guard.

caleb stilled under your touch, his gaze steady on you as you inspected the bruise. “not really,” he said, his voice softer than you expected. “i’ve had worse.”

you frowned, ignoring his attempt to downplay it. “you’re not supposed to just brush it off,” you muttered, your thumb lightly grazing the edge of the bruise. “i shouldn’t have—”

“hey,” he interrupted, his voice gentle. he reached up with his flesh hand, carefully wrapping it around yours and pulling it away from his face. “don’t do that. don’t feel bad.”

you blinked at him, caught off guard. “i was expecting you to be mad,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “i thought you’d yell at me, or… i don’t know, something.”

he laughed softly, shaking his head. “why would i be mad? i deserved it.”

“you keep saying that,” you said, pulling your hand free and stepping back. “but why? why do you think you deserved it?”

he sighed, his expression softening as he leaned back against the table. “because i’ve been waiting for you to hit me since the fake interrogation. hell, i was starting to get worried when you didn’t.”

“worried?” you repeated, your brows knitting together. “why?”

he hesitated, as if weighing how much to say, before meeting your gaze again. “because the girl i grew up with wouldn’t have let me get away with half the crap i’ve done,” he said simply. “she’d have punched me the second she saw me.”

his words hit you harder than you expected, a strange mix of emotions welling up in your chest. “well,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now, “maybe she’s not the same girl anymore.”

he smiled at that, the kind of smile that carried a weight you couldn’t quite name. “maybe,” he said quietly. “but she’s still in there. i see her every time you look at me like i’ve done something stupid. every time you call me out on my bullshit. and i’m glad she’s still here.”

you didn’t know how to respond to that, the raw honesty in his words leaving you momentarily speechless. instead, you looked down at the plate of fruit he’d brought, your fingers brushing against the edge.

“fine,” you said, your voice still quiet but steady. “i’ll eat.”

his smile widened, a hint of relief flickering in his eyes. “good,” he said. “because i wasn’t kidding about not leaving until you did.”

you rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite to it. as you picked up a piece of fruit, you couldn’t help but glance at him again, the bruise on his jaw and the faint smile on his lips making your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready to name.

the room settled into a quiet rhythm as you nibbled on the fruit caleb had brought, the faint rustling of his movements behind you blending into the soft hum of skyhaven's faint mechanical undertones. he had settled onto the bed at some point, the ice pack still pressed lightly against his cheek.

you didn’t look up at first, focused on the sweet tang of the fruit and the thoughts circling your head. when you finally did glance over, you saw him lying back against the cushions, his large frame sprawled out comfortably across the bed. it struck you—how long had it been since he rested properly? since he allowed himself this kind of moment?

there was something oddly humanizing about the sight of him now. his broad chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his muscles visibly relaxed beneath the glow of the dim room lighting. his eyes were closed, and for the first time since you’d arrived at skyhaven, he looked… content.

his bionic arm rested on the bed, unmoving, and yet it seemed a part of him in a way it hadn’t before. the faint light caught the edges of the metal, highlighting the intricate details of its design. you noticed the tension that usually coiled through his shoulders was gone now, replaced by an unfamiliar ease.

you wondered, as the silence stretched between you, how the two of you had gone through so much in just one week. grief, anger, guilt, and even flickers of something softer—it felt like a lifetime had been compressed into the span of days.

just as you were sinking deeper into your thoughts, his voice broke the quiet. “did you call zayne?”

you blinked, the question catching you off guard as you chewed the last piece of fruit. you swallowed quickly before answering. he probably heard you talking to your friends yesterday.

“not actually. i still don’t know what to tell him.”

he shifted slightly, turning his head to look at you. “why not?” his tone was calm, curious rather than accusatory.

“it’s… complicated,” you admitted, setting the plate down on the desk beside you. “zayne’s always been logical, rational. and this? this is anything but that. you were his friend too so…”

he seemed to consider that, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he sighed and leaned back into the cushions. “did he comment on anything from my… from the explosion?” his words were careful, almost hesitant, as if he was testing the waters.

you hesitated, unsure if he was fishing for something deeper or just looking for updates on zayne. the memory of zayne handing you the documents—grandma josephine’s documents—flashed through your mind.

“not much,” you said eventually, your tone thoughtful. “he just gave me the documents grandma left with him. said she wanted me to have them. after that, he helped me deal with… everything else. the grief, mostly.”

caleb nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “he always was good at that,” he murmured, almost to himself.

you tilted your head, studying him. “why ask now?”

his lips quirked into the faintest smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “i guess i’ve just been wondering… how much he knew. if he ever blamed me, or if he…” he trailed off, his voice growing quieter, “if he thought i could’ve done more.”

“zayne didn’t blame you,” you said softly, the certainty in your voice surprising even yourself. “he never said anything like that. he just… he cared. about both of us. since always.”

caleb’s shoulders relaxed a little at your words, the tension easing from his frame. he let out a long breath, his eyes closing again. “that sounds like him.”

the comfortable silence returned, but this time, it felt heavier with unspoken thoughts. you stayed where you were, watching the way his breathing steadied, his face softening in a way that felt so achingly familiar.

caleb sat up from the bed, stretching lazily as his muscles rippled under the warm light of the room, leaving the ice pack on the bedside table. the movement drew your eyes almost involuntarily to his chest, his defined pecs and the subtle line of his collarbone. you realized too late that you were staring.

“like what you see, pipsqueak?” he teased, smirking as he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

your face heated instantly, and you scrambled to find a response. “i wasn’t—i mean, you’re not that impressive,” you shot back, your words stumbling over each other in your flustered state.

he laughed, low and amused, clearly enjoying your reaction. “sure you weren’t.”

before you could retort, he straightened up and glanced toward the door. “what do you want for lunch?” he asked casually, his slightly red jaw stealing your attention for a few seconds.

“lunch?” you blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “i forgot we’re supposed to spend the next few days confined,” you admitted, your tone dipping with mild disappointment. “i was really starting to like the restaurant food we’ve been eating.”

caleb chuckled, his expression softening. “well, you’ll have to settle for my cooking again. i think you’ll survive.”

your mood lifted almost immediately. “oh!” you said, excitement creeping into your voice. “can you make that dish you used to make me when i came home from college? the one with the rice and that weird sauce you wouldn’t tell me the recipe for?”

he tilted his head, pretending to think. “hmm… you mean my secret signature dish?”

“it’s not that secret if you made it for me all the time,” you countered, grinning now.

“fine,” he said with a mock sigh of defeat, standing up from the bed. “i’ll make it.”

as he moved toward the door, you hesitated, shifting awkwardly in your chair. “uh… caleb?” you started, your voice quieter now.

he turned back to you, raising an eyebrow. “yeah?”

you fiddled with the hem of his shirt, avoiding his eyes. “i was just thinking… if you wanted, you could, um, go back to sleeping in your bed. you know. with me. it’s big enough, and the sofa doesn’t look that comfortable…”

his sofa was actually very comfortable and big. but you felt bad either way.

he stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before a slow grin spread across his face. “are you worried about me, pipsqueak?”

“no!” you said quickly, your face flushing. “it’s just… i noticed the marks on your back from sleeping there. you look uncomfortable.”

his grin widened. “so, you’ve been staring at my back?”

“caleb!” you protested, standing up and trying to shove him toward the door. “don’t twist this into something weird.”

he laughed, letting you push him as he pretended to resist. “all right, all right,” he said, still grinning. “if it makes you feel better, i’ll sleep on the bed again. but…” he tilted his head slightly, the grin widening into something teasing. “can you at least warn me before you decide to punch me next time? because, honestly, this thing hurts like a bitch.”

you froze mid-push, your face heating up in a mix of embarrassment and irritation. “don’t tempt me,” you shot back, trying to sound stern but failing to keep the amused lilt out of your voice.

he chuckled, stepping just outside the door but turning back to look at you, his expression softening. “deal?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

you sighed, shaking your head as a reluctant smile crept onto your face. “fine. but only because i want to avoid another bruise on your face. it’s bad enough looking at this one.”

he chuckled, stepping out of the room but turning back for a moment. “get comfy, pipsqueak. i’ll call you when lunch is ready.”

lunch came and went, the hours passing in a strange haze of quiet conversations and unspoken tension. turns out caleb’s cooking skills have improved since your last meal together, and you’ve caught yourself praising his abilities more than once.

the gaifan with baozi left you content and vibrant for the rest of the day, the taste of familiarity spicing your tongue along with the steamed dumplings.

at one point, caleb insisted on showing you how skyhaven’s isolation worked—something about magnetic fields and protocores stabilizing the entire floating city. you tried to follow along with your hunter’s brief knowing about fluctuations, but the way he lit up as he explained it was far more captivating than the details themselves.

“this is why we have isolation weeks,” he said, gesturing toward the ceiling as if the intricate systems were visible through the walls. “the magnetic fields can’t handle too much strain for extended periods, so every month, we scale back activity to let the systems recalibrate. it’s boring, but it keeps us alive.”

“boring?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “you’re talking about living on a floating island, caleb. that’s not boring.” you smiled. “i remember you dreaming about coming here for the first time when you graduated high school.”

he smirked, leaning against the edge of the counter. “guess i’ve been here too long. you kind of get used to it.” his tone was casual, but there was a flicker of something softer in his expression, a quiet pride that reminded you of the boy who used to explain the constellations to you back home, his enthusiasm unshakable.

later, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, he led you to the living room, where floor-to-ceiling glass windows framed the sky in breathtaking clarity. you stood there for a while, the silence between you broken only by the occasional hum of skyhaven’s systems. the view was mesmerizing—clouds streaked with gold and pink, the faint glow of the city’s lights flickering to life below.

“do you ever get tired of this?” you asked, voice quiet.

“not the view,” he said after a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “it’s the one thing that reminds me we’re all still connected to something bigger. even up here.”

you glanced at him, surprised by the weight in his words. for a brief moment, he wasn’t the confident, larger-than-life caleb you’d known these past few days. instead, he felt like something closer, more familiar—a reflection of the boy you once knew, the one who used to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders even when it wasn’t his to bear.

his gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, but his fingers brushed the edge of the glass as if reaching for something out of sight. that first night, neither of you could sleep. the air between you was heavy, the silence stretching long enough to make you wonder if he could hear the way your heart raced.

“can’t sleep?” you finally asked, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“not really,” he admitted, his tone unusually soft. “too much on my mind.”

you turned to face him, the dim light casting shadows across his face. “like what?”

he hesitated, his jaw tightening. “everything,” he said finally. “you, mostly.”

“me?” the word came out sharper than you intended, your chest tightening.

he nodded, his gaze meeting yours. “i can’t stop thinking about everything i’ve put you through. how much i’ve hurt you. it’s like this weight i can’t get rid of, no matter how hard i try.”

“yeah, you hurt me,” you said, your voice steady, though your chest tightened with the admission. “there’s no denying that, caleb. but carrying it around it’s not going to undo anything.”

his eyes softened, the vulnerability in them cutting through the walls you’d tried so hard to keep up. “you’ve always been too good to me,” he murmured. “even when i didn’t deserve it.”

you wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but the words caught in your throat. instead, you reached out, your fingers brushing against the cool metal of his bionic arm. “you didn’t deserve what they did to you either,” you said quietly.

for a moment, he didn’t respond. when he did, his voice was barely audible. “i would do it all again if it meant keeping you safe.”

the weight of his words hung between you, heavier than the silence. you didn’t know what to say, how to ease the ache in his voice. so you didn’t say anything at all. instead, you shifted closer, letting your shoulder brush against his. it was a small gesture, but it felt like everything.

you fell asleep before he did, your breathing soft and steady in the quiet. he stayed awake, watching the way the faint light danced across your face, tracing the lines he’d memorized a thousand times before.

he turned his gaze to your sleeping form, the rise and fall of your chest a quiet reassurance that you were here, that you were safe. it was the only thing that kept him grounded, kept the shadows of his own mind from consuming him whole. and for the first time in days, the knot in his chest loosened just enough to let him breathe.

you didn’t know—couldn’t know—how much he’d thought about this, dreamed about this, clung to the fragile hope that one day he could be near you again. that he could protect you, not just from the world but from himself, from the consequences of his failures and the monsters he’d let into your life. it wasn’t just love. it was something darker, deeper. devotion that bordered on obsession, a desperate need to be the shield between you and everything else.

he would protect you. from ever, from the shadows of the past, from anything that dared to hurt you. again and again and again, until there was nothing left of him.

author’s note: it was so hard to write this one guys, i didn't know if y'all would like caleb's switch up from such a hateful man (ugh) into this more real one but yeah, i had a good time writing this. I KNOW THE ENDING IS BAD, but it's not the real ending yet! see you next chapter (very soon!), xx. THE SMUT IS COMING I PROMISE. send me a request • my masterpost

taglist: @bbieainee

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httpsserene · 1 year ago

Text

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟱: 𝗹𝗲𝘄𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘁𝗼𝗻 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝘅 & 𝗰𝗼𝗰𝗸𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your husband comes home to his monaco apartment after achieving p2 in spain. from the texts you sent him before he boarded his flight, he expected you to be awake when he arrived. however, you’ve fallen asleep–but that’s not a problem. he’ll sneak into bed right next to you and catch a few extra hours of sleep. you’ll commemorate the podium come morning. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. vaginal sex. lingerie. marriage. unsafe sex. no pull-out. tender sex. slow and sensual. cockwarming. intimacy. no beta we get disqualified like lewis and charles. not dirty? husband/wife kink (if that’s a thing). more soft. sickeningly sweet (ig). 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lewis hamilton x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: icu • coco jones

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: needed something to soothe the soul after the austin gp disqualifications. this is at the same time the least kinky thing i’ve written so far and the most kinky thing ever. because love feels filthier to write, idk if that makes sense. it’s on the shorter side because i ditched the preamble in order to finish this in time lol, but i dedicate this to my twin @saintwrld :) (it reminds me of her renaissance series :p y'all should check it out @saintslewis) and i hope everyone enjoys it !!!!

do you want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!

lewis sighs tiredly as he lies down in bed next to you. the mercedes driver turns on his side facing you, and laughs quietly. your bonnet, of course, has grown a pair of legs and climbed its way off your head and is sleeping on the pillow next to you—your braids fanned out on the pillow underneath you unprotected. lewis carefully wrangles the bonnet back on you and smiles adoringly when he notices that you're wearing the matching bonnet he got you almost nine years ago. and to feel how the matching bonnets makes his heart stutter after spending a decade of his life with you, two of those years being married; he knows being married to you is one of the best decisions he’s ever made.

he tugs you, his wife, closer; cooing out loud when he notices that you’re clad in one of his tommy hilfiger hoodies, tucking your head under his chin, arms wrapping around you tightly, and legs intertwining comfortably. you hum against his chest, nuzzling deeper into his bare skin, and a faint smile lingers on your lips, and unconscious reaction to having your husband home again. lewis throws his head back groaning, he can’t wake you up now. you had spammed his phone with texts before his flight, promising that he’d get a “surprise” when he got home, for doing so well this weekend—and he doesn’t have the heart to wake you up just so he can fuck you. well, he thinks, he can just get a couple hours of sleep in and then he’ll wake you up and enjoy whatever gift you’ve decided to bless him with and he drifts into sleep.

when lewis wakes up again, the first thing he notices is that he’s slept for way more than a couple hours. the noon sun has brightened the room immensely, and he’s shocked that he managed to stay asleep for so long with how the sun is shining directly on his face. he shifts onto his back, groaning at the soreness left from racing, and glances down at you to see if your still sleeping, and chokes on his breath. his hoodie is rucked up your waist from sleep, exposing your black lace panties, and when he shifts to get a better view of your ass, his body jostles yours and reveals the silver shift of glitter in the fabric.

“fuck,” lewis murmurs, he’s always been weak for you dressing in his team colors. one of his tattooed hands takes a generous squeeze of your ass, and he wonders if you're wearing the matching top. his grip on your ass may have become a smidge too tight at that thought, because you softly gasp awake. lewis watches as you squirm against him softly, face twisted in confusion, before you make eye contact with him, and you relax.

you smile sweetly, your left hand rising to rest on his cheek, “welcome home, champ.” lewis laughs at your half-asleep tone, nuzzling his face into your hand, before turning to press a kiss at the ring he put on your finger. “it was only a second-place finisher, love. no need to call me ‘champ.’”

frowning at him, you scoff, “you are still a seven-time world champion, are you not?” lewis concedes to your point; he’s not interested in being scolded by you today—he’s more concerned with unwrapping the present you got him. he hums and noses at your chin before he captures your lips in a dizzying kiss. your lips are languid against each other, there’s no rush in rediscovering the crevices within your mouths. lewis ignores how your teeth tug at his bottom lip, urging him to speed up—he only deepens the kiss, not quickening his pace, coercing you to melt under his passion.

he pulls away, enjoying how your gaze has transformed from sleep-hazy to lust-hazy. “mmm, is my ‘surprise’ the panties and matching bra you have under my hoodie?” lewis asks you. you nod your head gently, scooting back and pulling the hoodie up to reveal the matching silver-glitter covered black bralette. he moans at the sight of you; perky breasts and nipples hard underneath the lace, your eyes half-lidded in arousal. his hands reach out to grasp at your chest, thumbs dragging over your nipples, causing a shaky moan to fall from your lips at the friction. you reach to pull the hoodie off but lewis grunts in dissent, “nah, keep it on for me. just make sure it stays up, love.”

“ohmygod,” you giggle quietly, “you can just say you’re obsessed with fucking me in your clothes.”

lewis rolls his eyes at you, “okay: i’m obsessed with fucking you in my clothes. i love the way you smell like me after, i love the way your smell lingers when i wear them after you, i love the way you look in my clothes; if i could choose, i wish you’d only ever wear my clothes and have pretty lingerie underneath them all the time.”

you stare at him wide-eyed, not expecting him to flip your teasing words in that manner, maybe that’s why your panties suddenly feel a little wet. you bite your lip, trying to think of a way to regain the upper hand, and lewis clocks your eyes brightening.

“i fingered myself open for you last night. i’m sure you could still slip in, if you’re up for it.”

lewis chuckles, half-crazed, and murmurs, “if i’m up for it? promise me, if i ever say no to having sex with you that you’ll take me to see a doctor?”

you hum, hand shifting to rub at the nape of his neck, “i promise, baby. can you fuck me now—i fell asleep waiting for you last night.”

lewis quickly gets to work positioning your body. he spins you around to your side, your back pressed against his chest, and spreads your thighs open with his knee. you moan at his easy manhandling, and press your ass back to grind against the tent in his boxers. he encourages the movement of your hips, even directing the grind for a few beats before he halts your motions. his hand slips in between the two of you, and tugs his dick out. he pulls your panties to the side and slowly slips into you. your mouth drops open in a silent moan, overwhelmed by the stretch from his dick spreading you open. lewis sighs deeply as he bottoms out within you, and kisses you on the shoulder. he stays still, allowing you the time you need to adjust. you shift your hips gently, testing the feel, and hum in assent.

lewis moves his hand to find yours, and locks them over your navel, using them to pull you as close to his body as he can. he whispers softly, “can we take it nice and slow today? i want to make love to you today.”you hum, and it shifts to a whine as his hips gently rock into yours, and whimper out, “it’s your present—can use it however you want.”

lewis keeps the motion of hips slow and controlled, pulling out halfway before sinking in as deep as he can reach. it’s stunning how you can feel every bit of love lewis puts into his thrusts, seeping into you. he continues to pepper kisses on your neck and shoulder, and slips his other arm underneath you, and moving your body slowly so you twist back further, exposing your chest to him again. the hoodie remains bunched under your armpits, and lewis tugs the bralette down underneath your chest, causing your breasts to spill out lewdly over the top. his hand rests over your chest, not groping in any manner, just holding you close, feeling how your heartbeat speeds up from his movements.

in the decade you’ve been in a relationship with lewis, you’ve had some life-changing sex. but, for some reason, the slow and sensual sex has to be your favorite. it feels restorative, like he’s breathing life back into your body, with every deep thrust he’s showing you how much he loves you. and he’s not afraid to say it either.

“i love you, so much—you’re so good to me—my wonderful wife—all for me—all mine—i’ll make you feel so good, love—forever, yeah—you and me, like this—i win everything for you—“

you rock back against him, always weak when he can help but run his mouth, and start rambling back to him, mouth loose from the pleasure he continues to give to you, “my oh! my husband—only you for me, yeah?” he moans into your neck, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to you calling him your husband.

there’s no telling how long the two of you are wrapped together, neither you are in any rush to reach a climax—you both crave the intimacy sex like this provides, especially after he’s been away. your orgasms crest over your bodies slowly but they’re more satisfying than any other release you could get from rough sex. lewis continues to grind his dick in you as deep as he can, not making any motion to pull out, and ignores the building sensitivity he’s feeling.

lewis smiles at the blissed out look on your face, and watches how you struggle to open your eyes; he’s been fucking you back to sleep this whole time—that would explain why your rambles disappeared as you got closer to your peak. he tugs the hoodie back down over your chest, and one-handedly drags the duvet to cover your bodies, not wanting you to get cold. “hey, love,” he calls softly, “do you want me to pull out and clean you up?” you shake your head, and turn back onto your side fully, pressing you back to his chest again, and you start to doze off. lewis rubs at your waist gently, soothing you further into sleep—he’s never going to say no to having you keep his dick warm.

lewis carefully reaches towards the nightstand and grabs his phone, and quickly sets an hour alarm. he won’t let himself be fooled by the call of sleep and let the whole day fly by, like he did last night—he’d rather not be awoken by his angry wife screaming about uti’s and whatnot. he’ll just bathe in the afterglow while you sleep soundly; he just wants to look after you a little longer.

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr@nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld @buendiabebeta @butterfly-lover @lana-d3l-rey @dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhaj @miahgonzalez16 @jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @sweetpiccolo-blog @my-ylenia @zaynzierulez @reblog-princess-blog @lovingaphroditesworld @katekipshidze @darleneslane

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prettyboykatsuki · 2 years ago

Text

WON'T YOU LEND ME YOUR FAITH? | R. ITOSHI

❁ tags ; fem!reader (reader dresses femininely + is referred to as a girl / with she/her pronouns), reader is shorter than rin , strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, getting together, rin is soo teenage boy (and makes some annoying teen-boy comments), slow-burn, making out is as suggestive as this gets, stereotypical shoujo romance, usage of honorifics, coming of age

❁ wc ; 21.4k (insane. most insane thing ive ever seen)

❁ a/n ; i'm genuinely appalled by the length of this fic. how did that happen. what in the world. this fic is truly just. every single shoujou manga trope crammed into one okay. my silly little self indulgent romance !!!!

also this fic is sfw + takes place in their third of hs so im not gonna say mdni that's silly. however if you're a minor please do not follow me i post heinous dark content and this fic is a fluke in the timeline dskffjkfd

❁ synopsis ; the love story of a sensitive, stoic soccer player and an eccentric wannabe journalist

or that time you confess to itoshi rin, knowing he'll reject you, and asking to befriend him in spite of it.

“I like you,”

A breeze of wind passes.

“What?”

You confess to Itoshi Rin at the start of the Spring semester. On the school rooftop with your head down. Bent at a near ninety degrees as you hold out what looks like a love letter.

For a minute, he can’t do anything more than stare. He’s received countless confessions in highschool. Half of which he rejected immediately, not even stopping to hear the full extent of their feelings. Why would he? The lukewarm ideas of first love had never been of interest. Even before his fight with Sae, Rin was always focused on his goals.

After his second year of high school was spent in Bluelock, Rin has only returned for his third. He promised his parents he’d graduate properly, and Bluelock was off-season until Ego could fully prepare for the next stages.

And a lot has changed since then. But some parts of him, namely his feelings towards the idea of conventional relationships, haven't changed at all.

It’s only been a little less than three weeks since school had started, and by now he’s received more confessions than he can really remember. All of which he’s rejected coldly, and blankly, because Itoshi Rin has never been in the business of coddling anyone. Most of those girls he’s never even met. Knows nothing about them because they’re first or second years he’d never even spoken to.

Rin, however, does know you. You’ve been in his class in all 3 years of his highschool, and he’s seen you around more than once. You’re in the newspaper club, which he remembers because you covered their winning match back when Rin was a first year. He wouldn’t call you friends, but you’ve spoken to each other enough that he can remember your name with a little effort.

He also remembers you being sort of annoying. You’re one of those loud and earnest types that he can’t stand.

A year ago, Rin would’ve denied knowing you at all. But now that things with Sae have cleared up just a little - he’s not inclined to take his anger out on you. He knows you. Not well, but enough.

And if his reputation precedes him at all, then you know Rin too. You know that he’s never once gone out with a single girl in his 3 years of highschool and that most of the guys in all three grades consider him an arrogant jerk. You know that he mostly plays soccer alone during breaks and that he only really hangs out with one person.

Which means you must know that he doesn’t harbor any feelings for you. And that he’s going to reject your confession without thinking twice about it.

In the first place, he was just curious if you were stupid enough to do it. If you really called him up here for a roof-top confession. The fact that you were is what’s stifling him. Your words are familiar. He’s heard them so many times. But it’s baffling. It’s ridiculous.

You lift your head to face him. You’re still smiling, though there’s something more there that he can’t understand. He doesn’t do well with people like you begin with. He finds himself backing away when you jog up closer towards him.

He’s taller than you, he notices. You pick your head up to look at him and smile, toothy and at ease. You hold the letter up again and shove it towards him, though you don’t seem like you’re expecting him to take it. He stares at you.

“I like you,” You repeat, smooth and bubbly. He frowns.

“I don’t like you.”

He has expectations for this part. Normally he receives a saddened look like a dog whose tail he stepped on or a fit of crying (sometimes genuine, sometimes with the intent of guilt.) Sometimes he gets an awkward smile trying to seem unbothered by the whole situation.

You don’t falter though. You don’t even flinch at the words, cold as ice and steely. It throws him off.

“I know,” You say back, prying the letter away from him. You turn the other way, walking towards the metal grates and for a minute Rin wonders if you’re going to do something drastic. You don’t though, instead sticking your the paper in the air “That’s why I have a proposal,”

He stares, absolutely dumbfounded. You turn again towards him.

“I want to get to know you. And keep confessing to you,” You say first, and Rin immediately goes to reject you until you put your hands up “And I want you to keep rejecting me.”

He’s baffled. Really.

“What?”

“So I can gradually lose my feelings for you. Nothing that different on your end, honestly..”

It sounds annoying. It really does. If it were anyone else, under any other circumstance he would scoff and tell them to deal with their own shitty feelings alone just like everyone else. But there’s no hidden intention there. Rin’s always been good at sniffing that out. Your words are pure as can be.

Frustratingly simple and twice as sincere, no matter how confusing the whole thing is.

“Why should I?”

“We can be friends,” You reply like it’s the best deal he could ask for. “Isn’t that enough? Not like you really have any right now.”

He scoffs bitterly albeit he can’t counter you.

“Friendship is lukewarm. I don’t care about any of that stuff,”

“Lukewarm? Really? Then..think of it like I’ll be your shield. You hate when people socialize with you right? I’ll help you deal with it.”

That doesn’t sound too bad actually. On top of that, he’s kind of curious what your deal is. He rolls his eyes at you, turning to face the other way.

“Do whatever you want. It’s not like it matters.”

His response makes you beam. He hears you shout from the otherside of the yard, followed by the sound of your footsteps noisily thudding against the concrete as you try to catch up with him. He walks faster than you just to spite you for earlier, but he hears your last words through a huff of breath.

“Jeez, you’re fast. I’ll see you at lunch, be prepared!”

Somehow, he feels like he’s crossed paths with something he shouldn’t’ve.

You keep up with your end of the deal with Rin to the best of your ability.

The upsides of your arrangement is that the usual annoyances Rin has to deal with have decreased significantly in the time you’ve been hanging around him. You’re very good at using your speech to sway conversations one way or the other without upsetting the other party.

Normally, Rin’s rejections for different things leave a bitter taste in the air. He’s never been good at mincing his words for anyone and while it doesn’t affect him - the strange stares and whispers he gets are a little annoying to deal with. People always take his disinterest personally. Rin has always hated that. He was probably a little gentler about the denial before but still.

While other people are too stupid to pay it any mind, you’re clever at turning the tides your way. You always manage to completely divert their questions without making them feel uncomfortable. Rin has tried, many times, to actually break down how you’re doing it. He doesn’t think he’d ever be able to replicate it, no matter how much he studies you.

He’s reluctant to admit it, but really, your presence has significantly lowered the number of obstacles in his daily life and made him overall, less irritable.

Instead of many annoying things, there’s only you. Which is tolerable in comparison.

You also expect him to uphold his end of the deal. For the most part, this has just meant you inserting yourself into his usual activities. It started out small enough, mostly just you sitting with him during lunch. It draws too much attention to eat in the classroom so you both fuck off to the roof.

(You often joke about how romantic it is, reminiscing on your rejected first love with as much melodrama as you can muster.

Rin never laughs about it to your face, but he admits it’s funny. Your stupidity is mildly amusing, at least )

There, you eat lunch together. Rin learns you make yourself colorful bentos from time to time- though some days are much less elaborate than others. You like to unwind that way, your designated and nightly me-time. You work part-time, and you take care of your neighbors kids by helping them every morning and night.

Rin doesn’t ask you for more, not willing to deliberately show interest.

But you notice his curiosity for better or for worse and explain that she, the woman next door, used to make you dinner back when your parents were too busy. You have an older brother who's nearly twelve years your senior so you were alone for most of your childhood. She had children late, but they feel like your little siblings. So you help them in the mornings and in the evenings when you have time.

Rin learns you, funnily enough, have a sense of obligation towards other people that he can’t fully comprehend. He forgot there were people like that. In an environment like Bluelock that is so dead set on fostering ego, it’s easy to forget something so simple.

You haven’t confessed to him again since that time. Not like he’s expecting it, but given your personality he wonders why. He thought it’d be more of a daily occurence, something like a bit you did. But you never do. Even when at times, it’s so heavy in the atmosphere even he can tell you want too.

Admittedly, Rin wonders a lot more about you than he cares to. He wonders why you spend so much time with him when you have plenty of other friends who seem to cherish you. He wonders why you care so much about the dying club you're in. He wonders if this, in some strange way, stems from some kind of obligation.

He wonders, sometimes, what about him you could even like. It’s probably something stupid. You’d probably think long and hard before going on to say that you like him because he’s handsome or cool. Something shallow and meaningless.

He tells himself that when he starts thinking about it again.

Rin gets roped into cleaning the classroom with you.

He’s used to being paired with other people. But he’s never had to do with you before, even in the years prior. Or maybe he did. He doesn’t recall much of his first year.

Still, now that it’s already mid-May, Rin has never been on cleaning duty with you. He’s conscious of the sound of your name these days. It’s not something he’s happy about.

It’s a simple affair. Just 15 or 20 minutes. Nothing to talk about. Not really.

But, today you’re alone with him. Alone in an empty classroom with light pouring through the windows and reflecting off of the wooden desks. You’re busying yourself with wiping down the chalkboard, humming quietly. Rin has the broom and dust pan, slowly working himself towards the front of the room.

It’s mostly quiet. Just your humming. The soft thud of a dust pan, a gentle brush of the bristle.

Rin feels a crick in his neck, half-way done with the task at hand. He stares at you, off in the front. In your own little world as you fix everything up diligently without turning your head to look up at him even once.

The nape of your neck is visible from the way you’re standing. There’s a chain there. Do you wear a necklace under your uniform? He can see the slope of your shoulders. The light reflects on you.

It stops him dead in his tracks. All he can hear is the quiet. The soft humming of your voice. The thud of the dust pan, the woosh of an eraser. The gentle bristle of a broom. The sound of his own heartbeat, a little louder than it was a minute ago.

He shakes his head. He goes back to sweeping.

“Why do you look like that?”

You look depressed. For Rin, this expression on you is unusual. You do look sad sometimes. Somber, occasionally but the look you have on your face right now is down right harrowing. You’re staring blankly out into the open, sitting in the usual spot the two of you have lunch at. But you’ve hardly touched your food and your favorite juicebox (a lunchtime staple) doesn’t have a straw in it yet.

It’s freaking him out, quite frankly. He stares at you, waving a hand in front of your face until you click back into reality. You jump in your skin at the sight of him before taking a deep breath once you’ve realized who’s in front of you.

“Oh. It’s just you. Sorry,” You say, immediately going for your juice. See? “What did you say?”

He sighs, sitting down next to you with his own lunch. Nothing special, something his mom likes to pack when he’s at home - though he doesn’t often take it. He opens up his own tin, taking chopsticks out attached from the top.

“I asked why you looked like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like someone just died.”

You look at him morbidly, clasping your hands and leaning forward with your elbows on your knees.

“My midterm grades,” You say solemnly, voice wavering ever so slightly “They’re detestable. A shame to my bloodline.”

Rin looks at you plainly.

“Aren’t you an idiot to begin with?”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m average. Super average. But I scored even lower than usual and I’m concerned. I need to do well on the next one and on my entrance exams.”

Oh, right. Rin forgot since he has no plans to take any.

“Do you know what you want to do for college?” He asks, mostly out of obligation.

“I want to study journalism.” There’s a wispiness to your way of speaking. It gives the air a sentimental feel. “There’s a private university with a good program I want to get into but they’re kind of tough. So I have to focus and do well,”

“What subject are you struggling with?”

You deflate all over again.

“Chemistry and Classical Japanese,”

Rin does well in both subjects. He thinks it over, and decides he can consider this payback. That’s all it is. He’s never liked owing people for favors and while you say this much is enough - Rin can rest assured about your little deal if he’s actually been of use to you in return. He remains impassive as he takes a sip of water.

“Do you want me to help you study?”

You turn to him immediately, suddenly full of life. He doesn’t like the gleam in your eyes, an immediate regret settling in as he stares at you, eyes full of disdain. You don’t hesitate grabbing his hand, putting it to your forehead and bowing deeply as you face him. You’re like a fly that keeps buzzing around him.

“Are you serious? Really? Forreal? Do you mean it?”

“If you keep being a dipshit I’m going to take it back,”

You pull away, hands folded in your lap, going stone faced.

“I would be very grateful,” You say, hands clasped in front of your face. He rolls his eyes.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” He says bluntly, staring out into space “I just don’t want to owe you any favors.”

This you laugh at, leaning back on the wall behind you - with your legs stretched out.

“Don’t worry,” You reply, self-assured. “Somehow, you asking me to study with you so innocently really cements it in that you don’t have a shred of affection for me.”

Something in him stirs. He ignores it.

“Never in a million years.”

You laugh light-heartedly.

“You’re so cold to me, Itoshi-kun.”

“You still call me that.” He grimaces. You stare at him confused.

“How else would I call you?”

“When you use my last name it reminds me of my brother,”

“...Are you implying I should use your first name?”

Oh. Shit. That is what he sort of said, isn’t it?

“No,” He denies, somehow unable to come up with anything worthwhile “Don’t address me at all.”

“Eh? But that’s impossible? I can try but,”

Only an idiot like you would think to actually try. He shakes his head. It’s no good after all.

“Shut up,” He decides, because there’s not anything else he can think to say “We can study at the library.”

You’re quick to reject the proposal.

“We have to pick somewhere else. Like a cafe or something,” You say, not looking at him. You have your phone pulled up now, looking for places nearby. He’s lost again.

“What? Why? Isn’t it easier if it’s at school?”

You glance over at him wide-eyed, before suddenly smiling. It’s a knowing smile, almost like you feel sorry for him. He wants to ask why you look like that. It’s weirdly guarded and he hates that from you. He stares at you, trying to will you to explain yourself. You’re good at reading his thoughts, frustratingly enough, so he’s not accustomed to asking.

Which means your lack of answer is deliberate, and even with the pressure he’s putting on you, you don’t budge.

“Trust me on this one,” You voice light and airy. “It’s better if we find somewhere away from school, too. There’s still some time to look, so no rush.”

He lets it go because he doesn’t have any other choice. Lunch passes and you talk like everything's normal.

The question lingers in the back of his mind.

Rin spends most of his time between classes watching soccer. If he has some free time on his day off, he’ll look for a new movie to watch. There’s a new foreign film coming out from a director who he really likes and he’s just finished watching the trailer.

Thirsty, with nothing to do - he stands to his feet and briefly surveys the classroom. He wants a drink and there’s a vending machine down the hallway with a sports drink that tastes like..something.

His airpods are close to being dead so there’s no music as he makes his way. He’s not a fan of being forced to listen to the chatter of the general populace so it’s not that hard to ignore.

It catches his attention when he hears your name in passing before turning the corner of the hall. It stops him dead in his tracks, something tense left in the syllables after . He doesn’t know why he stopped, not exactly. He figured it’d be annoying if his presence caused a ruckus.

He’s used to people talking about you, though they usually describe you as a busybody. The Senpai who’s everywhere. A hand in every jar, or something like that. But there’s a tone to that, mild amusement - never malice, that Rin is more than accustomed to.

This is not that, he notices. He leans on the wall and listens. A group of girls. Some of the voices he recognizes. They’re from the third year classroom down the hall.

“It’s like, I don’t know,” Eto-san, he thinks. She’s come up to him before, more times than he can really count on one hand. Rin knows the type. Kind but not really. To the point it’s hard for anyone to call her out on it. “It’s weird how much she hangs around him. She’s not a bad girl or anything,”

The addition makes Rin’s eye twitch. Yeah. He’s very familiar with this type. He keeps listening. Another voice, but he has no idea who this one is.

“Really? But Senpai is pretty kind to me,”

“Mm, I guess so. I just wonder if it makes Itoshi-kun uncomfortable, you know? With pushy people like that, it doesn’t matter how blunt you are. I just worry about him a bit.”

If it wasn’t so annoying to listen in, Rin would laugh. He’s never understood girls. Especially not highschool ones. He doesn’t pay attention to that kind of social hierarchical shit to begin with, only forced to acknowledge it because other people do. None of it matters to him.

He does think back to what you said a week ago, about finding a place away from school to study. It clicks. You probably know they talk about you like this. Or you could surmise this outcome. Rin should expect that level of awareness from you. Sincere. Always attuned to everyone. Of course this is something you know but he doesn’t.

Why didn’t you tell him? That’s annoying. It’s nothing he couldn’t deal with knowing. He would’ve got it if you explained it earlier.

“Oh wow, you really care about him Eto-san,”

There’s a soft chuckle that makes Rin annoyed. Is he supposed to feel grateful? They’ve barely spoken to each other.

“It’s not like that. It must be hard since he missed second year, that’s all.”

With that, Rin decides to turn the corner.

He’s a little pleased at the reaction. How everyone goes into complete silence when he arrives. He spares her a glance as he moves towards the vending machines, clicking in the buttons. A generic sports drink comes tumbling out of the bottom, and Rin grabs it with deliberate slowness - drawing out the unease.

Eto-san gives him a blank stare before suddenly looking cheerful. She seems a little panicked, quickly trying to make conversation with him. The words don’t reach his ears as he stares down at her expressionlessly.

“Are you done?” He says, ice-cold. She stutters at that. Rin suppresses a smile.

“Oh, uhm, yeah. Sorry, were you busy?”

“Yeah,” He says back, completely apathetic.

He doesn’t plan on saying anymore in the first place. The little victories count.

It does feel like some kind of magic when he hears your voice from the other end of the hallway. You’re practically shouting it, and following is the sound of the hall monitors telling you off for running as you barrel toward him full speed. He can hear the thud of your sneakers all the way till they skid to a stop.

You’re out of breath, bent over your knees and messy as you put a hand up. Most times, he would be embarrassed. He’d even tell you off for being such an idiot. Right now, he finds the corners of his lips upturned as he stares at you from where you stand.

“Oh, hey guys. Sorry, I had some business with this guy. Oh, Fujita-chan, your hair is cute today! I like how it looks up on you,” You say, to the girl who was calling you kind just a minute ago “I hope he wasn’t too cruel to you. He’s actually afraid of women, it’s a generational curse. Every night he turns into a frog and—”

You shuffle in front him, arms stretched out like a shield. He sticks his leg out and kicks your shin. You yelp in pain.

“What the hell are you talking about? Shut up.”

“Ow, you strong bastard. You’re a soccer player, please be more conscious of your kicks. What if you shattered my shin? I know you’re loaded but it’s the principle of the thing, you know—”

“Stop talking or I’ll kick you a second time.”

You go silent immediately.

“Forgive me, Itoshi-sama. I’ve strayed from the path of righteousness. Alas, the people need you.” You say, turning around.

“Speak clearly.”

“Homeroom teacher wanted to double check with you about after graduation plans and told me to go get you.”

“Why you?”

“I was already walking around for the newspaper club.”

He nods, not needing any more explanation.

“H-hey, aren’t you acting too friendly with him?”

So she decided to speak. This makes you falter, just a little, and Rin detests the look of self-satisfaction on her face. He speaks this time. It’s not like he can’t fight any of his own battles.

“It’s fine,” He says, not bothering to think about it. He looks at you, as you stare back at him where he stands, wide-eyed. Idiot. “I don’t mind.”

You grin at him. Big and rounded and stupid, with all of your teeth like you’re giddy. If the hallway monitor wasn’t up your ass, he figures you’d be skipping about now. You usher him into the hall, back where he came from, waving them off.

“Be seeing you guys, then! Bye!”

And you’re off. It’s quiet until you’re both completely out of ear-shot. Before he can go any further you stand in front of him, hands behind your back with a dumb look on your face. He already knows what you’re going to say.

“Hey. I really like you a lot. Just now… my heart was fluttering. I thought I was hallucinating,”

“You’re a moron,”

“Ahhh, what should I do? I’m all hot under the collar. Is this what it’s like being a maiden in love? It’s great.”

“How can you say that knowing I’ve already rejected you?”

“It’s because you’ve rejected me, I can say that.”

And Rin doesn't really get it. He’s not sure he ever will.

But you seem happy enough. He decides against prying.

Somehow, you’ve ended up at Rin’s house.

He doesn’t know how it happened. Really.

He mentioned to his mother off-handedly that he needed to help someone study. He should’ve lied about it then, but coming off of running drills makes him pretty stupid. He uses most of his brain power when he trains. So in an altered state of mind due to dehydration, hunger and general exhaustion - he answered honestly instead of lying.

You’re helping someone study? Yes, they’re from my class.

Is it a boy or a girl? A girl. We’re friends.

You can’t study at the library? She doesn’t want to, so we’re trying to find somewhere else.

Why not invite her here, if her parents are okay with it? Her parent’s don’t really pay enough attention to be bothered.

Wait, what is he saying?

Rin doesn’t know how it happened. Really. Really. He tried pretty hard to reject his mothers advances about the situation but he’s never been one to upset her. The whole thing with Sae really tore her up so they both had a silent agreement to try and get along at home. And since Rin is still living at home for now, he tries harder to listen to her. Even so, he wasn’t planning on yielding for this one.

Rin is not immune to his mothers guilt. A long lecture about how her only sons never cared about anything but soccer and how she’s worried she’s never going to have grandchildren later, he finally gave in and gave you a call at his dinner table.

He was hoping you would come through and reject the offer. Say something stupid about how that’s dangerous territory for a young girl in love and let his mom down gently. He forgot about your whole thing about responsibility and being a nice girl who gets along well with adults.

And now, the door is ringing and Rin knows he’s going to open it to you. He mostly blames himself for not thinking ahead.

Rin opens the door on a Saturday afternoon and the first thing he thinks is that you’re not wearing your uniform.

You look…different. It’s weird. Your hair is styled in an unusual way, tied with something like ribbon. You’re wearing something flowy and loose but the neck is a little rounder than usual. There’s a necklace there, a heart-pendant with a chain. You have in...earrings.

Rin thinks vaguely that you look…something. He doesn’t know. But in his vision you’re like a troublesome and amorphous blob that yammers on about nothing. And right now you look…not like that.

“You’re dressed up.” Are the first words to come out of his mouth. You blink at him owlishly.

“Oh. Yeah. I wanted to make a good impression on your mom so I tried not to look sloppy.” You say sheepishly. He leans against the doorframe.

“She doesn’t care about stuff like that.”

“Well I do, okay? Now, can I come in?”

“The white slippers are for you.”

He steps aside and lets you in. You have perfect manners. He probably should’ve expected that. You take your shoes off neatly and place them on the rack the same way, slipping your feet into the slippers provided. Rin just watches, eyes tracing the curve of your neck.

“Where’s your mom?” You ask.

“In the kitchen making dinner. You’re staying for dinner right?”

You blink at him, surprised.

“I mean it’s not like I can’t.”

“She’d be upset if you didn’t.” He says noncommittally before walking you down to the kitchen.

His mother is right where he expects. He stands in the corner as you shuffle in watching on. She turns around to look at you, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Oh, my, you must be Rin’s friend? Such a lovely girl. Welcome! Welcome.”

To this, you bow your head as deep as it can go. The air around you feels serious. Rin scoffs internally. There’s a strange feeling in his chest that he can’t describe, seeing you bowing in front of his mom. An itch he can’t reach, locked tight around his ribs.

You give his mother your name first and she smiles like she’s absolutely delighted just hearing it.

“Thank you for having me. I brought some fruit with me as a gift, I hope that’s alright.”

His mom shoots him a look that Rin deflects by turning away, opening the plastic bag you’ve handed to her.

“Oh my! Aren’t these expensive fruits? Please thank your parents for me!”

“Oh no, don’t worry about that. I work part-time, so I paid for them myself. It was the least I could do. I’m grateful for the tutoring.”

You tense up, realizing that might’ve been an awkward thing to say. It isn’t. Even if it was, Rin’s mother has always been soft-hearted. His dad tells him they’re a lot alike but Rin doesn’t see it. Whatever it may be, Rin’s mom is too doting and too sociable to let you feel bad. Right now she seems emotional, an expression between empathy and pride. She reaches for you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, patting your head gently.

“How diligent. Thank you, then, for the fruit.”

Rin can’t see your face but it’s easy to picture.

“Of course. And pardon the intrusion! And uhm, thank you for having me for dinner.”

Clumsy. Rin thinks you’re clumsy. A flickering light. His mom laughs brightly and tells you not to worry. She leans in closer like she’s whispering but Rin can hear her loud and clear.

“Rin can be very brash but he’s a good boy, so thank you for being kind to him.”

He feels embarrassed. Even readies himself to intervene.

“He is very kind to me.”

Wait. What?

His mom smiles even brighter, and mouths something like ‘take care of her’ when you’re not looking. He wants to stop it before it starts. You’re not dating. You’re hardly even friends, you’re just here to study. Rin almost wants to shout it, but he’s stuck. Before he can do any of that, you’re turning around and smiling like you haven’t said anything strange.

What do you mean he’s kind to you? When his whole thing is rejecting you mercilessly? Being cruel?

What kind of person would ever describe him as kind?

He can’t find the words he wants to say, so he takes you to his room in silence.

You both make it to Rin’s room in one piece.

You’ve been studying now for about an hour. Given your personality, Rin was expecting more of a fuss. He thought you’d make some comment about being in a boys room and then fight off the actual studying like the plague.

Much to his surprise, you started studying with him right away. Rin tries his best to tutor you, though he does make fun of you in the process. But you’re a try-hard all the same, stopping only to ask questions and get clarification occasionally.

You’ve been focused that whole time, miraculously enough. Rin studies too, but only a bit, after deciding to study some recent matches instead.

( Every now and again, he’ll glance at you. Just to see if you’re stuck or still working. Each time, he gets caught up on the fact you’re not in your uniform and has to tear his eyes away. )

After a bout of silence, you yawn out loud, quietly shutting your workbook.

“I’ve finished all my practice problems for today,” You announce, before deciding to lay down on his floor “I’m beat.”

“I thought you were gonna give up before you started.” Rin admits. You frown at him.

“I was serious about needing tutoring. Thanks for all your help.”

“I already told you it’s fine. Is there anything else? Finals are next week.”

You shake your head.

“Mm, I don’t think so. One of the guys from the newspaper club helped me with math so I’ll be okay.”

…Huh?

“From the newspaper club?”

“Huh? Yeah. Murata-senpai. We’re in the same year. He’s a few months older so he insists on making me call him Senpai.”

“And he helped you with math?”

“Yeah. He was a delinquent like, all of first year but he really cleaned up his act. He’s actually really gentle.”

Rin frowns at that.

“Do people usually describe delinquents as gentle?”

You make a noise of indignance from where you’re laid on his floor.

“Hey. Murata-senpai is really nice, okay? And he is gentle, so I won’t tolerate your usual judginess.”

Rin rolls his eyes.

“How’d you even meet him?”

“Uh…I wanted to write a column about him, basically. He was helping in the garden last year and I kinda…stalked him. It sounds worse than it is. I just wanted to know what made him change.”

“So stalking people is pretty typical for you.”

You sit up and gape at him. Rin suppresses a laugh.

“Anyways. I eventually flagged him down for an interview. Apparently, he had a real scare with his granny getting sick and decided he needed to cut the shit. He’s a good guy. He joined the newspaper club after the interview,”

“After the interview…?”

You nod, leaning forward with your elbows on the table in front of you.

“Uh-huh. Said he was interested because of my passion or something. He’s been really nice to me ever since and helps me with all of the ideas I have.” You soften as you talk about it. Rin feels an ugly emotion in his chest “I’m worried about what will happen to the club after graduation, but Senpai is always encouraging me to make the most out of the time we still have. So I’m really thankful for him. That’s why you have to be nice.”

Rin is super annoyed. He doesn’t know why he’s so annoyed but he is. How do you not realize this guy likes you? He doesn’t know why he’s opening his mouth to tell you what’s so obvious. It’s not like it really matters. Rin doesn’t like you in the first place, so if he informs you that your beloved Murata-senpai has feelings for you - it’s no big deal.

In fact it might be better for everyone if you realize. He’s just frustrated by how clueless you can be sometimes.

“He’s interested in you,” Rin says, against his better judgment. It feels like the words are welling up in his throat “Your senpai or whatever.”

You blink at him stupidly. He wonders if you’re wearing mascara.

“Huh? I doubt that somehow. Senpai is kind to me but I think he sees me like a little sister.”

He scoffs at you.

“You would think that. Most guys aren’t just nice to girls they don’t like.”

“Not everyone is like you, yanno.” You say back without thinking twice. That’s not the point this time, he wants to say. And he’s right for this one. Anyone else with half of a brain would realize. You’re just… you. Which means you’re absolutely unaware of things pertaining to you. It’s the only reason he can think you’d deny something so obvious.

The only reason you could come to the house of a boy you liked just to study.

“Shut up. I’m saying this because you’re too much of a dumbass to put it together on your own. The guy definitely likes you.”

“I didn’t know you were a love guru,” You say sarcastically, sticking your tongue out at him. Childish. Annoying “It doesn’t matter if he does.”

“Why wouldn’t it matter?”

You give him an incredulous look.

“Unfortunately my heart is captured by an aloof sportsman.”

He doesn’t know why he feels relieved when you say that. He feels his heart all the way in his throat like he’s going to throw it up, even though his expression remains impassive.

“You already know I don’t like you, though. It’s a good opportunity, isn’t it? Don’t a lot of people move on that way.”

You shake your head.

“I’m not that sort of wishy-washy woman.” You reply, huffing your chest up and trying to ease the tension. You stop to shake your head, a small smile on your face. “You wouldn’t get it even if I explained.”

“It’s annoying when you do that,” Rin voices, not bothering to cut it any other way “You did that with the girls at school too. I’m never gonna get it if you don’t bother explaining it to me.”

You soften at this, then whisper.

“...Why do you care?” But it’s not said with any malice. It’s not said sadly either. Just curious. He freezes, but doesn’t let it show. He wants to ask himself the same question.

“I don’t. It’s just,” And he scoffs, not looking at your face “It’s a pain.”

You hum, not expecting more of an answer.

“I want to treasure my own feelings towards you,” You say, and something in Rin feels like it’s being set on fire. “It’s not just about having a boyfriend. If it was, then I’d consider Senpai's feelings.”

“...So it’s about me, specifically?”

“Yeah,” You say without offering any more explanation than that “It is. I like you.”

The words but why, linger in the air. You seem to be feeling merciful, as you lean back on your palms and stare up at his ceiling. You wear your heart outside of your body, more often than not. And he thinks that part of you is so hard to get used to.

“You’re really awkward. And aloof. And you don’t have any friends.”

“Is this some kind of revenge or…?”

“But. You’re also sensitive. The more I know you, the more I think you’re kind and well-meaning. You uh, remind me of a cat.”

He blinks.

“A cat?”

“A cat. Sometimes they want their own space. And sometimes they knock your water off your desk for fun. Plus they only really care about people in their own circle,”

“Again, is this—”

“Let me finish, jeez. They’re solitary creatures. But like when they accept you, they get comfortable. An’ nice . And they look out for you in their own way. To me you’re a lot like that.”

You give him a smile so warm it makes his back hot. So loud and so vibrant like it burst out of him at any minute.

“I’ve uh, always been interested in you. I watched you play in Bluelock too. I kept thinking to myself, there’s something about you. I want to know more, even if it’s just a little. Stuff like that.” You talk so quietly yet it’s all Rin can hear. All Rin can see in his vision is you. All Rin can think about is you. “I’ve always been interested in other peoples stories. So I thought, what a waste it would be, to throw away that feeling because of something like love or like. I thought, ‘What's your story, Itoshi Rin?’”

Rin doesn’t know what to say so he chooses to say nothing.

“When I confessed, I knew you would never like me. Because that’s just the sort of person everyone says you are. Still, what a waste, right? You miss all the shots you don’t take or whatever. So, I wanted to get to know you. I guess.”

“I don’t get it. I get what you’re like but it still doesn’t make any sense. There’s nothing special to know, is there?”

“Feeling that is special, don’t you think? That’s a special reason to me.”

He doesn’t follow. You laugh lightly.

“If I never became interested in Murata-senpai’s story, I would’ve never been his friend. If I gave up on trying to know you, just because you didn’t return to my one-sided feelings, then I would’ve never gotten to know you either. Don’t you think that’s a waste?”

Rin doesn’t know. He’s never really cared about it. He’s rejected so many confessions and never once thought enough about any of them in any depth. That part of you is foreign. He can chalk it up to a difference in character. He can’t understand wanting to know someone just because.

(Or maybe he can. He just hasn’t until now. Until this very moment, suspended in time. Where he wants to know what things make you the way you are.)

Some small, dark part of him wants to ask why. Over and over until his throat feels raw - long enough to understand it. Even as he grips onto that desire so tight, with such bruising force, the words sit in his mouth. They taste like iron. They taste like a bitten tongue. If you’ve watched him all this time, then you know. Being chosen. He’s never been confident in that. Rin wants to ask, why him?

What’s so special? Enough to keep talking to him? Enough to do any of this? Is getting to know people is always this difficult, he wonders. Does it always feel uncomfortable to be in proximity with someone?

In the end, he can’t bring himself to ask. He can’t even bear to examine it in himself, the sense of dread washing over him like sickness. He’s nauseous. And this time, there’s a residue of tension he’s finding increasingly difficult to ignore.

You come through again. He wonders if you can read his mind just like you do with all the nobodies at school.

“Rin-kun,” You say, your voice like the summer heat. “Getting to know you makes me feel like my feelings aren’t a waste. I’m happy getting to know you. I want to treasure that.”

What happens when you run out of things to know? The question is too heavy. He settles on a different one. He wants to understand it more. Just to put himself at ease.

“Isn’t being in the same room with someone who rejected you uncomfortable?”

“Maybe. But there’s a clear line for me and you, so it’s cool. In like, ten years, maybe someone will interview me about you. As your classmate and stuff. And I’ll go - ‘He’s actually a really nice guy. I actually had a crush on him.’ If I can say that, without being regretful, then that’ll be enough for me.”

“That’ll be enough for you? Really?”

“Really.”

“You’re so weird.” He says, unsure of what else he could possibly say. You giggle, and lay back down on his floor.

“I knew you’d say that.”

Summer comes.

It doesn’t occur to Rin how often he sees you in school until it all comes to a halt. He has your number, and you text him often - about unimportant and trivial shit that you think of. In that way, it doesn’t even really feel like you’ve separated.

But the sudden absence of your chattering in his life makes everything feel especially quiet. Summer is a boring time for Rin. It’s mostly the same. Practicing and playing and studying. On the few occasions he’s been out, it’s because some of the other Bluelock members are gathering and refuse to let him know even a breath of peace.

He’s seen Sae now, though they never really talk about anything. Sort of just look at each other and exchange enough words that their mom doesn’t cry before going back to their room. Sae will be gone before school starts back up again, so Rin isn’t all that worried about it.

It occurs to Rin for the first time that this summer will be the last of his highschool days. He’s never been sentimental about stuff like that - so he figures you’re to blame for these sudden thoughts.

Your summer has been a lot busier than his. He should probably expect this from you by now, but your surprisingly youthful social life always shocks him. You’ve been working part-time as usual. In that time though, you’ve also been to the beach and been on an overnight trip to Osaka with your newspaper club.

(Rin wasn’t happy to hear about this. He was relieved to know it was with a teacher and that you roomed with a girl. But still, not exactly his favorite of anecdotes for the summer.)

You’ve invited Rin more than once to come hang out with you, but he’s basically always declined. The group setting is troublesome, but being alone with you feels even worse somehow. It wouldn’t be a date, obviously, but it would be something. Something deliberate.

Rin doesn’t know if he can come see you in good faith for such a reason.

It’s another day spent doing his usual. Being technical, it’s a rest day, which means he’s only allowed to stretch. He has done his basics. Studied, messed around with his ball, responded to a barrage of texts from Bachira and Isagi. He played games for a while, checking out a new horror game before deciding it’d be best not to get too sucked in so he has something to play next time.

After all that, during a mid-August day while Rin sits on his couch and watches T.V., he receives a facetime call from you for the very first time. At first, he just lets it ring. But when it keeps ringing - he figures your persistence is going to continue unless he replies.

He looks around. No one's home, so he doesn’t need to go to his room. He swipes, and the call connects. The screen shows him, propped up against something with a full shot of your room. You’re turned away from the camera. Rin just stares.

“Oh, shit - did you actually pick up?”

“Should I hang up.”

“No! No, I just wasn’t expecting you. Don’t hang up. I need a guy's opinion.”

“What? What for?”

“I got in a fight with my brother about a dress I bought,” You say, exasperated, and Rin is surprised because you hardly see him. “I know he’s probably looking out for me but I don’t think we talk enough for him to be telling me how to dress.”

“He’s older than you, right? Maybe you should listen to him.”

“You’re the last person I want to hear that from. Either way, I’m not a kid. I’m already 18 and I’m going to college. It’s a cute dress! I feel like it’s fine.”

“So..why’d you call me again?”

“I’m gonna try it on and show you. Murata-senpai is busy.”

“You shouldn’t do that to a guy who likes you.” Rin deadpans. You laugh.

“Shut up. I really need an opinion. I wanted to wear it to go out today so if it’s actually too provocative then I have to change my outfit.”

“Where are you even going?”

“My friend needs to get a concealer, so probably the mall or something. After that I’ll go buy some stationary.”

“Alone? What about your friend?”

“She’s gonna go see her boyfriend.”

“Why can’t you just go with them? Or ask them to go with you”

“And third wheel? I’m good. I just need some stationary and then I’ll be home. Easy peasy. Anyway, what’s with the interrogation?”

“It’s not interrogation.” He insists. You’re offscreen so Rin can’t see you, but he can hear the sound of a zipper echo in the speakers. He’s also sure you’re rolling your eyes.

When you come on camera, the dress of the hour is on display. Rin’s first thought is to tell you to take it off. It is too provocative to him. The front is fine as is, but it’s nearly backless and it’s cut too high on your thighs. He’s never seen so much of your skin. Maybe that’s a given, since he didn’t go to the beach with you either.

You give him a quick spin, before patting the front down. You say something, but the words don’t register. It feels like his brain is full of cotton or something.

“So? Too much? I mean it’s backless but like. I don’t know, it’s kind of loose? And the sleeves are long. Neckline isn’t that bad, either.”

Rin just says what he thinks “You shouldn’t go out alone wearing it.”

You frown at him.

“That’s not helpful, Rin-kun.”

“It’s…fine. What time does your friend have to go?”

“Probably right after we’re done.”

He sighs.

“Tell her to go with her boyfriend early. I’ll come with you to get your stationary.”

“Wait, what? Did I hear that right? You’re coming to get me? After I’ve been hounding you to hang out? What’s with the change of heart?”

“I don’t have anything to do since it’s a rest day. You need stuff and I don’t think you should be out alone. Don’t read into it.”

“Kinda hard not too but I’m not gonna complain. Are you coming right now?”

“Yeah. Send me your address.”

Rin has no idea what impulse has brought him here.

That’s not entirely true. What brought him to your apartment towards the end of summer is impulse. He acted on nothing but impulse.

Rin, for better or for worse, finds that you’re clueless about yourself. The fact you were going to call Murata-senpai is already bothering him enough. That, along with the fact you wore the dress and didn’t think it was too short is troubling. It’s not that Rin wants to tell you what not to wear. He doesn’t have the right but you did ask.

Anyway, it’s a lot less agitating if you’re being accompanied while wearing it. Going alone in something like that, even if it’s the middle of summer, would be stupid.

Rin doesn’t make it a habit of worrying about the outfits of girls he doesn’t know. He does know you though. He thinks you’d be really annoying if something happened and you got upset about it. So, all he’s doing is preventing that outcome. It’s nothing more than that.

He knocks on your door as he shakes the thoughts out of his head, and he’s greeted by a man in his late twenties. It dawns on Rin that this is your brother. He really didn’t think this through.

Your brother is an imposing person. He’s a head taller than Rin with a gruff voice and a scar on his cheek. Rin stares at him blankly.

“Who are you?”

“Itoshi Rin. I’m here for—”

“Nii-san, tell Rin-kun to come inside and sit! I’m not done getting ready.”

Your brother glares at him.

“Who’s he? Your boyfriend? Is that why—”

You come stumbling out of your room, half-dressed and Rin immediately averts his eyes. This is the most uncomfortable experience of his life.

“He’s not my boyfriend. He already rejected me, so we’re just friends. Stop fussing and let him in, it’s hot out.”

“He rejected you?”

Rin should just leave.

“I already knew he was going to. Now move,”

Rin doesn’t enjoy being involved in your sibling quarrel. Suddenly, he feels a twinge of regret about some old Bluelock memories. He understands it now more than ever, gaining a little empathy.

Your brother moves out of the way. You’re standing in the hall, with a single stocking on and powder on your face he’s pretty sure is meant to be brushed. You grin at him.

“Sorry! I won’t be long, promise. You got here faster than I thought you would.”

Rin can feel a pair of eyes in the back of his skull.

“Uh. Yeah. I took the bus so it was quick.”

“It might be uncomfortable here. Do you wanna sit in my room instead? It’s colder but it’s kind of a mess—”

“He can sit here.” Your brother insists. Rin is never leaving his house again. You frown.

“Didn’t I already tell you we’re not dating? He’s not even interested in me, it’s not like anything is gonna happen.”

“It’s the principle of it.” Yeah. Definitely siblings.

“Whatever. If you make him uncomfortable, I’m gonna yell at you. Rin-kun, sorry. Do you need anything? Juice? Water?”

Your hospitality throws him off. You’re different at home.

“Uh. No. I’m okay.”

“Okay, then I’ll hurry and get dressed. Nii-san, please be civil.”

With that, you flounce back up to your room. Your brother is staring hard in Rin’s direction. He’s not intimidated. It’s just… so awkward it’s kind of unbearable for him. What do people usually do in this situation? Rin’s not exactly the sociable type.

“She confessed to you?”

Rin is startled.

“Uh. Yeah. In April.”

“And you’re friends?”

“She asked to be friends.”

Your brother looks distressed.

“I don’t understand that girl at all.”

Rin doesn't either.

“What’s she like in school?”

Rin stares. Oh. He’s that kind of older brother.

“Uh. Busy. She’s in the newspaper club so she’s always doing something. She has a lot of friends and gets along with our class.”

“I see…that’s good. I’m always worried about her. Our family has always been busy and I moved out when I was 18 so… we don’t see much of each other. She doesn’t talk about herself that much either.”

Rin nods absently. What circle of hell is this?

“She probably thinks I’m just being overprotective,” Bullseye “But I just worry she grew up too fast.”

Rin thinks if he were a different kind of guy, now would be the time he gives your older brother an encouraging heart to heart. The script is there. It’s just not how he honestly feels. Rin doesn’t take pleasure in defending you. But it’s hypocritical and a little ridiculous to hear it from him.

Some of it is leftover resentment from Sae. The rest is knowing you.

You did grow up too fast. From what he knows about teenage girls, they’re supposed to be…meaner. More hysterical. More inconsiderate. Less responsible and more in the moment. Messy. All teenagers are, really.

For all the ways you are clumsy and ridiculous, sometimes Rin thinks you’re too off-puttingly mature. It wouldn’t kill you to be more selfish. To be just a little less self-reliant. It’s not normal is it? To be so grateful for things you’re owed. It bothers him. Always has.

Rin knows what the script is. But it bothers him.

“If you know that then you don’t really have any right to intervene,” Rin says bluntly. “Suddenly acting protective and considerate when she grew up on her own is just going to feel stifling. Aren’t you just trying to make yourself feel better?”

He looks surprised by his answer. Hurt too.

“I guess that’s right,”

He frowns.

“If you actually care, just be honest. She’s not the type of person to turn someone away on a grudge.”

Before Rin can feel embarrassed about what he’s said, you come stumbling down the steps all dressed up. Your brother gives you a look.

“Do you need any money?”

You look at him confused then shake your head no.

“Okay. Stay safe and have fun.”

He turns to leave. You watch him go. Rin puts his hands in his pockets like he’s trying to wipe himself of it.

“Weird… anyways. Ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

Your outing goes well.

Outing. Not a date. No matter how many times people mistake you two for being on a date today - it was nothing more than an outing.

You start with stationary for the upcoming term, then you drag Rin to the mall because you need some more clothes. After that, you go into a bookstore to pick up some manga. Rin has fun there because he gets to pick out some new releases and you bond mutually over your tastes. Rin learns both like thrillers. You spend a lot of time together, reading over his shoulder.

It’s not a date. But it wasn’t bad. He’s so used to talking to you that the entire situation doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. You’re funnier than he’s usually willing to give you credit for. Doing all that, plus train rides, makes it so you’re not home until sundown. You, however, refuse to end the night without having some kind of treat. After a lot of begging Rin to cheat on his meal plan, the two of you get ice-cream and you drag Rin to a local playground. Apparently you bring your neighbors' kids here sometimes.

Now he’s here. Sitting on swings with ice-cream and it is still not a date. Rin has no opinions on the day but you’re practically bursting at the seams with happiness. The dress you’re wearing is hiking up on your thigh from how you’re sitting. He was right to accompany you, by the way. The amount of creeps he’s had to stare down today alone is outright disgusting.

Rin takes a spoonful of ice-cream and lets it melt in his mouth. You let your feet hit the mulch beneath you as you lick the ice-cream carefully - trying desperately not to let it spill on your hand. He watches on in amusement. After you finally get a handle on it, you give him a small look.

“I had fun today,” You say sentimentally. Rin feels his stomach tie in knots “Thank you.”

He frowns.

“Gross. Stop that.”

“Aw, c’mon. You’re so edgy. Just admit you had fun! You had a fantastic and whimsical time.”

He gives you an unimpressed stare.

“Really? Nothing? You’re not feeling the flames of youthful joy in your loins at all?”

“Describing it like that is disgusting.”

“So you admit you know what it is.”

Rin wants to smile. Fuck, he hates you.

“...It wasn’t bad.”

You grin. You’re so annoying.

“Ladies and gents, we got an ‘it wasn’t bad’ from the ever soulless Itoshi Rin!”

Stupid. So stupid.

“It was more tolerable than hanging out with some of my other dipshit friends.”

You clasp a hand over your mouth dramatically.

“Oh…Oh wow… Do you want to try proposing next? The set-up is there. Perfect ambience.”

His face cracks into a begrudging smile.

“You’re insufferable.”

You suddenly go quiet. When Rin looks at you, you’re stunned

“Why’re you being weird?”

“No, sorry, I was just thinking I really like you,” You say, like it’s the easiest and most natural thing in the world “I’ve never seen you smile before. It’s nice.”

“...Your ability to say cringy shit like that so easily is astounding to me.”

“I don’t want to hear this from the guy who unironically uses lukewarm,” You say, biting into your ice-cream cone. Rin blushes. “Besides, nothing wrong with being cringe when you’re in love.”

“Freak.”

You give him a thumbs up.

“One of a kind.”

There’s a beat of silence. It’s comfortable. Rin eats his too, probably a little slower than he has to. Summer feels heavy in the air.

“You weren’t always like..an edgelord, right?”

Rin stares at you, perplexed by how sudden the question is.

“Where’d you hear that from?”

“Your mom after dinner. You already went upstairs. Said you had a nasty fight with your brother.”

He doesn’t say anything, posture stiffening at the mention of Sae.

“It’s not your business.”

“Hey. No need for the attitude. I’m curious as your number one fan.” You say, trying to back off as much as possible. Like he’s some kind of feral cat you’re trying to calm. “Don’t be mad, okay? You don’t have to talk about it.”

You try your best to be soothing and Rin softens

He is angry. Not at you. Not really. The mention of Sae just does that to him. And if anyone else even thought to bring it up - he’d probably tell them to go fuck themselves with nothing but bitter hatred.

With you, there’s not any of that. There’s a lingering sense of hesitance - an internal conflict, but not anger. Rin’s never enjoyed opening his heart to anyone.

Even so, he feels compelled to tell you, so he does.

“My brothers a dick,” Resentment seeps into his words “He came back from overseas and then basically insulted me for a minute straight. We were always meant to play soccer together but he went through something. He changed. We never talked about it,”

“What? He insulted you for no reason? That’s so weird. Did you always have a bad relationship?”

Rin sits with himself quietly.

“I don’t know if we have one now. We were close as kids. At least.”

“And he just… came back and started being an asshole to you? Seriously?”

Rin nods. There’s not much else to the story. Rin’s tried hard not to think about the situation itself. He only uses the feelings that stayed behind to make him better. To give him a reason to play - it’s motivation and nothing more. If he starts to view it too much like what it is, betrayal, he’s afraid everything inside of him will collapse.

“There’s probably more to it than that,” You conclude thoughtfully. Rin thinks the same “But still. You’re his baby brother. Even if he’s going through something…”

Rin scoffs “You sound like you’re worried about him.” It comes out more petulantly than he expects

“Not really. Not as much as I’m worried about you,” You counter, giving him a small smile. Rin feels his heart leap into his throat “I just figure, you know, maybe thinking about it like that would help. You were close right? Your mom said he used to dote on you,”

Rin nods. He feels his chest swell and tighten.

“Then…I bet it sucked. I bet it was hard. Or at least, it must’ve been lonely to go through that,” You say, frown deepening “Such a sudden change would be hard for anyone to deal with, I think. It’s okay if you feel like it’s unfair. His reasons aside.”

You sigh, suddenly, covering your hands with your face.

“What?” Rin asks. You shake your head.

“You poor thing. I wanna hug you to death you know. A good squeeze. I’m trying to refrain.” You say, stomping your feet just slightly. He feels a flush crawl up his neck, turning his head to look away.

“...It’s not like I’m stopping you.”

He doesn’t have the courage to look at you. Not as he says it, or after to steal a glance of what face you're making. Instead, he hears the metal of the chain and feels the warmth of your body. It’s a tight hug. You’re standing and he’s sitting, your arms around his neck, his face directly against your chest. He widens his eyes. He wants to yell at you for being a defenseless idiot, but the feeling of being hugged so tightly washes the words away. You’re soft…and warm. He’s never been hugged by someone who isn’t his mom or brother before, and he can’t remember the last time either thing happened to him. You pat his head.

Do you touch people like this often? So casually? Or is he special because you like him, he wants to ask. He wants to ask but doesn’t want to know the answer, pushing the feeling down as deep as he can make it go. He wraps his arms around you loosely, above your waist trying to be respectful.

But he leans into the warmth. Like it’s something that happens once in a lifetime.

“Hey, Rin.” You say, soft. He can feel the warmth of your breath against his hair.

“Hn.”

“I hope you kick your brother's ass in soccer.”

You sound teary. Weirdly, it makes Rin feel better.

“Yeah.”

School starts up again during September.

The autumn season welcomes warm colors, fallen leaves and the sort of cool weather that puts the summer uniforms back up on the hangers. Rin is listening to music when he spots you waiting for him at the gate, waving your hand at him. He has half a mind to ignore you, you’re so embarrassing.

But before he can pretend not to see, you’re jogging over to him. He has to stand so you don’t end up bumping into him. You walk like you were born backwards, two left feet with such little awareness of your surroundings it stresses Rin out.

He gives you a blank stare as you smile, securing your bag to your shoulder.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” You say warmly. Rin pauses to look at you. You look different somehow. Lately you always do, Rin wonders if you’ve picked up some weird shape-shifting in your time apart “Are you excited for the new semester, hm? Hmm?”

He keeps walking and you fall in step with him. You try but he’s too fast, so he slows just a little. He clicks his teeth, shaking his head, eyes taking in the view of the building in front him.

“Why would I be excited?”

You shrug.

“Because winter break is close? Because there’s fun leaves outside? Because it’s your birthday in 6 days?”

He stops dead in his tracks.

“What the hell? Why do you know that?”

“Your mom told me.” You say, skipping along happily to school like you didn’t just say something insane. His frown deepens.

“You have my moms number? You talk to my mom?”

“She loves me,” You say casually, turning only to look at him and stick your tongue out “And she’s nice. Get over it.”

With this, you rush into the building faster, giggling as you leave. Rin, frustrated, stomps after you.

Your time together at lunch continues into fall. It’s the third day of the term, September 6th and you’re sitting by his side. The two of you eat in casual silence now, falling into a regular routine. There’s something about the whole ordeal that makes Rin feel a little funny.

Friendship, as it stands, is still a lukewarm idea to him. But sprawled out next to you in a comfortable quiet isn’t the worst thing. The weather is cool enough to be nice and the daylight lasts for just the right amount of time to see sunset when he treks back home from practicing shooting into the net.

That kind of sentimental viewing of his surroundings is a bad habit he’s picked up from you. He can’t seem to shake it off. He’s tried at least, but Rin has been stopping to look at everything nowadays. The sun, the trees, the cars passing. Everything passes right by his life, slowly.

Eventually, eventually this whole thing will cease. You’ll never see Rin again and he’ll never see you - and you’ll part your separate ways. Thinking about that feels so stifling. But he figures since that’s the case, there’s probably not any harm in letting the time pass like this. As long as he’s still improving.

Your voice doesn’t catch him off-guard anymore, no matter how loud it is after a long bout of silence. You stuff something into your mouth, a tomato he thinks.

“Rin-kun,” You start, tilting your head to one-side “Are you doing anything for your birthday?”

“No.” He answers immediately because he never does. He hasn’t done much since Sae left home and now that he’s a third year and about to be 18, there’s even less of a desire to pull together a party and celebrate.

“What? Boo. That’s so lame.”

“Don’t be so childish.”

“I’m older than you, you dummy,” You say with such automation that Rin doesn’t even get the chance to process “You’re not even gonna have cake? Nothing?”

“My mom might but I don’t have any plans.”

“Your mom is so nice.”

“Stop.”

You frown at him but don’t say any more. You look like you have something on your mind. Probably something stupid, but Rin can’t help but wonder what’s making your brow crease so intensely.

“What?” He snips. You flick your eyes to him and shake your head.

“I just think it’s a waste,” You say simply, that tone of fondness seeping into it that Rin can’t get used to. “It’s such a big number, you know? A little cake and some show tunes or something would suffice.”

Rin scoffs.

“I don’t care about it. It’s pointless to me. Lukewarm” He says, before noticing your genuine sadness. He sighs a little to himself “Stop looking like a depressed mutt.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“I guess dogs are more well-trained.’

“Hey. Hey, what the hell do you mean by that?”

He ignores you.

“Anyway, stop worrying about it.”

You pout.

“Easier said than done.”.

Rin’s morning routine has been the exact same for two years.

He starts by opening the window, to let fresh air and sunlight come in through the glass. He feels like his room gets stale overnight and it wakes him up to taste the sun in the back of his mouth. He takes a deep breath of it, clearing out his lungs and blinking his eyes open.

After that he stretches. He unfurls a Bluelock brand yoga mat onto his carpeted floor and gets to his usual cycle. It’s integral for an athlete to keep their muscles stretched, functioning like a well-oiled machine. He has it down pat. He starts from the bottom up, stretching his legs and working up to his arms and shoulders. His legs always come first since he’s a striker, always focusing on the mobility of his calves and foot before he stretches out his thigh.

His core, then his chest and arms. When he’s done with all that - he practices yoga for fifteen minutes. Again with mobility but this time full body, like making sure each of his limbs work with each other without any stops. He’ll sit back down after those minutes are up to meditate for another fifteen - clear his mind of absolutely anything stuck in it. It’s the most peace he gets on any given day.

At the end, he sits with his feelings. Carefully, he undoes the wrapped clothed box around his heart and stares at it as it sits in his lap. Beating and raw and melancholy blue - so full of sadness and anger like it could burst at any minute. Revisiting his sadness and rage is a necessity. Sometimes it feels like only sadness. Only monochrome.

(He wonders if a day will come where that part of his routine is changed. If ever, he’ll unwrap his own heart only to see it pink or golden yellow or even a softer shade of red. He wonders if the colors ever change, or if time will fade them.)

All of this happens before he even brushes his teeth. The rest of his morning routine is keeping his room neat. He folds the comforter on his bed, puts any dirty clothes away, and gets dressed. He doesn’t really style his hair - it’s so pin straight after washing he normally just has to brush it to keep it nice.

After that he has breakfast, and checks through his bag. On days he has school he goes to school and comes back to practice. If he’s home alone - he picks one of many other things to do. He tends to practice closer to evening, taking a shower before he goes to sleep.

On the morning of Rin’s 18th birthday, he’s only really acutely aware of the date. His morning starts the exact same as it has everyday for nearly two years. Nothing to make him feel particularly different. When he looks in the mirror, he still sees his brother's face and when he looks at his heart it’s still a steely, melancholy blue.

When he comes down stairs, though - there’s a pair of shoes he doesn’t recognize. And there’s a humming traveling down the hall and always the way up towards him that he knows quite well.

He thinks, for a minute, he might still be dreaming. Why you would be in his house on a Saturday morning makes absolutely no sense otherwise.

He slips his feet into his gray slippers and treks into the living room, only to find you in view of the open kitchen. There’s a balloon attached to flowers and a spread of fruits on the table. Orange juice in a cold glass. You with his moms borrowed apron, humming contentedly as you bend over the stove.

Rin doesn’t know what the feeling is. He doesn’t know if he’s irritated or not. Just that it’s so overwhelming to see you in his kitchen, marching to the beat of your own drum like you always do.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?”

You startle when you hear his voice, whipping around to face him. Dramatically putting a hand on your chest - you shoot him an unfriendly glare.

“Well hello to you too.”

“Answer my question.” He demands. You click your teeth.

“Well, obviously I’m making breakfast. We’re celebrating your birthday.”

“Without telling me.”

You snap your fingers before giving him finger guns “Precisely. Genius deduction, Itoshi-sama.”

“What the fuck. Where are my parents.”

“They’re out on a day-trip! It’s a Saturday. They’ll be back here on Sunday afternoon. Read the note.”

“What were you gonna do if I had last minute plans?”

“You don’t though?” You say like knowing that is so obvious. He knows you asked but still “I guess I’d turn around and make my own breakfast. Give you your gift at school or something.”

“Why are you here?” He asks a little softer this time. With a little more emotion, just a touch. He never expects anyone to make a fuss about his birthday.

Rin doesn’t really ask for much. Certainly wouldn’t ask for this on his own accord. That’s a vain thing to do, right?

It occurs to Rin that this is the kind of birthday you do for someone you like. Someone you love. You’re always confessing your feelings to him. You only say it when you’re sure. It wasn’t like Rin didn’t know you had feelings for him, because the point of it all had been for you to try and get rid of them. Or honor them, or deal with them in whatever way you saw fit. Rin had agreed on a whim to help you with that. Your friendship had started with the very notion that you liked Itoshi Rin and he didn’t like you back. It’s not some secret.

When the light pours in through the windows and hits your back and for the first time - Rin understands what the fuss is about being in love is. He’s sure that this strange, grotesque warmth is the aftermath of being liked. He always thought it’d feel more simple. That he’d remain unmoved in the face of it because he was different.

It’s not like he’s unloved. He’s sure his parents love him. His brother did too. Still does, Rin thinks.

But it’s the first time someone has made their feelings so clear to him. Someone who isn’t supposed to love or like him. And even Rin, chronically apathetic, can’t bring himself to ignore the weight of knowing that. He stares at you, dumbstruck.

You’re still turned to him. There’s a cool tumbler of iced-coffee sitting on the counter that you sip, head tilted to one side.

“Well, I don’t know,” You start, a hand on your hip “It just felt like too much of a waste to do nothing on your birthday. But you’re not the kind of guy who likes big celebrations. So I thought maybe just hanging out would be more your speed.”

Rin swallows. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Bold thing to assume.”

You frown back.

“Well, I was gonna invite Isagi-kun—“

“Isagi? How do you know Isagi?”

“He saw me leaving your house ‘cause he was gonna visit. After we talked he followed me on Instagram. Anyway, I was gonna invite him and Bachira and all four of us could go to a movie,” You explain as you sigh and go back to the stove “But he said you’d probably just want to hang out with me.”

“…And he didn’t say anything else?”

“Well he asked if we were dating so I just told him the truth. Really nice guy, by the way.”

Rin’s going to hound Isagi next time they practice together.

“So. Now you’re here… doing what exactly?”

“Making you breakfast. I’ll make you ochazuke for lunch later. Haven’t decided on dinner, I thought I’d ask when you woke up. Your mom said you liked traditional breakfast but I didn’t think I’d be done by the time you woke up so there’s fruit.”

Sure enough, when Rin walks over to the other side of the table - there’s a half done spread of breakfast on the table. All the dining ware is set up neatly, the table arranged so well he feels guilty for not helping.

“You didn’t have to do all this for me.” Rin tsks, a frown on his expression as he stands next to you. He watches you pour egg into a square pan, slowly evening out the layers.

“I wanted to,” You reply, not thinking twice about it. “I enjoy cooking for people. It’s fun. I normally just do it to feed myself, so it’s nice to share.”

He closes his eyes.

“Thanks.”

He’s afraid to look over at you, the excitement radiating off of you. It makes him uncomfortable that something so simple could make you so happy.

“Can you repeat that?”

“Don’t start.”

“Rin-chan,” You coo, immediately making him so embarrassed he wants to hit you “You’re so docile today.”

“I’m gonna kill you.” He says, hitting your shoulder as light as he can.

“Woah…how romantic. Dying on the day you were born? Jeez. I’m swooning.”

He looks at you blankly.

“Stop being gross. Where did you even get that from?”

“Too many things to count,” You say with a snap. He shakes his head.

“Is there anything I can help with?”

“How diligent. It’s fine! It’s your birthday, right? Sit. Eat some fruit. Pick out what you wanna do. I rented some games and there’s some movies I had in mind too. Make your agenda. “

Rin laughs to himself, lightly.

“Isn’t that supposed to be your job?”

“Don’t be stingy! I’m already making breakfast.”

Rin rolls his eyes.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

You end up back in Rin’s room.

After a healthy discussion about what he would like to do - Rin landed on wanting to do both. He picked out a copy of Resident Evil to play until after lunch and then decided to binge a bunch of movies after.

You even agree to accompany him while he practices. There’s 24 hours in a day and the plans are nothing more than vague suggestions - but deep down, it makes Rin kind of…well whatever. It’s not a bad plan.

Currently, you’re sitting at the foot of Rin’s bed with your hands tight around the controller of his PS4. Rin feels a little bad for you. While you do okay with horror movies, the immersion of horror games seems to frighten you enough that your eyes are glued onto the screen. As such, Rin is trying his best not to startle you as you lean forward every so slightly. The leg of your pants is pushed up just barely. You’re dressed cozy, so it’s funny seeing your head shrink into your hoodie.

“Why the fuck would you set it hardcore if this BOTH of our first times playing,” You whine, turning yourself into the next room carefully on screen “I’m scared.”

“You’re such a wuss,” He scoffs, leaning back from where he’s sitting next to you on his bed. “We’re never gonna make any progress like this.”

You stomp your feet and Rin resists the urge to laugh.

“Shut up, it’s scary.”

He nudges your shoulder with his knee.

“Stop complaining. You got to pick the character and I got to pick the difficulty.”

“I deserve to lust after Leon after the shit I’m getting put through,”

Rin scoffs at your declaration. The irritation is softened when you walk into the backroom faced with a zombie - a short scream leaving your lips as you mash buttons and use your gun to kill it quickly. You manage to dodge as much damage as you can, obviously trying not to waste limited resources. Even so it takes damn near 7 bullets. Despite your cowardice, you’re pretty good at the game.

You loot the room for any possible supplies then leave. You turn the corner of the isle, a zombie filled gas station awaiting you. You manage to save bullets and stun the one closest to you before getting your shit completely rocked - quick to duck out. The first cut scene of the game comes next where you meet the other main character Claire. You gasp like you’ve been running, shoving the controller towards Rin.

“Your turn. Move, I wanna sit on your bed.”

“Why?”

“Cause it’s a weekend and I have a right to be lazy. Shoo. On the floor.”

“You’re getting way too comfortable in my house on my birthday.”

Rin, does, go sit on the floor where you were. Mostly because it’s a better position to play the game in. At least it has minimal back support. The cut scene plays in the background, nothing difficult as the main characters go to the next area - the police station and the technical start of the game. Rin hasn’t played the remake, but he did longingly watch some playthroughs while he was in Bluelock during its release.

He had never mentioned it to you, so he was shocked you knew enough about it to bring it over. He likes survival horror and he was always wanting to play it.

“Me and your mom are best friends so I practically live here anyways. Also shut-up and look.”

He does shut up, too invested in the story to be annoyed. The main characters get separated and Leon ends up in the streets.

For whatever reason, he’s conscious about proximity. Your knee next to his shoulder. You’re close enough to touch him casually and he’s wondering…hoping to know if you’re naive enough to do it without thinking. It feels like a stroke of luck, or maybe a form of mind-reading when you reach for his hair with your fingers. He wonders if you’re doing it on purpose. He thinks he should tell you to stop.

But when you ask “Is this okay?”

He can’t find the strength in himself to do it. He focuses on the scene in front of him, weaving through the cars to shake off a horde of zombies. Rin grabs the controls, immediately turning around to try and stun a group of zombies before turning into the gate so he can head to the station.

His heart is racing and his eyes almost feel cross from how much he’s focusing but it’s not exactly the game. The game isn’t even that scary, as much as it’s gory he thinks.

“I don’t care but,” He says through a breath, trying to sound like he means it and that he’s not so conscious of the way your pinky lingers on his nape “when’d you get so touchy?”

“I like touching you.” You reply, twirling a strand of hair around your fingers “Your hair is so silky and nice. I felt when I gave you a hug that one time and I kept thinking about it.”

Rin wants to say “Do you think about me that much?” but the words don’t come out how he wants.

“Do you touch everyone like this?”

You’re silent for a minute. It takes patience, effort - not to turn his head to see the look on your face. Though he probably knows it. He thinks he just wants affirmation from you.

“...No. Not really. I just like you.”

There’s a beat of silence - a pause designated for his rejection, the promise he made to you so many months ago. He knows what the script is. And he’s said it many times before. Not in a million years, right?

But he can’t bring himself to say it this time, so he doesn’t.

“Yeah. I know.”

___

Before Rin knows it, the day is coming to a close.

The entirety of it you spend together, with you faithfully stuck to him and without Rin feeling entirely suffocated. He isn’t sure why it’s so easy with you. Normally this much socialization would render him exhausted. Irritable at best and angry at worst. But he’s not. In fact even after his entire workout routine, he felt fine listening to you ramble. He didn’t need complete silence, but even when there were lulls and dips - it didn’t feel uncomfortable.

You didn’t get far in Resident Evil 2. Rin decides to cut it short since it’d definitely take a lot longer than all the time you had and there were movies he wanted to watch. When you whine about not being able to finish - he quietly told you to just come over next time and play it with him then.

He waited a year, so he can wait a little longer. Your face lit up idiotically, giddy with delight at the promise of next time. As promised, ochazuke was for lunch and after 30 minutes of digestion - he put it out of his mind as he did his daily drills. You joined him, insisting that you’d be fine doing nothing. Sat on the field with a book the entire time even though it was cold, tossing him his things whenever he took a break - smiling each time he talked to you.

(“You know you don’t actually need to stay with me the entire day.” He reminds you of this as he brings a bottle of water to lips, sweat dripping down the side of his head even in the cool weather. You turn your head up at him.

“When else am I gonna get to stick by your side all day? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“You’re so good at being annoying it’s impressive,” He says, dropping his water bottle back down “Aren’t you bored?”

“Huh? No way. I have my fun book to keep me company and on top of that I get to see you play in the flesh.”

Oh, yeah. You mentioned watching him when he was in Bluelock. “Well, it’s not like a match. But I’m not gonna keep asking, so whatever.”

“Yes, yes - I understand. Now go, shoo.”)

Even though Rin practiced for his usually long amount of hours, you sat with him diligently - even stopping to cheer him on when you needed a break from reading or studying or whatever else you were doing.

Upon returning, he went to shower and you went to warm up in the kitchen. After he was redressed and clean, he joined you downstairs to order take-out and have dinner.

Finally, it’s after dinner and you’ve banished Rin to his room while you set something up downstairs. He’s mostly scrolling twitter, watching soccer highlights from the accounts he follows. He’s just about comfortable when you finally call him back down, which irritates him enough to click his teeth but not enough to bring it up to you.

After a long day, when Rin finally comes back down stairs, walking down into the hall and back into the living room - he can’t help but be surprised at the change in scenery. All the lights have been turned low, and everything looks different. You’ve taken to decorating a wall of his living room after some rearranging. A white sheet hanging up with something, and a plethora of fairy lights in stripes going down it in a nice pattern.

There’s a banner and it looks hand-made. It spells out happy birthday, rin in neat, thick blue letters on cut-out white shapes, attached along the back wall. On the table in front, there’s some decoration along with nice paper plates and plastic cutlery and a cake in the middle that’s nicer than he’s expecting.

You beam at him as he walks in. And you’re stupid enough to be wearing a birthday hat, giving him jazz hands as he enters.

“Happy birthday!”

On paper, Rin thinks it’s been something of a boring birthday. He did what he normally would do on a day off but you cooked for him twice. He spent most of it with you, even though it was a lot of nothing. A lot of being together like you were roommates or something. Maybe that's why he’s so reluctant to admit that this is making him feel something.

That the silly theatrics feel meaningful. It is thoughtful, isn’t it? Rin doesn’t think anyone in his entire life has done anything this thoughtful for him. Birthdays are birthdays, and they’ve never really been especially meaningful. He didn’t see the point in just celebrating the day of someone's birth. Certainly, he doesn’t think he’d have it in himself to do something like this for another person.

Rin stares at you. Wearing a stupid birthday hat and the most gleeful, idiotic smile he’s ever seen. All of this for a guy who’s rejected you, but you seem to cherish so much anyways. Apathetic and ungraceful as he is and always will be - he’s so overwhelmed he doesn’t know what to do. What a strange, unrecognizable feeling welling up inside of him. And not even one feeling, but so many so tangled with each other - he can’t see anything straight. His eyes aren’t drawn to the candlelight, or the moon, or the cake.

It’s like a sense of tunnel vision. Where all Rin can really look at is you. It’s happened before. How can anyone be like this, he wonders. Are there people born into the world so unselfishly? And if they are, why would he ever cross paths with them? How could someone so easy to love have any business loving him, in the first place?

Rin won’t ever understand you. He accepts that. He’ll never be able to understand this kind of person. Someone who shines even brighter than the sun.

But he’s not so stupid to not understand himself. He’s unable to say the words he’d promised to you all the way in April. Rin doesn’t like to lie.

He would be lying, that is, if you told him just one more time that you liked him. He’d be lying if it told you it’ll never happen. He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t like you. And it’s not just because you like him, because that never mattered to him in the first place.

Some people are made to be adored. Born special and bright like everything should revolve around them. Perhaps that kind of thing is only afforded to people without ego. With heart and character and charisma.

It doesn’t matter. What a stupid thing to realize on his birthday of all days.

“Rin-kun?”

He blinks.

“Where’d you hide all of this?”

You laugh at him, bubbly and delighted.

“I brought it in a tote and kept it in the kitchen. Mostly stuff from my house, and your mom helped with the cake and stuff. It’s nice right? I did a good job, no?”

Ah. He’s fucked.

“It looks okay.”

You frown, huffing and puffing “Just okay? C’mon, don’t be stingy.”

“Doesn’t begging for compliments defeat the purpose of them.”

“Not to me,”

Your frown deepens and Rin is starting to feel the rose colored glasses set in.

“It’s nice. It’s good.”

“So you like it? You’re happy? Delighted, even? Absolutely overjoyed by-”

“Cut it out or I’m going to send you home.”

“No,” You whine, tugging on his sleeves like you’re worried he really will “I want cake.”

“Then let’s cut the cake?”

“We can’t,” You put your arms up in a cross and Rin gives you a look of confusion. “I promised I’d get a good picture of you.”

“What? Promised who?”

“Your parents, mostly. But also, you should post on your Instagram a little more, no? You’re basically a famous player already, you should have the courtesy to feed your fans.”

Before he can do anything to protest, you usher Rin to sit on the other side of the table before you back with his phone. He stares at you but you only look at him expectantly. Still, he unlocks it and hands it to you. He gives you an irritated sigh (though he isn’t really irritated).

“This is stupid.”

“It’s a good thing to capture memories, you dummy. Now smile,” You say, holding up the camera after some angling “Or don’t. The people do love a good scowl.”

That makes him want to smile. He’s awkward in the photos but he does stay still for them, trying his best not to look ridiculous. You take a few, then pause to come up to the table and light the candles in front of him. He hears the camera shutter one more time before you look up at him over the edge.

“Ready to blow out your candles?”

“I guess.”

Before Rin can do anything about it, he listens to you sing happy birthday - poorly with too much enthusiasm. You’re tone deaf and passionate all at the same time - singing each word with a dramatic flair until you’re on the final word. You can’t clap because you’re recording but you do cheer as he burns the candles out. Once it’s over you stop recording, looking down and swiping through the pictures.

“They turned out good. You should post them.”

“...You’re done taking them?”

You tilt your head to one side.

“Yeah?”

“We didn’t get any together.”

Your eyes widen like he said something shocking.

“...You wanna take them together?”

He scoffs.

“We spent the whole day together.”

You flush, suddenly embarrassed and god.

“I just wasn’t expecting you to want that. I mean we’re friends but-”

“Shut up. And come here.”

So you do, phone still in hand as you mess with your appearance.

“Do you want to take it or do you want me to?”

“Oh, uh lemme just-” You go through a bunch of filters and find one before handing it to him, a nervous expression “You take it cause your arm is longer and you’re taller.”

Rin just nods. Takes the phone from you, and lets you pose a little before he takes the photo. He hands it back to you so you can see, and watches your eyes light up as you stare at it. Stupid.

“It came out nice.” You say. You save it onto his phone before handing it back to him. “Send it to me later?”

“Yeah.”

You give him another grin and Rin takes his phone from you, going through the pictures as he opens up Instagram. He guess it wouldn’t hurt to post. You leave his side, saying something about cutting the cake. But he isn’t looking, really.

He drafts a post as he waits for you. He likes the picture you took together best and decides to put it second. He never has any idea on how to caption these which is why he doesn’t want to post it in the first place. He glances at you, then sighs internally.

itoshirin._ posted for the first time in a while. posted 7 mins ago. liked by isagi_yoichi, bachiraaaaa, and others. itoshirin._ ; 09.09.2002. thanks for everything, stupid. isagi_yoichi commented: no way you’re getting a girlfriend before me. life is so unfair and cruel. isagi_yoichi commented: oh happy birthday btw bachiraaaaa commented: RIN-CHAN !!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶ official_itoshisae: happy birthday. itoshirinsnumberonefan: WHO IS THAT?? yo_hiori: happy birthday!

“Rin, I cut the cake!”

He puts his phone on DND before taking a plate of cake from your hand.

The clock strikes two, and you’re still at Rin’s place.

After a long binge of horror movies, you’re both comfortably in each other's space - only inches away, talking about nothing. The movie ended a little over half an hour ago.

He’s still doing just that, listening to you chatter away next to his ear. The room is completely dark minus the soft glow of the T.V. which gives just enough light for Rin to gaze at your face. Your eyes are wide and sparkly, still, even though it seems like the tiredness is getting to you too.

Neither of you wants to stop talking. You’ve started discussing manga - particularly Rin's favorite manga.

“Ciguatera was interesting,” You say, hugging one of his pillows close to your chest. “I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

“I’m shocked you read it. Seriously. I thought you would’ve forgotten the minute after I told you.”

“Well, yeah. You recommended it, so obviously I wanted to at least try,” You say with a breathless laugh, turning over to face him. You’re facing each other, he realizes a second too late “You’re such a boy, by the way. Weekly young magazine? Really.”

“Shut up.” He says, with no real bite to his words “What were you expecting?”

“Dunno. Didn’t think you were interested in romance of all things. Especially cause Ogino’s kind of a loser.”

“There was other stuff in it.” He points out. You chuckle.

“Yeah. Way raunchier and darker than I thought. But it was mostly about romance. So, I was surprised to say the last.”

“What,” Rin starts, partially offended by the implication “Do you think I'm a soulless machine or something?”

“Well no,” You frown, shaking your head as you stare at him “But you’ve rejected every confession you’ve ever gotten, even from some of the prettiest girls in our entire grade. So I didn’t think you had any interest in that kinda thing.”

He scoffs.”You’re stupid.”

“You tell me all the time,” You point your fingers and place them under your chin. “Why did you reject them, by the way? Just trying to focus on soccer?”

He feels flush, explaining. Turning his gaze to the ceiling, he sighs.

“None of those people actually had feelings for me. It wasn’t meaningful in any way.”

“And you want it to be meaningful?”

“There’s no point being in a relationship with someone I don’t like and barely know. And who doesn’t really care to get to know me. I’m busy enough with soccer, and I don’t have time to entertain lukewarm relationships like that.”

“What an unexpectedly sentimental reason. How soft of you Rin-kun.”

“Shut up.”

There’s a pause of thoughtful silence where you hum and lay flat on your back, reaching your hand up towards the ceilings. Rin can’t do much more than look.

“You know. How I said I’ve been watching you since you were in Bluelock?”

“Yeah.”

“Y’know. I always thought you looked really sad back then. I might’ve been reading too much into it but,” You smile, corners of your lips upturned while you giggle “It’s like…weirdly relieving to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

“You’re like…just a boy,” You say wispy and delighted “A normal boy who reads shitty raunchy magazines and thinks about love. It’s comforting somehow. Makes me feel special. I really like you. A little more every day, it feels like.”

Another beat of silence. He thinks you can sense the hesitance of his rejection. There’s such a tangible shift in the atmosphere. If Rin stretches his hand out to touch it, he thinks he’d push through an impossible barrier and keep falling in it forever. He thinks it would swallow him.

He isn’t sure what it is. If it’s an act of bravery, or a sudden uptick in adrenaline, or if the exhaustion of a long day is finally starting to hit. Maybe it’s just these feelings that keep overwhelming him that make his body move. Something outside of his mind, nestled in his ribs, that has him inching closer to you.

He flips until he’s hovering over you. Your eyes widen and you stare at him. He stares back, like he almost can’t believe himself.

“Rin-kun?”

And he freezes. The confidence dissipates as soon as he finds it but now he’s above you, on top of you. You’re messy and flush from the day. Your mascara is smudged and your lipgloss is gone - leaving a faint sheen on your mouth that matches your skin. Your hoodie is rumpled around the shoulders - one of the sleeves pulled to your elbows. Rin really gets a look at you. Cognizant of the fact he spent all day with you. That’s why you look worn and sleepy and so unbelievably cute. So cute it annoys him. Irritates him half to death.

You open your mouth again, only to close it. It almost feels like he can hear your heart. Or maybe it’s his. It’s hard to know the difference.

“Is this a n-new kind of bullying?” You joke, trying to ease the tension. He frowns at you.

“Does it seem like I’m joking?”

Your eyes widen and you turn away. Rin wants to make you look.

“Well no but…” And you squirm a little “what are you doing?”

He doesn’t know, either.

“I don’t know.” He admits, and you laugh a little breathless and the tension is so thick Rin can’t swallow around it “I want to kiss you.” He blurts out. Awkward and uncharismatic and clumsy.

A bout of silence.

“...Am I going insane? Did you just say you want to kiss me?”

“I did.”

More silence.

“Why? Wouldn’t that make me your first kiss?”

“It would.”

“And isn’t that like… reserved for your special someone?”

“It is.”

“Rin-kun,” You breathe out, blinking in disbelief “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“I do.”

You’re a little more serious this time. You put your hand on his shoulder. He feels like the Earth is gonna fall from under his feet.

“Stop messing with me.”

“I’m not.”

You frown.

“Do you really want to kiss me?”

“Yeah,” He can’t think “I do.”

You reach up for him. You’re more experienced with this kind of thing and it shows as you cup the nape of his neck. He doesn’t finch. He doesn’t look away from you either, as your thumb brushes under his eyes - the both of you so wrapped up in each other nothing matters. Rin would stay in this forever, if someone gave him the option.

“W-we have to talk about this afterwards, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious, Itoshi Rin. Because you can’t just—”

Your palm cups his cheek and he rubs against it instinctively. He sees your eyes widen and you swallow - a frown still etched into your features.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Your voice goes as soft as a whisper.

“You’re so unfair.”

He almost laughs.

“Please kiss me.” He asks, so silently it almost goes unheard but he knows you hear it because your lips press into a thin line before you’re pulling Rin down towards you. Your lips are soft. And warm. And they taste faintly like whip-cream and the slight sour of strawberries and your hands are so gentle. Somehow he feels at ease even though he feels like he’s going to implode on himself from nerves.

Just a little deeper before you pull away and stare at him. Rin looks back, eyes jumping from your lips up to your eyes and back down to your lips. You open your mouth to say something. Mumbling his given name only for him to cut you off with another kiss, a little deeper this time. The way it shuts you up is so cute it almost makes him angry. How it muffles your words, tapers off into a noise of surprise and ends up just back at a kiss.

He’s never felt like this kind of thing was a viable option. Itoshi Rin is an antisocial, angry, and apathetic soccer protege and he has no time in the world for anything lukewarm. He’s rejected every confession he’s ever received in his life and always thought of relationships as something far off and disconnected to him in his entirety.

Perpetually unloveable but maybe not in such an angsty, vulnerable way. Like a law of the universe. A truth, like thinking of him, means to postulate that he is that way. A prerequisite to understanding him.

Rin doesn’t like things that are half-ass. Perhaps, part of the reason he likes you so much is because you’ve proved him wrong in such an utterly defeating way. The fact your very existence is by and large, the antithesis of this truth.

Itoshi Rin is not only loveable, but he is capable of loving. There is evidence of it, right underneath him now - with soft lashes and wet eyes and the brightest smile that could ever exist.

And it’s haunting for more reasons than one. But he likes how unyielding the revelation is. You’re worried he’ll want to avoid it, and he does. But he doesn’t think he could forever, even if he tried.

He’s confident if he made the attempt, you’d come barreling towards him once more. With all the confidence in the world. It makes him want to at least try to face it.

Which is why he’s kissing you a second, third, and fourth time. Which is why he’s looking at you in between, wide blue eyes transfixed on every part of your face. He’s trying to face what daunts him most, not like but love and the difference is more important as the days pass.

You pull away, finally - put a hand on his chest and stare.

“Rin-kun,” You whisper, uncertain of yourself which he hates. “I like you. I really like you.” And again, a little softer “And I want you to like me too,” Like that had been the biggest secret of all. Something you’d never told anyone, even once.

Rin can’t imagine it. Have you been holding in something like this all this time? He only realized a couple hours ago and it already feels like he’s going to rip apart at the seams.

“I do. I do like you.”

“Really? Forreal? Seriously? You’re not pulling my leg? Yanking my chain?”

He knocks his forehead against yours.

“Be quiet. How can you be this stupid in the middle of getting confessed to?”

You pout. Pout at him, all whiny. God.

“It doesn’t feel real to me.”

He laughs humorlessly. “It’s all a dream. You’ll forget it all in the morning.”

“Stop being mean to me.”

He has to be. If he’s not you’re going to see right through him.

“No,” He says instead “Stop being so ridiculous first.”

“An impossible ask to the world's most ridiculous girl.”

He smiles a little.

“That’s a good name for you. I’ll change your contact.”

“Nooo,” You say again, this time pulling him down for a hug. His eyes widened. And he’s unfair? “Be nice to your girlfriend.”

He doesn’t have anything to say to that. It flusters him too, admittedly. Before he can think of a counter, you yawn big and wide. Rin is still on top of you and neither of you have brushed your teeth. He was planning on putting you up in the guest room, but currently you’re clinging to him half-away. And he has no such plans of telling you to move.

“I’m so tired.”

Rin feels like he’s going to pass out, He mumbles.

“You can sleep.”

“Want you to sleep too.”

Rin closes his eyes. He couldn’t refuse even if he wanted to. You’ll have to talk about it in the morning.

“Okay.”

“Rin? Where’s your frie—oh!”

Rin stirs the minute his mom enters the room. It only takes him a minute to regain consciousness and by the time he’s awake - he’s already regretting not locking his door.

He continues to pretend to be asleep. He thinks you still are because you’re comfortably slotted in his arms. Rin is so embarrassed he wants to die. He hears his mom gasp, and then quietly shouts for his father to come to his room.

“What are you—oh.”

Rin is going to have the worst morning of his life whenever they leave. He remains still. He hears the shutter of a camera and grits his teeth all the way in the back of his jaw.

“Oh this will make a great wedding photo.”

His dad laughs a little to himself, ushering his mother out of the room “Don’t get carried away,”

When the door finally clicks, Rin opens his eyes and lets out a breath of relief. Much to his shock, he also feels you stir. His eyes widen when you turn to him, your face painted in utter mortification before you bury it in your hands. He stares at you as you groan, kicking your feet.

“Oh god I’m going to cry. How am I going to face her? Oh my god”

Rin scoffs a little at your dramatics. It calms him down in a strange way “She’s not gonna say anything to you. She’s probably only going to bully me about it.”

“I’ve forsaken you, mother-in-law”

Rin nudges your ribs, blush crawling up his face.

“Shut up.”

Up until three weeks ago, Rin didn’t take issue with the way you interacted at school.

You two have a pretty strict policy about it. Though you’re in the same class and you chat occasionally in the halls - you tend to avoid Rin where you can. Originally, this made sense. For the sake of his comfort and yours, the best choice was sneaking to the roof together to eat where you could remain mostly undisturbed.

As such, Rin has never been particularly consciousness of your presence in the classroom. For starters, you’re always somewhere. A busybody of the highest pedigree and always running errands - even if Rin were to try to talk to you he can only really find you 20 percent of the time. Secondly, unlike Rin, you have a handful of friends surrounding you. Rin has interacted with them very briefly but you (seemingly for his sake) try not to force him out of his comfort zone too much by making you all sit together. The most Rin has gotten from them is a single knowing smirk or glance.

And lastly, before three weeks ago, it would’ve been a big problem if people started getting onto either of you about a relationship that didn’t exist. That would've been all around awkward and uncomfortable and maybe would’ve deterred your future endeavors with other guys.

That was when you and Itoshi Rin were in fact not dating.

Three weeks into your relationship and nothing much has changed, though nowadays you come over to his house on weekends where you can. You’ve even been on one date after his dad (of all people) hounded him about never taking you on a proper one.

You text the same as you did before, and you call Rin a little more often. Usually for the purposes of rambling so much you tucker yourself out and fall asleep.

But at school, Rin only really sees you for the spare minutes of lunch and not much more than that. He’s never really thought about it before. It was never enough of an issue to warrant his intervention.

It’s not like he cares, okay?

But he’s more aware of it, now - frustratingly enough. You really don’t see each other often enough in school and you have many more guy friends than he had ever considered before. Every time he catches you and Murata-senpai trekking down the hall he feels his blood pressure rise.

You and Rin have both decided, though. Despite his posting of you, neither of you have confirmed the relationship. Rin is immune to the prying and you’re good at dodging it altogether. This is the agreement.

It is therefore very irrational of him to be thinking of speaking up at this current moment in time.

Despite your mutual decision to keep things as private as possible, Rin has heard nothing but gossip about the situation for weeks. Outside of the usual, direct kind of prying - there’s whispers and stares and all sorts of other things. Rin doesn’t care about it. He’s used to it, it’s part of the gig and the neo-egoist league made him near immune.

It’s all the things directed at you that make him seethe. Misplaced jealousy and the disappointed remarks of guys in class that make him feel like his blood pressure is rising. The latter is what’s making him most irritated now. How fucking long are these idiots going to talk about this?

“Dude, you had like three years to confess,” Some idiot, who’s name Rin doesn’t know is still yapping “If she’s actually dating Mr.Popular then it’s on you for fucking yourself over.”

The other idiot in question groans, and Rin forces his face to remain impassive as he listens. He tries to stop listening. More than once, actually. But they just keep going.

“I didn’t think he’d actually do it dude. Like there’s no way, right? He rejected every single girl who ever confessed to him. I thought she was safe. And now my highschool love is forever ruined.”

Like he ever stood a chance. How ridiculous.

Another one of the goons speaks up “Dunno. Neither of them have said anything right? You miss all of the shots you don’t take.”

“Are you saying I should just confess to her anyway? She got posted on his Instagram dude.”

A smirk appears on Extra Three’s face “No confirmation means fair game. Stop being pussy and do it.”

“You think I stand a chance against that dude?”

Rin can feel all three pairs' eyes hit him at once.

“Nah. Not a chance. But you could always wait till she’s all heartbroken and comfort her, right? Hook, line, and sinker.”

“I hear when girls are heartbroken they’re like way more likely to let you—”

With that, Rin stands to his feet. He’s seething. It’s ridiculous. It’s stupid. He should definitely just leave to go cool his head but he’s so fucking angry it’s hard to sit still and he has no other way of dealing with his feelings. So he walks towards the table slowly, eyes darkened and just barely holding it in

He knows this is a bad idea. He can feel the whole classroom look at him as he slams his hand down on the desk. But he doesn’t care. He’ll deal with it later.

“You’d be fucking lucky if my girlfriend ever looked your way.”

As soon as Rin says it, there's a thud at the door-way of the classroom. When he looks up you’re there with your eyes widened. Rin just looks back, impassive and immune to the sudden uproar of whispers.

He only clicks his teeth when you grab him by the sleeve of his uniform - cracking a small smile as he hears the faint words “Just give up dude.” as he leaves.

Up on the roof top, you’re shaking Rin by the shoulders - visibly distressed.

“Hey! What the hell was that?”

“What.” He offers, not willing to budge on the situation. In the first place he’s a little irritated by all of it. And he’s a little irritated by how much you’ve been enforcing the no-talking rule. Right now, it really feels like he can’t take it anymore.

You frown deeply, distress only growing as the time passes in uncomfortable silence. Rin doesn’t want to be civil about it. About it and about you and about those idiots.

“We had an agreement!” You say, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, though it’s weak. He stares down at you.

“So what?”

“Rin, we talked about this. Don’t be like this.”

“Like what.”

“Pissy and weird. You’re being weird and I don’t like it. It’s making me sad.”

“How am I being—”

Before Rin can proceed with his sentence, he catches a glimpse of your face in the midst of his tantrum. Sad like a puppy who got its tail stepped on and about ready to cry, he immediately seals his mouth in fear of making it worse.

“Why are you doing that?” He spits.

“Doing what?”

“Being all sad and pathetic. Does it really bother you that much if people know we’re dating?”

“It’s not like that.” You assure.

“Then what is it?” Rin prods, frustrated but not wanting to make things worse “Why is it such a big deal?”

There’s a bout of silence before you sigh.

“Rin, you’re a huge soccer player. The people you’re dating and stuff - it’s a big deal,”

Rin cuts you off.

“That’s what you were worried about? My career?”

“Well, yeah.”

“You’re stupid.”

“Hey! I’m seriously worried about it and then you go and—”

He gives you a frown. He forgets all too often you’re like this. He’s used to your silly and unserious way of talking, so it slips his mind that you’re actually a massively responsible person. You probably have a point about it, thinking of the consequences of your relationship through hell and back. With a detached sense of rationality - Rin can recognize that you’re probably thinking about more things than this. Otherwise it wouldn’t be so touchy of a subject.

Nothing’s changed on paper, but everything will eventually. It’s something to think about, admittedly.

Honestly Rin doesn’t care what strangers think. He’s blunt and unfriendly. Always has been, and will continue to be through the majority of his career he’s absolutely sure. Even outside of Bluelock, he has almost no regard for the opinions of other people and what concerns them. Maybe it’s irresponsible, but Rin isn’t playing soccer for the approval of the populace and nothing will ever change that.

“If I thought that was something I should worry about, we wouldn’t be dating.”

You look up at him.

“You should be worried about it.” You emphasize.

“I’m not. I don’t care what any of those people think.”

“Then why’d you go and say something?”

Rin seethes.

“They deserved it.”

Your hand reaches for his cheek. He pauses and takes a deep breath, staring at you. He leans into your touch instinctively, frustration eased by the sensation. You stare back.

“Okay. We’ll announce it officially later, then.”

“Do we even need to do that? If you tell three people, half of our grade’ll find out anyway.”

“Are you saying my friends gossip?”

He doesn’t reply to that. You pout at him and Rin fights the urge to kiss you. There’s a beat of silence as you give him a hug - the two of you on the same roof you always are. Rin doesn’t mind it, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist.

“You know, it’s gonna get busy for me soon.” You mumble. So this is what else you were worrying about. “And for you. I have my entrance exam and the school is in Tokyo. And you’re gonna go back to Bluelock and—”

“It’ll be fine.”

“I’m worried about it anyways.”

“About what?”

“I’ll see you less. What if you stop liking me randomly and I can’t even hunt you down about it?”

Rin huffs “You’re insane enough to find me,” He drops his chin on your shoulder “Plus you talk to my mom.”

“You’re gonna be so busy.”

“I’ll come see you when I’m not.”

“And you’re going to be surrounded by the human equivalent of siren women someday soon.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“But you might.”

“I haven’t in eighteen years, you moron.”

“I’m gonna miss you all the time.” You say, sniffly and Rin is so struck with a feeling of affection he almost falls “I already miss you all the time.”

He squeezes you a little tighter “It’ll be fine.”

“For you.”

Rin furrows his brow, pulling back to stare at you.

“Not for me,” Because Rin can begrudgingly admit he will miss you worse than this “Just in general. It’ll be fine. You almost made it a year without me.”

“But now I’m with you,” You reply easily, and softly and oh-so in love Rin wants to turn away “And I’m so happy and I want it be like this for a long time,”

“Just a long time? Not something stupid like a blossoming eternity?”

“I thought I’d scare you.”

“You did that in April.” He points out flatly. You hit him lightly but smile anyway.

“It’s a problem how much I like you.”

Rin likes you just as much. You’re probably too much of an idiot to realize and won’t for a long while. He takes a little comfort in, strangely.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll come see you.” He says again, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. He believes in it thoroughly. If Rin were a better, more candidly vulnerable person he thinks now he’d give the loving boyfriend speech. He almost wants to half-assedly try but can’t bring himself to get past the awkwardness. He hugs you tighter because it’s all he’s capable of, and hopes he can will it into you. The sincerity of his words, he wants so badly for them to reach you “Stop worrying so much.”

“Rin-kun,” You start, then pause to look up at him. His breath hitches “Rin. I love you. Really.”

He feels like he’s gonna be sick as he stares at you, eyes widened. You look the same as you always do. Unexpectant, terribly sincere, with your heart on your sleeve. The more Rin knows you, the more he thinks it can’t be easy to be so vulnerable all the time.

So you do it for him, and only him. And Rin is always going to be intolerable. Frustrating and impatient. But he wants to do it for you too, where he can. Rin wants you to know it’ll be fine because the fact that you’re standing here now is nothing short of a miracle. Nothing comes out right.

“Yeah.” He says, but he can’t get the rest of words out. And you laugh, and peek up at him through your lashes.

“And you love me too, don’t you?”

Rin grits his teeth. He wants to say no.

“I guess.”

“And we’re going to be just fine.” You repeat, hugging him tight. Rin hugs you back. He wants to say thank you. He wants to kiss you stupid and make fun of you at the same time. He wants you so much and so often he’s sure he’s lost his fucking mind.

But he agrees with you, at least. He nods. He holds you. He doesn’t like to lie, so he looks at you instead.

“Yeah. It’s gonna be fine.”

EPILOGUE ;

In Rin’s defense, he’s not trying to listen in on the conversions of your underclassmen.

For starters, the club door is cracked up and Rin only has one airpod fully charged. Secondly, it’s not like they’re being quiet. Rin’s pretty sure anyone with decent enough hearing could hear them from down the hall. Given that it’s the newspaper club, he’s sure that the conversation isn’t usually this interesting.

It’s just when he catches wind of your name while you’re nowhere to be found, he finds himself eavesdropping just a little. He leans back into the chair he’s sitting in, face tucked into his black mask and hat pulled neatly over his head.

“Guys, I’ve decided I’m going to confess to Boss no matter what.”

He must mean you. Rin often hears how some of the people in the club affectionately add danchou to the end of your name. Rin scoffs a little at the kids' confidence. It reminds him a little of highschool. Rin really think you’re at more of a risk than he is. Being a celebrity makes him naturally unattainable - more of a fixture than a person.

Everytime someone confesses to you though it’s sincere. From knowing you. And he gets it but it doesn’t keep him from scoffing and turning his nose up.

“It’d be a good idea to give up while you’re ahead.” Says another unnamed voice.

“Yeah Nakao-san. Do you even know who Senpai's boyfriend is?”

“N-no. But it doesn’t matter. Through the powerful of love I’ll—”

Before Rin gets a chance to listen anymore, he hears your voice call out for him. He snaps his head up to look at you. You’re dressed so professionally it’s hard to recognize you like that. Your hair is cut neat and styled professionally and you’re dressed in business casual. He’s relieved he brought shoes for you to change into.

You run up to him anyway, and Rin stands up to make sure you don’t stumble as you throw your arms around his neck. You’re closer in height with your heels on so he doesn’t have to bend down much at all to kiss you. He pulls down his mask quickly.

“Rin-tan, you’re here.” You say with a soft, breathless giggle “I missed youuu.”

“Missed you too,” He says, an arm squeezed around your waist “I have shoes for you in the car,”

You gasp, rubbing your cheek against his affectionately.

“You’re the best in the world. My feet are so sore.”

“Did the interview go well?” Rin asks. You pull away, moving your hair away from your eyes before nodding.

“Uh-huh. The women's rugby team captain is super chill and she interviews great so it went smoothly. I just need to drop the transcript off and then we can leave,” You say holding his hand. He squeezes your palms “Do you want to meet them? You don’t have to but a lot of them ask about you.”

Normally Rin would say no. But he’s feeling a little petty today, after all.

“Sure.”

You beam, your hand in his as you nudge the door open. The room goes silent, a bout of excited cheering following at your return. He’s relieved to see you’re still so well loved, a little reluctant to let go of your hand.

“Senpai, you’re back.”

“Yup, yup. I have the transcript and recording on this USB. Watch it and draft the article up tonight. When I come in tomorrow, we’ll go through editing and get it out by Monday.” You say, hand on hip before remembering his presence. You grab him and Rin follows “Oh, and guys - this is my boyfriend! Rin Itoshi.”

Most of them seem to know. Rin can sense the admiration but it’s respectful. He can tell that everyone is professionals in the field. Rin likes that. He bows politely.

“Nice to meet everyone,”

“Nice to meet you too, Itoshi-san.”

“Danchou…you’re dating Rin Itoshi…the famous soccer player Rin Itoshi?”

You giggle, looping your arm in Rin’s. He laughs internally. It’s the same kid who wanted to confess to you.

“Uh-huh. We’re highschool sweethearts! And today is our very special date night so don’t contact me for any reason until tomorrow morning at least. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye, senpai.”

“Have fun on your date.”

With that, you turn the corner and leave the room - immediately beginning to ramble about your day. Rin half-listens. He only pays complete attention when he hears your kouhais talking from down the hall.

“Told you to give up, dude.”

“Rin. Are you paying attention?”

He chuckles to himself.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

❁ a/n ; hello!! me again. first of alll, if you read through this whole fic, thank you so much. second of all i want to discuss a few things about this fic.

im usually pretty keen on localization for my fics where possible because i think it makes for a smoother reader experience - however the usage of honorifics was important to the atmosphere for this one so i'll hope it wasn't too awkward to read.

secondly, im nervous about rins characterization for this one so i hope it was alright. apologies for any errors its 5am and im soo tired.

this fic was mostly meant as an exploration of how i think rin would really benefit from being with someone eccentric and bubbly. the core of their relationship is that reader is an overall emotionally intelligent and honest person and how that has a huge influence on rin so i hope that growth came thru. once again thanks for reading and i hope u enjoyed. rbs and tags always appreciated!

#itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin fluff #bllk x reader #bllk fluff #writing tag #rin x reader #rin fluff #my brother in christ... how did this happen.

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back2bluesidex · 3 months ago

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Slide - The Dream - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 1k+

Summary:

"I'm so impatient, self-medicated"

Alternatively,

You have been so selfish and as a result - you get punished.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Warnings: Again this is very angsty but less than the last one. However, it can be too much to take so please proceed with caution! this chapter is mostly focused on the reader, not really on Yoongi. Hoseok is an angel, btw.

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

Taglist requests are closed for now

A/N: As I promised, this chapter is posted earlier since it's shorter in length. the next chapter will be posted by the end of November.

Read the next chapter

Min Yoongi is a dream himself. You have always considered him a fragment of your imagination that partly came to life whenever your fingertips found the privilege of tracing the contours of his face.

But the Min Yoongi of your dreams - is even dreamier.

Now as you dream of him, you see him smiling at you - bright and full - something he did only when he was drunk. You see his gums appearing bit by bit as his eyes spill a thousand positive emotions as he looks down at your lap.

Your lap though - is empty.

But two of his fingers are enveloped by a small palm, tightly, protectively.

Your hair is reaching to your waist, something that you have never had in your real life. Your nails are shining much more than ever.

You are clearly happy - content. And that’s how you know that this is indeed a dream.

And then Yoongi looks up, he looks at you, his smile dims … gradually disappears.

Your skin feels weird now, as if you are wet, as if you are a dirty reptile - tired of crawling on its chest.

Before you even know you are drowning.

You are in the middle of a vast ocean, trying your hardest to stay afloat but you can’t see how you will even live because a humongous wave is approaching you.

You look for Yoongi and the baby or the hand of the baby but there is no one. You are alone, alone, alone!

The waves come crashing down and drowns you completely.

You let yourself be immersed in darkness, in nothingness. But in the midst of the dark, of absolute nothing - you promise yourself to be better if you are given a next life.

Your eyes are heavy, too heavy and bleary to keep them open, but your tears keep falling unbound anyway.

The pain in your body is unexplainable - it’s as if someone is injecting thousands of invisible needles in every single cell your body possesses. But, still, this pain is nothing before what your heart is going through.

Your blood soaked mattress mocks you - tells you that you have failed once again - that you have lost once again.

And there is only one question in your mind currently - why?

Why is it always you? Why don’t you deserve to be loved? Why can’t you hold on to anything - anything?

Your body shakes vehemently as you try to hug yourself. As you try to comfort your aching body and even more aching heart.

A loud but choked sob leaves your throat when your eyes fall on the mess once again. And slowly but surely you accept - you have lost the baby.

For once you feel like you know what you should be doing. For once you know you can reach out to someone and ask for help. So you do what you know you should, you reach for your phone with your weak, shaky hands and dial Jung Hoseok’s number.

He receives on the second ring and greets you with his usual jovial voice. You don’t greet him back.

“Doc-doctor, I-I think I lo-lost the baby.” you managed to voice somehow. You have never sounded so broken, so weak, so fucking pathetic.

The other side of the line goes eerily quiet.

“Just informing you in advance, I will be accessing your address details and visiting you in an hour. Do you object?” his voice is now firm and it makes you sob again - this time harder.

“No.” you let him know.

Your entire bathroom is blood-bathed.

You have managed to pull yourself out of the bed and change into fresh clothes. The mattress is still red and you are considering throwing it away completely.

You have put on fresh sheets to protect some of your dignity before Hoseok’s arrival.

Now as you stand in front of your bed and stare at it, you think of all the things that started here and gradually ended too.

This bed became the home to drunk Yoongi that night. This bed had borne the weight of your and Yoongi’s body when you slept for the first time. This same bed witnessed your last time as well and the bloom of life in your womb. And now, this same bed found the death of it.

Your head spins. You can’t stand on your legs anymore.

Your breaths shorten, your toes and fingertips get numb and you start shaking again.

You need to be held. You need to be patted on your back. You need someone. You need Yoongi-

The doorbell rings.

“Your blood pressure is very low, Y/N. When did you last eat?” Hoseok unwraps the equipment from your arm.

“Before I met you.” you say, but your voice sounds distant to even yourself. As if someone is talking from the next room.

“And it’s nine thirty at night.” he sighs, “can you tell me what happened today? If there was anything that bothered you? Any physical, mental strain?”

“I saw something I should have not. And then..” you recall how you climbed down a flight of stairs with a baby in your womb.

It’s your fault after all.

“Then?”

“Then I used the stairs instead of the elevator. I- I didn’t know this would happen, doctor. I- I only wanted to exhaust my body so much so that- that I can’t even think of him. That I don’t remember how-how he rejected me and then went back to- to kiss her. I- I am a fool doctor. I am a fucking fool. You know what? This -” you point at your belly, “this happened for better. I only wanted the baby because it was his. The baby- the baby didn’t deserve that. I- am so selfish, doctor. That’s why I was punished. That’s why-” you start shaking again. Your breaths get ragged and labored making you feel light-headed.

Hoseok seems to track what’s happening.

He stands up and envelops you in a hug. He presses one of his palms on your back and pats on your head with another.

“Calm down, Y/N. It's okay. It’s not your fault. It’s okay.”

His voice is so soothing. His touch is assuring. You can’t help but cry again. Cry unbound.

Breaching the sound of your own sob, you hear your door lock chiming. But you are way too weak to detach yourself from Hoseok and take a look at who is pressing the door code in your apartment.

Anyone hardly knows the code apart from you. But your mental state doesn’t allow you to worry about something so trivial now.

“Y/N? Who- who is this?”

And it’s Yoongi’s voice that comes from the doorway.

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wlntrsldler · 11 months ago

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poisoned mercury | check yes, juliet

a/n: poisoned mercury is officially over halfway finished! i'll be posting poisoned mercury playlists soon! pls continue to send me songs that remind you of this series. i'm running out of songs to use as titles. thank u for all the love on this fic <3

series masterlist | previous | next

vi. check yes, juliet by we the kings

“where are we going?”

“are you going to ask that every two seconds?”

“you kidnapped me, castellan.”

luke stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow at you. you were about a quarter mile away from camp now, and it seemed like every ten steps, you asked him the same question. if he didn’t find you so cute, he would turn around and walk straight back to camp.

“i will throw you over my shoulder and carry you the rest of the way there, five star,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes teasingly. he wasn’t opposed to the idea, but by the look on your face, you certainly were. “don’t test me.”

“and i will scream bloody murder if you do,” you narrowed your eyes at him in a challenging manner.

“here i am, trying to do something nice for you and you accuse me of kidnapping you,” luke continued his steps, slowing down to let you catch up to him. he didn’t realize how much shorter you were than him. the top of your head just went past his shoulders, but your personality made up for the difference. “we’re almost there, keep up.”

“not everyone has long legs, castellan,” you huffed, increasing your pace. “slow down.”

“do you want to get there or not?” he asked, throwing you a teasing smile over his shoulder. you guys really needed to get there soon. the sun was beginning to set and he didn’t want you to have to walk in the dark, even if he was with you. your safety came first, above everything, and he wasn’t gonna put you in a potentially dangerous situation.

you whined, tugging on the side of his t-shirt, “how much longer?”

“that’s it,” luke declared, squatting down to throw you over his shoulder. you squealed, hitting his back with your balled up fists. he knew you didn’t do it to hurt him. he can feel you pulling your punches.

you felt the vibrations from his laughter on his back. luke was enjoying this too much. he carried you over his shoulder like it was nothing. perhaps all those morning workouts were paying off. you twisted your neck to scold him, thankful that he couldn’t see the smile on your lips, “put me down, i swear to god.”

“nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p.’ he tapped your calf with his fingers, “it’s just around the corner.”

luke put you down in front of a building. there were five store fronts, three of which had faulty neon lights. you could barely make out the store names. the other two stores had signs up declaring vacancy. it was a little sketchy, but luke seemed to love it. he had his hands on his hips, staring up at the sign that seemed to say “achilles arcade.”

“what is this place?” luke held the door open for you as you wandered inside the store. the place was dimly lit with old-school arcade games lining the walls. an old man was sitting on a stool behind the counter, reading the morning paper.

“just wait,” luke grinned, pulling on your hand to lead you to get some tokens, “chiron! my man.”

the man placed the newspaper on the surface, eyes lighting up at the sound of luke’s voice. he beamed, “luke castellan! i was afraid you weren’t gonna come back.”

“you know i keep my promises,” luke let go of your hand, introducing you to chiron, “chiron, this is yn. she goes to camp with me.”

“pleasure to meet you,” he tipped his head, reaching under the counter to dig out a bucket full of golden tokens.

you took out your wallet, “how much do we owe you?”

“on the house,” he waved off, “he donated a ridiculous sum of money to keep this place up and running. too generous, this one, so it wouldn’t be right for me to charge you when he’s keeping me in business.”

luke shook his head, sliding a hundred across the counter anyway. he took your wallet and stuffed it in his back pocket, knowing that you’ll probably try to slip him some cash if he didn’t. you grumbled, but decided not to pick a fight. it didn’t seem like one you’d win.

luke grabbed the bucket by the handle and turned to you, “where do you want to start, five star?”

“you took me to an arcade?”

“yeah,” luke said, sheepishly, “whenever i run out of cigs, i always go to an arcade to keep my mind off things. it’s childish, but it works. figured you could try it. plus, there’s a smoke shop across the street so we can go there when we’re done here.”

“only one thing is better than the feeling of a new cherry ice vape,” you got close to him, nearly toe to toe. luke could smell the perfume on your skin, the scent of your shampoo, and his cologne that lingered on the hoodie of his that you wore. he reminded you that you always got cold and that you should bring a sweater, but you assured him that you wouldn’t. halfway to the arcade, you were shivering and luke knew that he made the right decision bringing his hoodie with him.

you rolled your eyes, but accepted it. his hoodie stopped mid-thigh and engulfed you, but it looked better on you than it ever did on him. something about you wearing a hoodie that had his band name on it made his heart skip a beat. he had to listen to you make fun of him for tripping over air after he saw you in his clothes, but he didn’t expect anything less from you.

he licked his lips, eyes darting to your own, “and what is that, five star?”

“beating your ass at galaga.”

luke’s laughter echoed throughout the empty arcade as you ran from him with the tokens in your hand. you looked back at him with a mischievous smile on your face and he felt his heartstrings tug in his chest. you stuck your tongue out at him, starting the game as he stayed in his spot, admiring you.

there weren’t many moments where he could be out in public like this, so when his mom reluctantly agreed to stop at this building on the way to camp due to a flat tire, luke and the boys were ecstatic to find that there was an empty arcade hidden in montauk. luke talked to chiron and learned his story while the boys played random games to kill the time. luke found out that the arcade wasn’t doing well financially with the increase in rent prices and that they would have to close down at the end of the summer if things don’t pick up again. chiron mentioned that he and his partner started this business twenty years ago, and he was sad to see it go.

luke excused himself and snuck back into the tour bus to grab his checkbook. he wrote a check that covered rent and other expenses for the year and gave it to chiron. of course the man refused it, but luke wasn’t taking no for an answer, not after chiron shared that the arcade was the last living piece of his partner. luke castellan was a hopeless romantic, which not many people knew. he knew he was done for the minute he heard their love story.

he stood there for a few moments, watching as you cheered, dodging the blasts of your enemies. you were so animated while you played, so expressive with your eyes and your voice. he’d only seen you like this a handful of times, talking to clarisse about god knows what, talking to the younger campers and asking them questions about their projects and interests, and when you asked him about his music. all of your monotoned replies and deadpan looks were all he got for the longest time, it seemed like your nonchalance was only for him, so it was nice to see you like this. it felt like you were warming up to him.

he thought about the talk the two of you had in your room, how different you’d been then. after being iced out for weeks, luke was a little shocked at how soft you were with him earlier, playing with his rings, holding his hand, talking to him. it was a welcomed surprise, of course, but he expected you to kick him to the curb. he still didn’t understand what actually happened after the concert, but he figured you already had a tough day, so that conversation can wait.

he made his way to you, leaning across the screen to slightly block your view, “you might be better than me at this game, but your ass is mine at guitar hero.”

“not fair,” you were focused on the game, eyes glued on the screen in front of you. “you’re in a band. of course you’re gonna be better than me at that.”

“life’s not fair, five star,” luke poked your side, making you squirm. you died in the game because of it. “my turn, yeah?”

you shoved his chest, reluctantly moving over. “you cheated.”

he looked over his shoulder, smirking, “how did i cheat?”

“you distracted me!”

“i did not!” he argued, chuckles escaping his lips. his tongue darted out the corner of his mouth. his concentration face was annoyingly attractive.

“did too,” you mumbled, watching over his shoulder to see how he was doing. he was doing really well. damn teenage boys and their affinity for video games. your chin rested comfortably on his shoulder blade as you watched him play.

luke’s breath hitched in his throat, suddenly too aware that you were so close to him. he could feel your breath against the nape of his neck, your lips dangerously close to where his tattoo was. he snuck a glance at you, noting how you were too focused on his score inching closer to your own.

“ha!” you yelled, pulling away from him. you bumped his hip with yours, moving him out of the way, “my turn.”

“okay, you cheated.”

you hit pause on the game, placing your hands on your waist, “how?”

“you were distracting me! putting your head on my shoulder and shit.”

“awww,” you cooed, playfulness in your tone, “do i make you nervous?”

luke’s face flushed. he shook his head, tilting his head down to hide the color on his face. he rubbed the back of his neck, “play your fucking game.”

you said something about him being a sore loser and cheered loudly when you beat his score. when you both ran out of lives, luke led you to guitar hero and as expected, kicked your ass at the game. the two of you played in the arcade until there was one golden token left in the bottom of the bucket. as you wandered around the room, your eyes landed on a black and white photobooth tucked away in the corner.

“let’s take some pictures,” you grabbed his hand, leading him over there before he could say no. you shoved him inside the photobooth, tapping his knee to make him stop manspreading on the small bench.

it could barely fit two people so it was a tight squeeze. you were sitting so close to luke, thighs pressed together as you tapped on the small screen to begin the process. luke could feel the warmth of your skin against his and he was glad that there was no colored photos option because his cheeks were bright red. maybe he can blame the lights making him feel hot if you brought it up, but he wasn’t sure if his voice even worked enough to utter out his excuse.

“you better smile, castellan,” you threatened, turning to look at him before you inserted the token in the slot. “not that little side smirk shit that you do in all your pictures.”

“what side smirk?”

“that thing you do in your pictures!” you shouted, “in every single instagram post, you always do it.”

luke raised an eyebrow, a cocky smile appearing on his lips, “you’ve stalked my instagram?”

“not the point,” you ducked, pretending to mess with the settings of the photobooth. luke can see your shy smile on the screen in front of him. “i’m just saying, smile normally.”

“that’s how i smile, five star! what do you want me to do?”

“that is not how you smile!” you argued. you took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you faced him. he was already looking at you, soft eyes and a hint of a smile on his features. a stray curl was out of place on his head and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching over to put it back in place. luke held his breath as your fingers grazed the side of his face, taking much longer than you needed to fix his hair. your thumb subconsciously rubbed against the scar on his cheek. luke let his eyes close at the feeling.

“there,” you whispered, pulling your hand back to your side. “that’s how you smile.”

he tried his best to keep that same expression on his face to see what you were talking about. he glanced at the screen and found himself stunned at what he found. you were right. this is not how he looked in his instagram pictures. he almost didn’t recognize himself as he stared. he looked different like this.

there were no creases between his eyebrows or on his forehead, like there was no stress on his shoulders. his eyes looked brighter somehow as if he was at peace, exactly where he needed to be at that moment. his lips were quirked up in a tender smile, parts of his teeth showing between the gap of his top lip and bottom lip. did he always look like this when he was with you? awe-struck and enraptured by your presence?

he should feel pathetic, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when you were looking at him like you enjoyed this clandestine look on his face, a look that he reserved only for you. he couldn’t feel pathetic when you were looking at him in the same way. a secret language between the two of you, that nobody else in the world could even begin to understand.

the countdown on the screen started and luke was pulled from his thoughts quickly when you pressed your cheek against his, grinning as the timer flashed across the screen. he let himself smile, teeth on full display before the flash went off. the second countdown began and luke watched you fumble around to pick the next pose. you settled on a silly pose, sticking your tongue out as you held up the ‘rock and roll’ sign with your hand. he followed your lead, letting a snicker leave his lips at how fitting the pose was.

the final photo was uncoordinated. luke wasn’t ready for the flash to go off. you placed your hand on his shoulder, craning your neck to look up at him. if he leaned down an inch or two, his lips would touch yours. the realization had the wires in his brain crossed. when the machine took the picture, luke was staring lovingly into your eyes, a look of indecision on his face. his lips were curled into a bashful smile, the tip of his nose touching yours.

“five star,” luke breathed out, his arm snaking around your waist. your leg was now placed on top of his own.

you gulped, nudging his nose with yours, “luke…”

he’d never heard his name leave your lips before other than when you were mocking the gossips you heard about him. he’d never heard your real voice call him by his name. now that he has, he was addicted to the sound of it. he never liked his name that much, but somehow, when you said it, it sounded like poetry. he never thought a single syllable could sound so beautiful, have his knees buckling at the utterance of it. but with you, he supposed there was always a first for everything.

when the bright red words stating “your photos are ready!” illuminated the inside of the photobooth, the two of you jumped apart from each other, blushing wildly. luke took a moment for himself inside the photobooth, rubbing his face with his palms, as you walked out to retrieve the pictures. luke followed you after taking a few deep breaths.

he saw you leaning against the wall, the two strips of pictures in your hand. you had a goofy grin on your face, admiring them. luke sauntered next to you, taking a look at the photos.

he accepted the strip of photos you handed him, “we probably should’ve discussed our poses beforehand.”

“i dunno,” you were still staring at the pictures, biting your bottom lip. “i like ‘em.”

luke hummed, taking out his wallet. he folded the strip in threes, slotting the last photo in the clear compartment of his wallet. it looked perfect against the black leather, like it was the last thing needed to make his wallet look complete. he slipped it back in his back pocket, taking yours out to return to you.

“smoke shop?” he asked.

“please,” you nodded, beginning to walk out of the arcade. you waved goodbye to chiron who moved onto doing the daily crossword. “bye chiron! great to meet you!”

he bid the two of you goodbye, a knowing gaze on his face. you were already out the door when he sent luke a wink that had him shaking his head, face turning red at the man’s antics. luke shut the door behind him, ushering you over to the sidewalk towards the smoke shop, “i’m out of cigs too, so this is actually perfect timing.”

you waited outside the smoke shop, sitting on the curb. luke had a fake id (for research purposes, of course. he was just curious to see what the kentucky ids looked like.) so he bought your vape and his cigarettes. when he emerged, he joined you on the curb, pulling out his phone to call an uber back to camp.

the sun was long gone and he could hear the owls hooting in the distance. it was not a good idea to walk back to camp, even if it wasn’t even a mile away. he watched you unwrap your vape, taking a small hit from it. he lit his cigarette with the lighter he carried with him and smoked with you in silence.

“uber is gonna take twenty minutes,” he said, placing his phone between the two of you, face up. “i’m guessing there’s not many people around here.”

you glanced at his phone, giggling at his lockscreen. it was a picture of the entire band, wearing matching novelty sunglasses taken at a .5 angle. they looked ridiculously like the guys you’ve grown to adore. “i like your lockscreen.”

luke tapped his phone to wake it up. he let out a laugh, “mom took it when we played vegas for the first time. we were too young to go out and we were too afraid to use our fakes so we went to m&m world and got wired on sugar.”

“you guys are really close, huh?”

“got to be,” luke shrugged, “we’re together 24/7, but even before that… these guys are my brothers. love ‘em, even when they’re a pain in my ass. what’s your lockscreen?”

you pulled out your phone, showing him the picture of you, clarisse, and silena flipping off the camera. it was taken during one of your (failed) attempts at studying at the library. you were all in sweatpants and large hoodies with the stress of midterms evident on your faces. “that’s silena, my other best friend from unc. her boyfriend, charlie, took this picture because he said we looked absolutely miserable. and we do, but it makes me happy looking back at it. we were struggling together and we somehow made it out together.”

“i do not miss school at all,” luke blew out the smoke in his mouth, “i was a shit student.”

“but now look at you,” you teased, “mr. rockstar.”

“yeah, yeah,” luke copied your voice, “can’t complain.”

you hummed, tucking your vape in the pocket of luke’s hoodie, “you can, especially with me. i’m the number one hater, so i enjoy complaining quite a bit.”

“oh, i know.”

you smacked his arm, rolling your eyes as he stumbled in his seat, laughing. you cleared your throat, voice turning serious, “seriously. i owe you for today, so complain to me all you want.”

“you don’t owe me shit, five star,” luke put out his cigarette, standing up as his phone alerted him that the uber was coming soon. he held out his hand to help you up. “but i will take you up on that offer. of course, i can only do that if you don’t ignore me for weeks again.”

you slapped his hand away, shaking your head, smiling, “shut the fuck up.”

luke flagged down the uber, placing a hand on your lower back to lead you into the backseat. you entered, making polite conversations with the lady in the driver’s seat.

“for chase?”

luke nodded, “yup, thanks so much.”

as the car drove off in the direction of camp, you turned to luke, mouthing, “chase?”

he took out his wallet and handed you his fake id: chase reed, brown eyes, brown hair, 5’11.

luke safely tucked the id back in its slot when you tossed it back at him, giggling at his alter-ego. he didn’t say anything when you moved closer to him, sitting in the middle seat, and held his hand the rest of the way back to camp.

#frances writes #poisoned mercury #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson #pjo fanfic #pjo series

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moonstrider9904 · 3 months ago

Text

Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws

Crosshair x Female Reader one-shot

Summary: Crosshair is used to getting any woman he wants, but when he can't get together with you, things are bound to get tense.

Word Count: 6.3k

Tags/warnings: SMUT 18+. Minors are not allowed here. Pining, jealousy, foul language, alcohol consumption. Love confessions, soft!Crosshair, flirting, being approached at a bar, playboy falling in love trope. The reader is a woman and described with short hair, but no other details are given except for she is also shorter than Crosshair. PiV sex, a bit of sub!Crosshair.

Playlist: Jaws and Rain by Sleep Token i promise you these songs are so crosshair coded and it hurts

One shot masterlist | Main masterlist | Read on Ao3

Dividers by @stars-n-spice

Sweet and smoky whisky filled his senses as he pulled his glass up to his mouth and tilted it to let the burning liquid warm his throat. Ever watchful, the GAR’s finest sniper examined the surroundings from his post on his usual booth facing the whole bar, his back pressed against the cushion where he sat. There in the noisy 79’s bar, there were dozens of faces similar to his, though none quite like him—a factor that greatly stroked his pride. Along the sea of bar goers, various feminine faces and features glanced and smiled at him, many of whom he had already met and taken back to his place. Crosshair never liked a sure thing, however. He liked the thrill of the chase, the excitement of seeking out and then succeeding.

Brown, piercing eyes finally landed on a figure that hadn’t caught his attention before. Your petite frame was angled away from him as you sat at the bar, and all he saw was the loosely-fitting black sweater draping over delicate curves, and short wavy hair stopping above her shoulders. You appeared to be by yourself, though it wasn’t long before Crosshair saw your frame moving as though you were talking, and the bartender finally made her way to stand in front of you, visibly responding to whatever you’d said. There you exchanged words for a moment, and the bartender was then called away by a soldier in need of a drink, but it didn’t seem the conversation between you two had ended for your body angled itself in the direction of your friend, letting Crosshair see more of your features with clarity.

He stopped sipping his whisky. In a quick glance, Crosshair was able to take it all in—the details of your outfit, the pronunciation of each curve of your body, the way the lights of the bar illuminated your silhouette, the shape of your eyes and your lips. There was something about you that made you stand out from the rest of the crowd, a softness, a delicate quality to you that made him wonder why you were at a bar instead of a cozy book shop. But he wouldn’t continue to question your presence there. The fact that you were was all the more lucky for Crosshair, and he resolved to make you his next unforgettable memory.

Crosshair downed the remainder of his drink with one last, swift gulp and set the glass on his table with a clank. He stood up and began making his way through the crowded dance floor; the sheer amount of people there made him grateful he was in civvies rather than his armor, despite the fact that his full armor always did him more favors when it came to impressing a lady. After a certain number of conquests, Crosshair had noticed the attention from a potential mate always seemed to gravitate towards his shoulders, chest, and waist, with the appendage on his left shoulder pad always earning him curious, beady-eyed questions about what it was like to be a sniper, questions he always replied with a seductive smirk and charming play at how lonely of a position it was, one he’d already memorized and learned it never failed—not only was his armor practical for a sniper, but his role as one captivated.

He wasn’t that far away from the bar now. The closer he got, the better he could make out the details of your smile, and finally he was close enough to hear your laughter above the other noise. Just a couple steps away, fate shone on him in the form of you glancing in his direction, and for a moment, Crosshair stopped. Your hair framed your pretty face better than anyone he’d ever seen, and your eyes were the most genuine specs of light in the entire bar, not unlike stars putting a city skyline to shame. Your eyes fell right on his, and as if Crosshair hadn’t been convinced already, your lips curved into a smile, one that showed him your pretty pearly whites and shone with knowing and confidence and a hint of spunk that beautifully contrasted with your overall tender aura, and enticed him to find out where that softness ended to become pure fire. His own lips flashed his signature seductive smirk at you, and though his eyes followed in that intention, his curiosity bled into his gaze, betraying how much he wanted to succeed in at least being worthy of knowing your name.

Dammit, Crosshair was certain he had to have you.

The intense longing lasted for merely an instant before you turned away from him and gave your attention to your bartender friend again, but Crosshair knew the night had just begun. He reached the bar and positioned himself to your left, not making any contact with you at first. The bartender glanced over at Crosshair, and the latter requested another glass of neat whisky. Before obliging to the request, the bartender quickly eyed you and retreated to get a glass, leaving you seemingly wide open for the sniper to make his move.

Crosshair then turned his back to the bar and glanced to his left side over at you with the look he already knew would work—he was gorgeous, and he knew it. He noticed you smirking as though you were holding in a chuckle, and finally, you met his gaze.

“Never seen you here, beautiful,” Crosshair opened, his voice smooth and deep. “Mind if I buy you your next drink?”

“I’d just finished for the night,” you smirked back.

“Ah, what a pity,” Crosshair answered just as the bartender handed him his glass of whisky. Crosshair took it and sipped it without breaking eye contact with you, and then he set it down again. “I hope you’ll stay with me while I finish mine then. You’d be making my whole night.”

You let out a gentle laugh and glanced momentarily at your friend, the bartender, and the sound of your laughter shook Crosshair’s confidence. He decided to push through it, though.

“Five,” you answered.

“Care to let me in on what that means, sweetheart?” Crosshair leaned in slightly towards you.

“Okay,” you got up from your chair and stood next to him, revealing your height to be much shorter than his, a trait he found endearing. “I’m gonna stop you right there. You’re handsome and everything, but I’ve already heard you using that line five times.”

Crosshair raised a brow at you and, silently, sipped his whisky again. “Is that so?”

“It’s not such a big compliment for your opening line to be ‘never seen you here’ when I’ve actually been here many times,” you smirked at him. “I don’t care how many pet names you add at the end of the sentence.”

Crosshair couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he took another sip from his drink. “I knew there was a fire to you. How about you show me what those pretty jaws can do?”

“I’ll bite,” you answered. “Every time I’ve come to this bar to chat with my good friend here, I see you perform the same exact dance, each time with a different pretty face. I know your type, and I’m not going to be another one of your little trophies.”

“Oh, darlin’,” Crosshair hummed, downing his drink and setting his glass down without asking for a refill—if he played his cards right, he wouldn’t need another one. He leaned down slightly closer to you, looming over you with a seductive glint in his eye. “You know what’s going on here, and I like it when a girl packs a brain.”

“Is that so?” You smirked at him, tilting your head to give your eyes an enticing look.

“Yeah,” Crosshair’s airy voice softened, betraying him once again as it let you know just how much he desired you. “Now, wouldn’t we be perfect together, sweetheart? Just tell me your name.”

Crosshair’s hand slowly, almost doubtfully, made its way up to your chin, his touch soft in a way that would let you swat him away if you wanted to, but finally his fingertips made contact with your skin. As he tilted your face up to him, your endearing smile widened, and your body wiggled so softly he wasn’t sure if you’d done it on purpose or not, but he loved the way you moved. Your smile made it hauntingly clear to him—he was done for. He’d replay that image in his mind for years to come. Then, your eyes met his again, and Crosshair noticed that you were angling yourself closer to him, painfully slowly, and he matched your pace in leaning down closer to you. He was sure he’d won, and any second now he’d feel your lips against his, he’d learn what your name was and pronounce those syllables in his mind repeatedly until he could have you in his arms and his body with yours, and he’d continue to do so since.

Instead, you pressed an index finger to his lips, and your seductive look was replaced by one of knowing, even a little mischief.

“Not gonna happen,” you whispered, and you pressed your hand towards his chest, pushing him away from you enough to walk past him and leave.

An army led by a tactical droid had never caught him as off guard as you just had, and the disappointment was visible in Crosshair’s features. He closed his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows together with evident regret, and a sharp exhale accompanied his strain. All that was left for him to do when his eyes opened was to watch you leave, but you’d bolted so fast that he wouldn’t be able to do that.

“Damn,” a voice filled his ears.

It was your friend, the bartender, staring at him and visibly struggling to contain laughter.

“What?” Crosshair hissed.

“Can tell that one hurt. You’ve been rejected before, mate,” they said. “Never seen you make that face.”

The bartender then poured another glass of Crosshair’s favorite whisky and set it on the bar in front of him. Crosshair couldn’t help but direct a puzzled look at them.

“That one’s on the house,” the bartender stated. “My condolences.”

Crosshair was unamused by the bartender’s banter—the fact that they were your friend gave him the awful premonition that you’d be hearing about this in the future—but he accepted the free whisky and downed it all in one gulp as if it were a shot. He placed the empty glass on the bar and returned to his usual booth, alone, disgusted at his failure and at the fact that he knew he wouldn’t get your gaze out of his mind for the rest of the night.

He wasn’t able to do it for the many nights that followed.

There were some nights he did see you at the bar, and there were nights he didn’t. The nights you weren’t there were worse—though he gave you your space when you were both at the bar, he couldn’t help but find solace in knowing you were there seeing a friend at the bar instead of a lover. When you were nowhere to be found, he found his mind wandering and clinging on to all the possibilities, all the men you could be with, men who hadn’t thrown away their shot with you without even knowing it, without even valuing it.

And he still didn’t even know your name.

You—despite the fact that you had lost track of how long it had been since the cocky gray-haired sniper had made his move on you—would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of him. You were proud of standing up for yourself and your beliefs, and of not stooping down to a level of one more on the list of meaningless conquests at a bar, but the image of his enticing eyes had made its way into your mind in the course of those weeks. You’d thought back to the whisky on his breath, the way his teeth bared ever so slightly when he smirked, and how his chest felt under your hand when you pushed him out of your way.

It hurt, truly, that he was so careless with his own feelings, and the feelings of whomever he deemed attractive. But a part of you didn’t dare think of what things would be like if he was the relationship kind of man. Maybe you wouldn’t even be his first option in that scenario.

You found yourself at the bar on your usual spot, holding your usual drink in your hand, but its cool temperature had already caused the glass to sweat, and a thin ring of water had already appeared around the base. On any normal night, your drink wouldn’t last that long resting on the bar, and around you, everyone seemed to be getting their orders faster, a testament to your lack of chatter.

Finally, your friend the bartender approached you and crouched slightly to meet your downtrodden gaze. “No refunds for unconsumed drinks, I don’t care how sad you are.”

Your first instinct was to chuckle. “What, sad? Of course not!”

They raised an eyebrow at you and, from under the bar, pulled out a bottle of what seemed like hard liquor. “Maybe a shot of this will get you talking.”

You chuckled again, more genuinely than last time, and your whole body seemed to soften as you finally let your guard down. “No fair, you’re a bartender. Your expertise to read emotions is unmatched.”

“I like what I do,” said the bartender. “You’ve been getting more upset progressively. What happened?”

You looked up at them and sighed, taking a sip from your drink and setting it down again. “I’ve… lately, I’ve felt a bit lonely.”

“Dating scene’s hard, eh?”

“Not just that,” you said, tilting your head in reconsideration. “Actually, yeah, it’s just that. We’re at an age where we can, in theory, choose who we want to be with. But what happens when the person you want to get to know and maybe get intimate with is a total playboy who will most likely not see you the same way? What happens when being with the person you want to be with also means being at your most vulnerable and risking being cast aside by him?”

The bartender set the bottle of liquor down and their eyes widened at you.

“No way,” they said. “The sniper.”

You groaned and shrank in your seat, crossing your arms and leaning forward on the bar. “Yes. The sniper.”

“Baby girl, he is right there,” they said.

“Did you not hear me?” You asked. “I want something real, not a one night stand. I don’t care how—” you began to stammer, “-utterly handsome, gorgeous, and sexy he is.”

“So you stand by your choice to reject him,” the bartender asked.

You sighed and straightened your back as though to gather yourself. “Yes. Yes, I do. I just needed to vent.”

“So…” your friend began again. “Do you… want the sniper? Or do you want a palette cleanser?”

You met your friend’s eyes and hesitated. “I… I want to say… palette cleanser?”

It was obvious that you were doubting, but your friend, being the expert bartender and well experienced in listening to his clients’ problems, only had to look you in the eyes for a moment to know exactly what you needed. They knew every single customer at the 79’s—never mind the fact that most of them were identical—and for a couple moments, the bartender’s gaze drifted past your left shoulder and lingered for a while as though examining, as though they were plotting. You took notice of your friend’s positioning of their gaze, and you looked over your shoulder hoping you would see your next match.

All you saw was the sniper sitting at the farthest booth with a glass of whisky in his hand, all alone. But he wasn’t looking at you. With your heart plummeting in your chest, you turned away and reached for your own drink and took a large gulp from it.

“Wait here,” the bartender said. In the few moments they were gone, you paced yourself with your drink, beating the need to drown your sorrows, and when your trusted bartender finally returned, they did so with an agreeable-looking man, one who wasn’t a clone.

He was tall, had hazel-colored eyes and light brown hair that may have been blond in more natural lighting. He was dressed nicely, appropriate for a bar but not in a way that screamed a need for attention, and the amount of cologne he was wearing was rather attractive, certainly not too much of it. His lips were full and his bright smile crinkled his eyes as he looked at you, giving him a somewhat innocent gleam as he was visibly excited to meet you.

“What’d you say your name was?” The bartender asked him.

“Aiden,” he replied, looking at the bartender, and quickly went to meet your gaze again. “Aiden Maverick, pleased to meet you.”

You giggled softly, slightly surprised at how quickly your friend had gotten you company. Still, despite the speed, Aiden wasn’t a blatantly terrible choice. Actually, Aiden seemed like someone you could talk with, maybe hit it off, see where things went.

“Pleased to meet you too,” you said softly, holding out your hand to shake his. You then introduced yourself to Aiden and pronounced your name for the first time in a long time, perhaps even since you’d first set foot in that bar.

From the booth at the other side of the bar, Crosshair had tried hard not to stare at you. He wasn’t one to linger or to insist, but you’d made his mind your permanent residence. For the past weeks, even when he was on a mission sniping on some foreign cliff, his thoughts would often drift to the nameless girl from the bar, the one who only made him want her more when she was brave enough to tell him off like he deserved. For a moment, he asked himself why he continued to frequent the 79’s bar if all it did was remind him of how he screwed up with you before he could get himself a chance to try. It wasn’t as if he’d gotten a date since you turned him down. He hadn’t wanted to look at anyone else.

Some idiot he figured himself to be. Always confident and arrogant and snarky, with a quick remark ready for any occasion, but the moment one pretty girl turns him down, he shatters. Crosshair took a large gulp from his whisky—you weren’t just some pretty girl. No, he knew it when he first met you. He knew the second your bright eyes stared up at him and your soft, kissable lips smiled at him. He knew right then that he was a goner, that he would never be the same, that no one could compare to you, and nothing could compare to being smiled at by you.

But it was futile to lament. It wasn’t as if you knew, and it wasn’t as if you could. It didn’t matter when it came to you that Crosshair hadn’t gotten involved with anyone since he met you. You were the only person he cared to know that fact, and you didn’t.

For a moment, he dared to look at the bar, and the sight made him want to gag. Some nobody had gotten your attention—perhaps that nobody wasn’t notorious for anything and seemed perfectly rational. You were smiling at whoever that guy was, and Crosshair found himself wishing it was him standing next to you, flirting, charming you. He thought of going up there and putting up a fight, but some corner of him felt like he’d only be getting in your way of being treated nicely the way he couldn’t do the first time. Then, in the middle of his brooding, Crosshair’s watchful gaze picked up on another pair of eyes drilling into him just off the side of you and your acquaintance.

The bartender. Much like Crosshair in a battle, they saw everything. And it hit him. If anyone at the 79’s had taken note of the fact that Crosshair had put aside his old habits, it was the bartender. The bartender who, coincidentally, just so happened to be your friend, and just so happened to be staring intently at him as you hit it off with some other guy at the bar. Crosshair raised a brow at the bartender, asking with his gaze what he was supposed to do. He noticed the bartender directing a quick eye roll at him, and then they walked their way back to you and your new friend and placed one hand on your shoulder, the other one on the new guy’s shoulder.

“Alright, buddy!” The bartender called loud enough for Crosshair to hear. And then, the bartender continued to call out that “he” had their blessing to be with you, and then, the bartender pronounced your name.

Upon hearing what your name was, Crosshair understood. He understood that he couldn’t sit there for another second—to do so would be blatant waste, and if he did it, he would never deserve to be with you. But he downed the rest of his whisky, set the glass down loudly on the table, and stood up with more resolve than he had ever mustered in his life. He made his way across the crowded dance floor, finding it harder to do so than last time—his armor played a certain part in that, but despite the fact that it gave him confidence, the master-of-control sniper felt his chest shake with every step he took closer to you.

At last, he reached the bar and positioned himself beside you, catching Aiden’s attention. When Aiden looked at Crosshair, you realized he was standing beside you, and your eyes widened in surprise. You couldn’t help but feel defensive for a moment—you weren’t sure you’d be as firm to turn Crosshair down a second time.

“You’re gonna have to leave,” Crosshair told Aiden.

“What?” Aiden raised a brow. “Who do you think you are?”

“I haven’t been able to get this woman off my mind for weeks,” Crosshair evaded any temptation to buff up in testosterone and chose the path of brutal honesty. “You’ve known her for five minutes, I’ve needed her since the first time she smiled at me. I have gone back and forth six missions since then, been on the line of fire, and a blast to the heart would be heaven compared to never having another chance to make things right with her. I’m all the more hopeless than I was when I blew my chance, but I’m gonna need you to step aside right now because I need to make this okay.”

You barely knew Crosshair, but you didn’t reckon he was a man of many words. For him to say that much—and speak that beautifully—about you, made every fiber in your body shift towards him. You glanced quickly over at the bartender, and they were already looking at you with knowing eyes, raising their brows and gesturing at Crosshair before going on their way to tend to the rest of the customers. You let out a soft chuckle, flattered at the change in events, and you knew to trust your friend. With apologetic eyes, you looked over at Aiden.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Could you please give us a moment?”

Aiden appeared disappointed, but he nodded and stood up from the bar, taking the rejection like a pro and even managing a polite smile at you. “Right. Have a nice night.”

You directed a soft smile at him too as he walked away, but then your attention tunneled towards Crosshair, and your big eyes looked at him with hope and a twinge of caution.

“So…” you began, speaking as softly as the volume at the bar allowed. “I’m guessing changes of heart are common in soldiers.”

Crosshair stifled a chuckle. “Being a soldier had nothing to do with it.”

He was hesitant to touch you, and instead, he resorted to letting his gaze gently shower you with his purest intent. “What I said was true. I want to be with you, and I don’t care for anything else. All I could want is to come back alive from every mission to come home to you.”

You scoffed, but ended up smiling at him. “But… look. I’m crazy about you, and I never would have dreamed you’d want something with me. But you’re still you, you still get out and about and get whatever woman you want—”

“That’s over,” Crosshair said. “It has been since we met.”

“I can vouch for that,” the bartender jumped into the conversation. You looked over at them, half indignant, half amused, and your friend dismissed themself with a carefree wave of their hands before continuing their work.

You then looked at Crosshair again, and he looked at you. His entire aura seemed to soften, and he leaned in closer to you, almost shyly.

“You have a beautiful name,” he said.

You smiled, feeling your cheeks getting hot. “Thanks.”

He smiled back at you—he had a truly beautiful smile—and finally, Crosshair leaned in enough to rest his forehead on yours. Down at your side, you felt his fingers beginning to brush yours, and when you let him take your hands fully, you noticed his smile widen.

“So,” you said sweetly, “do you want to get out of here?”

His eyes met yours as your foreheads continued to rest on one another. “Yes. Do you want to?”

Your smile widened too and you gave a soft nod. “Yes.”

Crosshair gave a smooth chuckle, regaining some of his usual charm and confidence. “So, this is gonna happen after all?”

You giggled in response. “You’re pushing your chances, but yes.”

The laughter between you quieted down, and for a moment, your lips hovered over each other, flirting with the possibility of sealing the space and sinking into the first kiss. The tension in those millimeters left between your lips and his was electrifying, utterly delicious, and you wanted to savor it. You wanted that drumroll to lead to the best possible first kiss, and with your gaze suddenly full of mischief and excitement, you stood up from your chair and began leading Crosshair outside. He followed gladly, but not without leaving a generous tip for your friend, the bartender.

Outside, you were met with cool air and drops of rain falling from a cloudy, gray-blue twilight sky. The towering Coruscant skyline simply hit differently in the rainfall, and the countless lights that twinkled around you were reflected in the puddles on the pavement. You had no idea where you were headed, and you had the feeling Crosshair didn’t know either, but for that space, all that sufficed was to position yourselves under a lamp post. With Crosshair leading the way, he stopped next to it and turned around to face you as you caught up with him, never letting go of his hand, and that was when the rain began to fall harder. Anyone else who wasn’t covered from the shower would hurry out of the mist, but you felt it then without a doubt—the moment had come.

You smiled up at Crosshair and felt your spine erupt in sparks when he directed a smirk at you, one that was suggestive but didn’t lack an evident tenderness to it, a joy fueled by your presence and your hand in his. Towering, his armored, handsome figure inched closer to you, and his free hand secured your waist. Crosshair pulled you closer, you angled your face up as a sweet beckoning for his lips, and in those final beautiful seconds, Crosshair leaned down and took your lips in his, unleashing every bit of that delicious tension that had formed between you two. Every one of your feelings for him escalated, and you took a leap to wrap your legs around his waist, feeling him secure your rear end with strong hands. A playful moan escaped you, and you went on kissing him under that lamp post, mindless to the fact that you were soaking in the rain, for each second was worth the cold surface of your clothes in exchange for that heat building between your body and his.

In a matter of a blur, you and Crosshair left the spot under the lamp post that would forever belong to you two. The whole way back to your place, you could hardly keep your hands off of him, and when you managed to make sense of reality again, you found yourself in your living room clinging to his body once again, smirking into playful kisses as you both stumbled to your sofa. You rested on the couch cushions, wet clothes be damned, and enjoyed the sight of Crosshair looming over you with his figure still broad and armored. You let your hands roam freely over his silhouette, feeling damp plastoid on your fingertips wherever you touched, ranging from his back to his chest, his shoulders, even his expert hands. When Crosshair slipped his tongue into your mouth, you both moaned at the sweet sensations caused by the friction, and the taste of whisky prompted a wiggle of your hips that sent him reeling.

You felt your deepest corners beginning to ignite, and you let go of Crosshair’s body to bring your hands to your wet clothes, slowly beginning to remove your sweater followed by the blouse that clung to your body. When Crosshair noticed, you perceived the darkening of his gaze, and he aided you in removing damp garments. Your skin was left exposed, feeling cool as it came in contact with the air around you, and swiftly, Crosshair reached for a blanket you had folded on the armrest of the couch to cover you from the cold.

He resumed kissing you, and you decided it was his turn to lose the armor. You helped him remove the shoulder pad with the appendage, and the one without; his belt came off and then his chest plate, followed by one set of arm pads and then the other. By the time you were growing impatient, Crosshair was left in the black, thin suit that concealed his skin from you, and feeling the freedom from his armor, he pressed himself firmly to your body, letting you feel the hardening bulge between his legs. You invited him into the cocoon of your blanket, letting warmth engulf you both as your kisses wore on, and you felt his gloved hands taking their liberty with your curves.

Soon, you pressed yourself up to him and you were both sitting on the couch, breaking the kiss for a split second, only enough for you to pull the skin-tight black shirt over his body. You hesitated before kissing him again, prompted to take in all his beauty and memorize it, and when you kissed Crosshair again, your hands brushed from his lower abdomen and all the way up to his chest and collarbones; you could feel shivers forming on his skin as your hands trailed over him, and Crosshair let a deep moan bleed into the kiss, entranced by your touch.

You felt him standing up and bringing you along with him. He made sure you were still covered by the blanket as he carried you, and you broke the kiss, panting for breath with an enticing grin, biting your lower lip as you pointed your nose in the direction of the bedroom. Crosshair stood on the spot for a moment to kiss your lips one more hungry time, and then with almost impossible tenderness, he carried you to your room and set you on the bed, where you kneeled on the mattress facing away from him. As soon as Crosshair got on his knees on the mattress, with your back pressed to his chest, he kissed your neck and whatever he could of your collar until you turned your face to capture his lips once more. The blanket that covered your naked body fell down to your sides, and with your skin exposed again, Crosshair didn’t hold back before letting his hands feel your waist and travel up your breasts.

You ached in those moments of foreplay, longing for more, letting that hunger manifest in your kisses quickening and your breath straining. With a smirk into your lips, Crosshair obliged your silent request, and one of his hands went to your knee and snaked up your inner thigh, pausing for just enough to make you whimper in anticipation. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and you let out a wanton moan when you finally felt his fingers brushing over your clit in expert motions, not wasting another moment. Pleasure instantly flooded you, awaking every one of your nerves, and your body sank back into his as you moaned at the sweet electricity coursing through you. You could feel it building and bubbling more with each second that passed, enjoying every instant of it until you knew release was imminent. Your gaze found his, knowing you wanted to be looking into those beautiful amber eyes when it happened, and when it finally did, your whole body curved in its inability to keep upright at such intense pleasure expanding to your every corner. Crosshair moaned in unison with you as though to cheer you forward, enjoying every bit of your reaction, swelling in pride at how good he could make you feel. He didn’t let himself stop his expert work on your clit, he wanted you to feel every ounce of pleasure you could possibly feel, and when the time was right, he let you go for a breather.

He’d expected to remain on top, but Crosshair was met with you grasping his shoulders and leading him to lie down on the bed. You climbed on top and straddled his waist, eyeing the lines of his muscles standing out in the dim lighting of the room. You leaned forward enough to set your hands at the base of his hips where the fabric of his pants began and, pressing gently, you ran your hands up his abdomen, feeling the rise and fall of his muscles as his breath quickened in arousal. When your hands reached his chest, you felt the bulge in his pants hardening more, pulsating against your crotch, and Crosshair threw his head back on the pillow in a futile attempt to suppress a moan of sheer excitation before he looked up at you again with hungry eyes, his lips mouthing the word Please barely under his breath.

You leaned forward and kissed him again, moaning in tandem with him. Your hands reached down to the fabric that continued to cover the lower half of his body, and you undid the buttons at the top to pull it down enough to free his erection, and you heard Crosshair moan softly at the sensation. Barely giving him time to dimension, your hand grasped his girth and began pumping slowly, and you grinned with satisfaction into the kiss at the sound of Crosshair moaning louder at your touch.

“Yes,” he hissed, moaning into your kisses once more as you continued massaging his length. He continued to mumble things into your lips, only letting you make out faint details of “Touch me” until the final request was, like music to your ears, “Fuck me.”

You obliged, lifting yourself only to sink on his entire length, hissing at the sharp pain that quickly turned to pleasure when he stretched you out. You kept your lips close to his, and with his help, you bucked your hips up and down, rising and falling on his cock at a luscious pace. The heat emanating from your bodies continued to build between you, until you’d reached the quickest pace you could in that position. The sight of you on top of him was enough to entrance Crosshair, but he still ached for more. He wouldn’t have enough until you were writhing in his grip, and in a swift movement, he rolled over on top of you. In full control, Crosshair bucked faster into your hips, enticed by how deep and warm and wet you were. Every moan you let escape dragged him deeper into the state of ecstasy he found himself in, and he knew he’d never escape.

But he didn’t want to escape it. He’d pined for you long enough, and there you were, entwined in your lovemaking.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, letting him pound deeper into you until you once again exploded into raw pleasure. Your fingers clasped the silver hair on the back of his neck, and you let yourself moan his name out as you pronounced yourself his. After a few more movements, Crosshair was coming undone inside you, savoring every wave of intensity as the ropes of white flooded you inside, releasing airy moans as his body slowly allowed itself to calm down and he collapsed beside you.

Your visions blurred for the moments to come, and all either of you needed to know was that the other lay there beside you. You gathered yourself and rolled over onto one side facing Crosshair, and you let your hand slide gently up his torso one more time. You lay your head on his shoulder and rested your full weight on him, holding him close to you, and then you felt his arm draping around you as he let out a gentle, fulfilled sigh.

“We’ve got to do that again,” Crosshair panted.

“Yeah,” you said dreamily, and then you giggled. “You didn’t plan on sleeping tonight, right?”

Crosshair’s signature seductive chuckle rumbled low in his chest and he rolled over on top of you once more, seemingly ready to continue. “Not a chance.”

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